CHAPTER VI
OF THE WORDS AND JEALOUSY OF CHARMION; OF THE LAUGHTER OF
HARMACHIS; OF THE MAKING READY FOR THE DEED OF BLOOD; AND OF THE
I stood still, plunged in thought. Then by hazard as it were I took up
the wreath of roses and looked on it. How long I stood so I know not,
but when next I lifted up my eyes they fell upon the form of Charmion,
whom, indeed, I had altogether forgotten. And though at the moment I
thought but little of it, I noted vaguely that she was flushed as
though with anger, and beat her foot upon the floor.
"Oh, it is thou, Charmion!" I said. "What ails thee? Art thou cramped
with standing so long in thy hiding-place? Why didst not thou slip
hence when Cleopatra led me to the balcony?"
"Where is my kerchief?" she asked, shooting an angry glance at me. "I
let fall my broidered kerchief."
"Thy kerchief!--why, didst thou not see? Cleopatra twitted me about
it, and I flung it from the balcony."
"Yes, I saw," answered the girl, "I saw but too well. Thou didst fling
away my kerchief, but the wreath of roses--that thou wouldst not fling
away. It was 'a Queen's gift,' forsooth, and therefore the royal
Harmachis, the Priest of Isis, the chosen of the Gods, the crowned
Pharaoh wed to the weal of Khem, cherished it and saved it. But my
kerchief, stung by the laughter of that light Queen, he cast away!"
"What meanest thou?" I asked, astonished at her bitter tone. "I cannot
read thy riddles."
"What mean I?" she answered, tossing up her head and showing the white
curves of her throat. "Nay, I mean naught, or all; take it as thou
wilt. Wouldst know what I mean, Harmachis, my cousin and my Lord?" she
went on in a hard, low voice. "Then I will tell thee--thou art in
danger of the great offence. This Cleopatra has cast her fatal wiles
about thee, and thou goest near to loving her, Harmachis--to loving
her whom to-morrow thou must slay! Ay, stand and stare at that wreath
in thy hand--the wreath thou couldst not send to join my kerchief--
sure Cleopatra wore it but to-night! The perfume of the hair of
Cæsar's mistress--Cæsar's and others'--yet mingles with the odour of
its roses! Now, prithee, Harmachis, how far didst thou carry the
matter on yonder balcony? for in that hole where I lay hid I could not
hear or see. 'Tis a sweet spot for lovers, is it not?--ay, and a sweet
hour, too? Venus surely rules the stars to-night?"
All of this she said so quietly and in so soft and modest a way,
though her words were not modest, and yet so bitterly, that every
syllable cut me to the heart, and angered me till I could find no
speech.
"Of a truth thou hast a wise economy," she went on, seeing her
advantage: "to-night thou dost kiss the lips that to-morrow thou shalt
still for ever! It is frugal dealing with the occasion of the moment;
ay, worthy and honourable dealing!"
Then at last I broke forth. "Girl," I cried, "how darest thou speak
thus to me? Mindest thou who and what I am that thou loosest thy
peevish gibes upon me?"
"I mind what it behoves thee to be," she answered quick. "What thou
art, that I mind not now. Surely thou knowest alone--thou and
Cleopatra!"
"What meanest thou?" I said. "Am I to blame if the Queen----"
"The Queen! What have we here? Pharaoh owns a Queen!"
"If Cleopatra wills to come hither of a night and talk----"
"Of stars, Harmachis--surely of stars and roses, and naught beside!"
After that I know not what I said; for, troubled as I was, the girl's
bitter tongue and quiet way drove me wellnigh to madness. But this I
know: I spoke so fiercely that she cowered before me as she had
cowered before my uncle Sepa when he rated her because of her Grecian
garb. And as she wept then, so she wept now, only more passionately
and with great sobs.
At length I ceased, half-shamed but still angry and smarting sorely.
For even while she wept she could find a tongue to answer with--and a
woman's shafts are sharp.
"Thou shouldst not speak to me thus!" she sobbed; "it is cruel--it is
unmanly! But I forget thou art but a priest, not a man--except,
mayhap, for Cleopatra!"
"What right hast thou?" I said. "What canst thou mean?"
"What right have I?" she asked, looking up, her dark eyes all aflood
with tears that ran down her sweet face like the dew of morning down a
lily's heart. "What right have I? O Harmachis! art thou blind? Didst
thou not know by what right I speak thus to thee? Then I must tell
thee. Well, it is the fashion in Alexandria! By that first and holy
right of woman--by the right of the great love I bear thee, and which,
it seems, thou hast no eyes to see--by the right of my glory and my
shame. Oh, be not wroth with me, Harmachis, nor set me down as light,
because the truth at last has burst from me; for I am not so. I am
what thou wilt make me. I am the wax within the moulder's hands, and
as thou dost fashion me so I shall be. There breathes within me now a
breath of glory, blowing across the waters of my soul, that can waft
me to ends more noble than ever I have dreamed afore, if thou wilt be
my pilot and my guide. But if I lose thee, then I lose all that holds
me from my worse self--and let shipwreck come! Thou knowest me not,
Harmachis! thou canst not see how big a spirit struggles in this frail
form of mine! To thee I am a girl, clever, wayward, shallow. But I am
more! Show me thy loftiest thought and I will match it, the deepest
puzzle of thy mind and I will make it clear. Of one blood we are, and
love can ravel up our little difference and make us grow one indeed.
One end we have, one land we love, one vow binds us both. Take me to
thy heart, Harmachis, set me by thee on the Double Throne, and I swear
that I will lift thee higher than ever man has climbed. Reject me, and
beware lest I pull thee down! And now, putting aside the cold delicacy
of custom, stung to it by what I saw of the arts of that lovely living
falsehood, Cleopatra, which for pastime she practises on thy folly, I
have spoken out my heart, and answer thou!" And she clasped her hands
and, drawing one pace nearer, gazed, all white and trembling, on my
face.
For a moment I stood struck dumb, for the magic of her voice and the
power of her speech, despite myself, stirred me like the rush of
music. Had I loved the woman, doubtless she might have fired me with
her flame; but I loved her not, and I could not play at passion. And
so thought came, and with thought that laughing mood, which is ever
apt to fashion upon nerves strained to the point of breaking. In a
flash, as it were, I bethought me of the way in which she had that
very night forced the wreath of roses on my head, I thought of the
kerchief and how I had flung it forth. I thought of Charmion in the
little chamber watching what she held to be the arts of Cleopatra, and
of her bitter speeches. Lastly, I thought of what my uncle Sepa would
say of her could he see her now, and of the strange and tangled skein
in which I was inmeshed. And I laughed aloud--the fool's laughter that
was my knell of ruin!
She turned whiter yet--white as the dead--and a look grew upon her
face that checked my foolish mirth. "Thou findest, then, Harmachis,"
she said in a low, choked voice, and dropping the level of her eyes,
"thou findest cause of merriment in what I have said?"
"Nay," I answered; "nay, Charmion; forgive me if I laughed. It was
rather a laugh of despair; for what am I to say to thee? Thou hast
spoken high words of all thou mightest be: is it left for me to tell
thee what thou art?"
She shrank, and I paused.
"Speak," she said.
"Thou knowest--none so well!--who I am and what my mission is: thou
knowest--none so well!--that I am sworn to Isis, and may, by law
Divine, have naught to do with thee."
"Ay," she broke in, in her low voice, and with her eyes still fixed
upon the ground--"ay, and I know that thy vows are broken in spirit,
if not in form--broken like wreaths of cloud; for, Harmachis--/thou
lovest Cleopatra!/"
"It is a lie!" I cried. "Thou wanton girl, who wouldst seduce me from
my duty and put me to an open shame!--who, led by passion or ambition,
or the love of evil, hast not shamed to break the barriers of thy sex
and speak as thou hast spoken--beware lest thou go too far! And if
thou wilt have an answer, here it is, put straightly, as thy question.
Charmion, outside the matter of my duty and my vows, thou art /naught/
to me!--nor for all thy tender glances will my heart beat one pulse
more fast! Hardly art thou now my friend--for, of a truth, I scarce
can trust thee. But, once more: beware! To me thou mayest do thy
worst; but if thou dost dare to lift a finger against our cause, that
day thou diest! And now, is this play done?"
And as, wild with anger, I spoke thus, she shrank back, and yet
further back, till at length she rested against the wall, her eyes
covered with her hand. But when I ceased she dropped her hand,
glancing up, and her face was as the face of a statue, in which the
great eyes glowed like embers, and round them was a ring of purple
shadow.
"Not altogether done," she answered gently; "the arena must yet be
sanded!" This she said having reference to the covering up of the
bloodstains at the gladiatorial shows with fine sand. "Well," she went
on, "waste not thine anger on a thing so vile. I have thrown my throw
and I have lost. /Væ victis!/--ah! /Væ victis!/ Wilt thou not lend me
the dagger in thy robe, that here and now I may end my shame? No? Then
one word more, most royal Harmachis: if thou canst, forget my folly;
but, at the least, have no fear from me. I am now, as ever, thy
servant and the servant of our cause. Farewell!"
And she went, leaning her hand against the wall. But I, passing to my
chamber, flung myself upon my couch, and groaned in bitterness of
spirit. Alas! we shape our plans, and by slow degrees build up our
house of Hope, never counting on the guests that time shall bring to
lodge therein. For who can guard against--the Unforeseen?
At length I slept, and my dreams were evil. When I woke the light of
the day which should see the red fulfilment of the plot was streaming
through the casement, and the birds sang merrily among the garden
palms. I woke, and as I woke the sense of trouble pressed in upon me,
for I remembered that before this day was gathered to the past I must
dip my hands in blood--yes, in the blood of Cleopatra, who trusted me!
Why could I not hate her as I should? There had been a time when I
looked on to this act of vengeance with somewhat of a righteous glow
of zeal. And now--and now--why, I would frankly give my royal
birthright to be free from its necessity! But, alas! I knew that there
was no escape. I must drain this cup or be for ever cast away. I felt
the eyes of Egypt watching me, and the eyes of Egypt's Gods. I prayed
to my Mother Isis to give me strength to do this deed, and prayed as I
had never prayed before; and oh, wonder! no answer came. Nay, how was
this? What, then, had loosed the link between us that, for the first
time, the Goddess deigned no reply to her son and chosen servant?
Could it be that I had sinned in heart against her? What had Charmion
said--that I loved Cleopatra? Was this sickness love? Nay! a thousand
times nay!--it was but the revolt of Nature against an act of
treachery and blood. The Goddess did but try my strength, or perchance
she also turned her holy countenance from murder?
I rose filled with terror and despair, and went about my task like a
man without a soul. I conned the fatal lists and noted all the plans--
ay, in my brain I gathered up the very words of that proclamation of
my Royalty which, on the morrow, I should issue to the startled world.
"Citizens of Alexandria and dwellers in the land of Egypt," it began,
"Cleopatra the Macedonian hath, by the command of the Gods, suffered
justice for her crimes----"
All these and other things I did, but I did them as a man without a
soul--as a man moved by a force from without and not from within. And
so the minutes wore away. In the third hour of the afternoon I went as
by appointment fixed to the house where my uncle Sepa lodged, that
same house to which I had been brought some three months gone when I
entered Alexandria for the first time. And here I found the leaders of
the revolt in the city assembled in secret conclave to the number of
seven. When I had entered, and the doors were barred, they prostrated
themselves, and cried, "Hail, Pharaoh!" but I bade them rise, saying
that I was not yet Pharaoh, for the chicken was still in the egg.
"Yea, Prince," said my uncle, "but his beak shows through. Not in vain
hath Egypt brooded all these years, if thou fail not with that dagger-
stroke of thine to-night; and how canst thou fail? Nothing can now
stop our course to victory!"
"It is on the knees of the Gods," I answered.
"Nay," he said, "the Gods have placed the issue in the hands of a
mortal--in thy hands, Harmachis!--and there it is safe. See: here are
the last lists. Thirty-one thousand men who bear arms are sworn to
rise when the tidings come to them. Within five days every citadel in
Egypt will be in our hands, and then what have we to fear? From Rome
but little, for her hands are full; and, besides, we will make
alliance with the Triumvirate, and, if need be, buy them off. For of
money there is plenty in the land, and if more be wanted thou,
Harmachis, knowest where it is stored against the need of Khem, and
outside the Roman's reach of arm. Who is there to harm us? There is
none. Perchance, in this turbulent city, there may be struggle, and a
counter-plot to bring Arsinoë to Egypt and set her on the throne.
Therefore Alexandria must be severely dealt with--ay, even to
destruction, if need be. As for Arsinoë, those go forth to-morrow on
the news of the Queen's death who shall slay her secretly."
"There remains the lad Cæsarion," I said. "Rome might claim through
Cæsar's son, and the child of Cleopatra inherits Cleopatra's rights.
Here is a double danger."
"Fear not," said my uncle; "to-morrow Cæsarion joins those who begat
him in Amenti. I have made provision. The Ptolemies must be stamped
out, so that no shoot shall ever spring from that root blasted by
Heaven's vengeance."
"Is there no other means?" I asked sadly. "My heart is sick at the
promise of this red rain of blood. I know the child well; he has
Cleopatra's fire and beauty and great Cæsar's wit. It were shame to
murder him."
"Nay, be not so chicken-hearted, Harmachis," said my uncle, sternly.
"What ails thee, then? If the lad is thus, the more reason that he
should die. Wouldst thou nurse up a young lion to tear thee from the
throne?"
"Be it so," I answered, sighing. "At least he is spared much, and will
go hence innocent of evil. Now for the plans."
We sat long taking counsel, till at length, in face of the great
emergency and our high emprise, I felt something of the spirit of
former days flow back into my heart. At the last all was ordered, and
so ordered that it could scarce miscarry, for it was fixed that if by
any chance I could not come to slay Cleopatra on this night, then the
plot should hang in the scale till the morrow, when the deed must be
done upon occasion. For the death of Cleopatra was the signal. These
matters being finished, once more we stood and, our hands upon the
sacred symbol, swore the oath that may not be written. And then my
uncle kissed me with tears of hope and joy standing in his keen black
eyes. He blessed me, saying that he would gladly give his life, ay,
and a hundred lives, if they were his, if he might but live to see
Egypt once more a nation, and me, Harmachis, the descendant of its
royal and ancient blood, seated on the throne. For he was a patriot
indeed, asking nothing for himself, and giving all things to his
cause. And I kissed him in turn, and thus we parted. Nor did I ever
see him more in the flesh who has earned the rest that as yet is
denied to me.
So I went, and, there being yet time, walked swiftly from place to
place in the great city, taking note of the positions of the gates and
of the places where our forces must be gathered. At length I came to
that quay where I had landed, and saw a vessel sailing for the open
sea. I looked, and in my heaviness of heart longed that I were aboard
of her, to be borne by her white wings to some far shore where I might
live obscure and die forgotten. Also I saw another vessel that had
dropped down the Nile, from whose deck the passengers were streaming.
For a moment I stood watching them, idly wondering if they were from
Abouthis, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice beside me.
"/La! la!/" said the voice. "Why, what a city is this for an old woman
to seek her fortune in! And how shall I find those to whom I am known?
As well look for the rush in the papyrus-roll.[*] Begone! thou knave!
and let my basket of simples lie; or, by the Gods, I'll doctor thee
with them!"
[*] Papyrus was manufactured from the pith of rushes. Hence Atoua's
saying.--Editor.
I turned, wondering, and found myself face to face with my foster-
nurse, Atoua. She knew me instantly, for I saw her start, but in the
presence of the people she checked her surprise.
"Good Sir," she whined, lifting her withered countenance towards me,
and at the same time making the secret sign. "By thy dress thou
shouldst be an astronomer, and I was specially told to avoid
astronomers as a pack of lying tricksters who worship their own star
only; and, therefore, I speak to thee, acting on the principle of
contraries, which is law to us women. For surely in this Alexandria,
where all things are upside down, the astronomers may be the honest
men, since the rest are clearly knaves." And then, being by now out of
earshot of the press, "royal Harmachis, I am come charged with a
message to thee from thy father Amenemhat."
"Is he well?" I asked.
"Yes, he is well, though waiting for the moment tries him sorely."
"And his message?"
"It is this. He sends greeting to thee and with it warning that a
great danger threatens thee, though he cannot read it. These are his
words: 'Be steadfast and prosper.'"
I bowed my head and the words struck a new chill of fear into my soul.
"When is the time?" she asked.
"This very night. Where goest thou?"
"To the house of the honourable Sepa, Priest of Annu. Canst thou guide
me thither?"
"Nay, I may not stay; nor is it wise that I should be seen with thee.
Hold!" and I called a porter who was idling on the quay, and, giving
him a piece of money, bade him guide the old wife to the house.
"Farewell," she whispered; "farewell till to-morrow. Be steadfast and
prosper."
Then I turned and went my way through the crowded streets, where the
people made place for me, the astronomer of Cleopatra, for my fame had
spread abroad.
And even as I went my footsteps seemed to beat /Be steadfast, Be
steadfast, Be steadfast/, till at last it was as though the very
ground cried out its warning to me.
