CHAPTER V
OF THE COMING OF CLEOPATRA TO THE CHAMBER OF HARMACHIS; OF
THE THROWING FORTH OF THE KERCHIEF OF CHARMION; OF THE
STARS; AND OF THE GIFT BY CLEOPATRA OF HER FRIENDSHIP TO HER
SERVANT HARMACHIS
"At length thou art come, Charmion," I said. "It is over-late."
"Yea, my Lord; but by no means could I escape Cleopatra. Her mood is
strangely crossed to-night. I know not what it may portend. Strange
whims and fancies blow across it like light and contrary airs upon a
summer sea, and I cannot read her purpose."
"Well, well; enough of Cleopatra. Hast thou seen our uncle?"
"Yes, royal Harmachis."
"And hast thou the last lists?"
"Yes; here they are," and she drew them from her bosom. "Here is the
list of those who, after the Queen, must certainly be put to the
sword. Among them thou wilt note is the name of that old Gaul Brennus.
I grieve for him, for we are friends; but it must be. It is a heavy
list."
"It is so," I answered conning it; "when men write out their count
they forget no item, and our count is long. What must be must be. Now
for the next."
"Here is the list of those to be spared, as friendly or uncertain; and
here that of the towns which will certainly rise as soon as the
messenger reaches their gates with tidings of the death of Cleopatra."
"Good. And now"--and I paused--"and now as to the manner of
Cleopatra's death. How hast thou settled it? Must it be by my own
hand?"
"Yea, my Lord," she answered, and again I caught that note of
bitterness in her voice. "Doubtless Pharaoh will rejoice that his
should be the hand to rid the land of this false Queen and wanton
woman, and at one blow break the chains which gall the neck of Egypt."
"Talk not thus, girl," I said; "thou knowest well that I do not
rejoice, being but driven to the act by deep necessity and the
pressure of my vows. Can she not, then, be poisoned? Or can no one of
the eunuchs be suborned to slay her? My soul turns from this bloody
work! Indeed, I marvel, however heavy be her crimes, that thou canst
speak so lightly of the death by treachery of one who loves thee!"
"Surely Pharaoh is over-tender, forgetting the greatness of the moment
and all that hangs upon this dagger-stroke that shall cut the thread
of Cleopatra's life. Listen, Harmachis. /Thou/ must do the deed, and
/thou/ alone! Myself I would do it, had my arm the strength; but it
has not. It cannot be done by poison, for every drop she drinks and
every morsel that shall touch her lips is strictly tasted by three
separate tasters, who cannot be suborned. Nor may the eunuchs of the
guard be trusted. Two, indeed, are sworn to us; but the third cannot
be come at. He must be cut down afterwards; and, indeed, when so many
men must fall, what matters a eunuch more or less? Thus it shall be,
then. To-morrow night, at three hours before midnight thou dost cast
the final augury of the issue of the war. And then thou wilt, as is
agreed, descend alone with me, having the signet, to the outer chamber
of the Queen's apartment. For the vessel bearing orders to the Legions
sails from Alexandria at the following dawn; and alone with Cleopatra,
since she wills that the thing be kept secret as the sea, thou wilt
read the message of the stars. And as she pores over the papyrus, then
must thou stab her in the back, so that she dies; and see thou that
thy will and arm fail thee not! The deed being done--and indeed it
will be easy--thou wilt take the signet and pass out to where the
eunuch is--for the others will be wanting. If by any chance there is
trouble with him--but there will be no trouble, for he dare not enter
the private rooms, and the sounds of death cannot reach so far--thou
must cut him down. Then I will meet thee; and, passing on, we will
come to Paulus, and it shall be my care to see that he is neither
drunk nor backward, for I know how to hold him to the task. And he and
those with him shall throw open the side gate, when Sepa and the five
hundred chosen men who are in waiting shall pour in and cast
themselves upon the sleeping legionaries, putting them to the sword.
Why, the thing is easy so thou rest true to thyself, and let no
womanish fears creep into thy heart. What is this dagger's thrust? It
is nothing, and yet upon it hang the destinies of Egypt and the
world."
"Hush!" I said. "What is that?--I hear a sound."
Charmion ran to the door, and, gazing down the long, dark passage,
listened. In a moment she came back, her finger on her lips. "It is
the Queen," she whispered hurriedly; "the Queen who mounts the stair
alone. I heard her bid Iras to leave her. I may not be found alone
with thee at this hour; it has a strange look, and she may suspect.
What wants she here? Where can I hide?"
I glanced round. At the further end of the chamber was a heavy curtain
that hid a little place built in the thickness of the wall which I
used for the storage of rolls and instruments.
"Haste thee--there!" I said, and she glided behind the curtain, which
swung back and covered her. Then I thrust the fatal scroll of death
into the bosom of my robe and bent over the mystic chart. Presently I
heard the sweep of woman's robes and there came a low knock upon the
door.
"Enter, whoever thou art," I said.
The latch lifted, and Cleopatra swept in, royally arrayed, her dark
hair hanging about her and the sacred snake of royalty glistening on
her brow.
"Of a truth, Harmachis," she said with a sigh, as she sank into a
seat, "the path to heaven is hard to climb! Ah! I am weary, for those
stairs are many. But I was minded, my astronomer, to see thee in thy
haunts."
"I am honoured overmuch, O Queen!" I said bowing low before her.
"Art thou now? And yet that dark face of thine has a somewhat angry
look--thou art too young and handsome for this dry trade, Harmachis.
Why, I vow thou hast cast my wreath of roses down amidst thy rusty
tools! Kings would have cherished that wreath along with their
choicest diadems, Harmachis! and thou dost throw it away as a thing of
no account! Why, what a man art thou! But stay; what is this? A lady's
kerchief, by Isis! Nay, now, my Harmachis, how came /this/ here? Are
our poor kerchiefs also instruments of thy high art? Oh, fie, fie!--
have I caught thee, then? Art thou indeed a fox?"
"Nay, most royal Cleopatra, nay!" I said, turning; for the kerchief
which had fallen from Charmion's neck had an awkward look. "I know
not, indeed, how the frippery came here. Perhaps, some one of the
women who keeps the chamber may have let it fall."
"Ah! so--so!" she said dryly, and still laughing like a rippling
brook. "Yes, surely, the slave-women who keep chambers own such toys
as this, of the very finest silk, worth twice its weight in gold, and
broidered, too, in many colours. Why, myself I should not shame to
wear it! Of a truth it seems familiar to my sight." And she threw it
round her neck and smoothed the ends with her white hand. "But there;
doubtless, it is a thing unholy in thine eyes that the scarf of thy
beloved should rest upon my poor breast. Take it, Harmachis; take it,
and hide it in thy bosom--nigh thy heart indeed!"
I took the accursed thing, and, muttering what I may not write,
stepped on to the giddy platform whence I watched the stars. Then,
crushing it into a ball, I threw it to the winds of heaven.
At this the lovely Queen laughed once more.
"Nay, think now," she cried; "what would the lady say could she see
her love-gauge thus cast to all the world? Mayhap, Harmachis, thou
wouldst deal thus with my wreath also? See, the roses fade; cast it
forth," and, stooping, she took up the wreath and gave it to me.
For a moment, so vexed was I, I had a mind to take her at her word and
send the wreath to join the kerchief. But I thought better of it.
"Nay," I said more softly, "it is a Queen's gift, and I will keep it,"
and, as I spoke, I saw the curtain shake. Often since that night I
have sorrowed over those simple words.
"Gracious thanks be to the King of Love for this small mercy," she
answered, looking at me strangely. "Now, enough of wit; come forth
upon this balcony--tell me of the mystery of those stars of thine. For
I always loved the stars, that are so pure and bright and cold, and so
far away from our fevered troubling. There I would wish to dwell,
rocked on the dark bosom of the night, and losing the little sense of
self as I gazed for ever on the countenance of yon sweet-eyed space.
Nay--who can tell, Harmachis?--perhaps those stars partake of our very
substance, and, linked to us by Nature's invisible chain, do, indeed,
draw our destiny with them as they roll. What says the Greek fable of
him who became a star? Perchance it has truth, for yonder tiny sparks
may be the souls of men, but grown more purely bright and placed in
happy rest to illume the turmoil of their mother-earth. Or are they
lamps hung high in the heavenly vault that night by night some
Godhead, whose wings are Darkness, touches with his immortal fire so
that they leap out in answering flame? Give me of thy wisdom and open
these wonders to me, my servant, for I have little knowledge. Yet my
heart is large, and I would fill it, for I have the wit, could I but
find the teacher."
Thereon, being glad to find footing on a safer shore, and marvelling
somewhat to learn that Cleopatra had a place for lofty thoughts, I
spoke and willingly told her such things as are lawful. I told her how
the sky is a liquid mass pressing round the earth and resting on the
elastic pillars of the air, and how above is the heavenly ocean Nout,
in which the planets float like ships as they rush upon their radiant
way. I told her many things, and amongst them how, through the certain
never-ceasing movement of the orbs of light, the planet Venus, that
was called Donaou when she showed as the Morning Star, became the
planet Bonou when she came as the sweet Star of Eve. And while I stood
and spoke watching the stars, she sat, her hands clasped upon her
knee, and watched my face.
"Ah!" she broke in at length, "and so Venus is to be seen both in the
morning and the evening sky. Well, of a truth, she is everywhere,
though she best loves the night. But thou lovest not that I should use
these Latin names to thee. Come, we will talk in the ancient tongue of
Khem, which I know well; I am the first, mark thou, of all the Lagidæ
who know it. And now," she went on, speaking in my own tongue, but
with a little foreign accent that did but make her talk more sweet,
"enough of stars, for, when all is said, they are but fickle things,
and perhaps may even now be storing up an evil hour for thee or me, or
for both of us together. Not but what I love to hear thee speak of
them, for then thy face loses that gloomy cloud of thought which mars
it and grows quick and human. Harmachis, thou art too young for such a
solemn trade; methinks that I must find thee a better. Youth comes but
once; why waste it in these musings? It is time to think when we can
no longer act. Tell me how old art thou, Harmachis?"
"I have six-and-twenty years, O Queen," I answered, "for I was born in
the first month of Shomou, in the summer season, and on the third day
of the month."
"Why, then, we are of an age even to a day," she cried, "for I too
have six-and-twenty years, and I too was born on the third day of the
first month of Shomou. Well, this may we say: those who begot us need
have no shame. For if I be the fairest woman in Egypt, methinks,
Harmachis, that there is in Egypt no man more fair and strong than
thou, ay, or more learned. Born of the same day, why, 'tis manifest
that we were destined to stand together, I, as the Queen, and thou,
perchance, Harmachis, as one of the chief pillars of my throne, and
thus to work each other's weal."
"Or maybe each other's woe," I answered, looking up; for her sweet
speeches stung my ears and brought more colour to my face than I loved
that she should see there.
"Nay, never talk of woe. Be seated here by me, Harmachis, and let us
talk, not as Queen and subject, but as friend to friend. Thou wast
angered with me at the feast to-night because I mocked thee with
yonder wreath--was it not so? Nay, it was but a jest. Didst thou know
how heavy is the task of monarchs and how wearisome are their hours,
thou wouldst not be wroth because I lit my dulness with a jest. Oh,
they weary me, those princes and those nobles, and those stiff-necked
pompous Romans. To my face they vow themselves my slaves, and behind
my back they mock me and proclaim me the servant of their Triumvirate,
or their Empire, or their Republic, as the wheel of Fortune turns, and
each rises on its round! There is never a man among them--nothing but
fools, parasites, and puppets--never a man since with their coward
daggers they slew that Cæsar whom all the world in arms was not strong
enough to tame. And I must play off one against the other, if maybe,
by so doing, I can keep Egypt from their grip. And for reward, what?
Why, this is my reward--that all men speak ill of me--and, I know it,
my subjects hate me! Yes, I believe that, woman though I am, they
would murder me could they find a means!"
She paused, covering her eyes with her hand, and it was well, for her
words pierced me so that I shrank upon the seat beside her.
"They think ill of me, I know it; and call me wanton, who have never
stepped aside save once, when I loved the greatest man of all the
world, and at the touch of love my passion flamed indeed, but burnt a
hallowed flame. These ribald Alexandrians swear that I poisoned
Ptolemy, my brother--whom the Roman Senate would, most unnaturally,
have forced on me, his sister, as a husband! But it is false: he
sickened and died of fever. And even so they say that I would slay
Arsinoë, my sister--who, indeed, would slay me!--but that, too, is
false! Though she will have none of me, I love my sister. Yes, they
all think ill of me without a cause; even thou dost think ill of me,
Harmachis.
"O Harmachis, before thou judgest, remember what a thing is envy!--
that foul sickness of the mind which makes the jaundiced eye of
pettiness to see all things distraught--to read Evil written on the
open face of Good, and find impurity in the whitest virgin's soul!
Think what a thing it is, Harmachis, to be set on high above the
gaping crowd of knaves who hate thee for thy fortune and thy wit; who
gnash their teeth and shoot the arrows of their lies from the cover of
their own obscureness, whence they have no wings to soar; and whose
hearts' quest it is to drag down thy nobility to the level of the
groundling and the fool!
"Be not, then, swift to think evil of the Great, whose every word and
act is searched for error by a million angry eyes, and whose most tiny
fault is trumpeted by a thousand throats, till the world shakes with
echoes of their sin! Say not: 'It is thus, 'tis certainly thus'--say,
rather: 'May it not be otherwise? Have we heard aright? Did she this
thing of her own will?' Judge gently, Harmachis, as wert thou I thou
wouldst be judged. Remember that a Queen is never free. She is,
indeed, but the point and instrument of those forces politic with
which the iron books of history are graved. O Harmachis! be thou my
friend--my friend and counsellor!--my friend whom I can trust indeed!
--for here, in this crowded Court, I am more utterly alone than any
soul that breathes about its corridors. But /thee/ I trust; there is
faith written in those quiet eyes, and I am minded to lift thee high,
Harmachis. I can no longer bear my solitude of mind--I must find one
with whom I may commune and speak that which lies within my heart. I
have faults, I know it; but I am not all unworthy of thy faith, for
there is good grain among the evil seed. Say, Harmachis, wilt thou
take pity on my loneliness and befriend me, who have lovers,
courtiers, slaves, dependents, more thick than I can count, but never
one single /friend/?" and she leant towards me, touching me lightly,
and gazed on me with her wonderful blue eyes.
I was overcome; thinking of the morrow night, shame and sorrow smote
me. /I/, her friend!--/I/, whose assassin dagger lay against my
breast! I bent my head, and a sob or a groan, I know not which, burst
from the agony of my heart.
But Cleopatra, thinking only that I was moved beyond myself by the
surprise of her graciousness, smiled sweetly, and said:
"It grows late; to-morrow night when thou bringest the auguries we
will speak again, O my friend Harmachis, and thou shalt answer me."
And she gave me her hand to kiss. Scarce knowing what I did, I kissed
it, and in another moment she was gone.
But I stood in the chamber, gazing after her like one asleep.
