Saronia Part 3

Having pa.s.sed the threshold of the house, she came down the shaded way, along the side of Mount Coressus.

The tall pines murmured softly their evening hymn; the roadside was covered with great bunches of pink and white flowers; cl.u.s.ters of ripe grapes hung from the trellised vines, and the pomegranate-trees were laden with fruit.

A flock of birds of varied hue flew around her, and an eagle, sporting in the air and clapping its wings, swooped down and sailed from right to left, fairest of omens the G.o.ds could give. This she saw, and recognised its import, but the flowers and murmuring pines she heeded not.

Down the lovely way she trod and came to the valley beneath, and joined the crowd pa.s.sing along the city streets.

From the Odeum came the richest music, pealing forth upon the sultry air, and, breaking into softest harmony, melted into the light.

On, further, until the great theatre burst upon her sight, and then for a moment she stood and rested against the sculptured shaft of a mighty pillar and thought of Chios. Suddenly she was confronted with the wise woman who spoke with her not long ago.

'Whither goest thou, pretty slave? Art thou on a mission for thy mistress? or does that star of thine so quickly lead thee to thy fate?

Tell me, girl, whither art thou steering?'

'I cannot tell thee; but I pray thee point the nearest way to the pine and cypress grove nigh to the Temple of Diana.'

'Ah, now I know, and will not betray! Sanctuary! Thou seekest sanctuary, and thou shalt have it if I can aid thee; but no time is to be lost.

Rush on as if thy life hung on a single thread. Turn to the right, pa.s.s the Stadium, wind quickly around the hill Pion, and thou shalt see the Temple bathed in glorious light, and close to it the sacred grove; but I fear the hour has pa.s.sed to gain access, and the planet Saturn rules.

Hide thee among the trees to-night, and when the sun's first rays appear haste thee to thy refuge. That hour is the hour of Jupiter, the next is that of the Sun; thou shalt prevail, and when thou flourisheth, remember me.'

She moved away, and stealing around the hill with its great Acropolis and fortress walls of iron brick, gained the sacred port, at the head of which, standing broadly against the dying day, appeared the mighty Temple--that Temple which she had so often gazed on from Venusta's home.

It was not far away, but she could not reach it in time to claim security that day. If she ran she would be suspected, and her feet seemed weighted with sandals of lead.

She pa.s.sed the smaller temples, saw the great ships with gorgeous sails and swinging pendants pa.s.s up and down the sacred way, and heard the chant of evening song float forth from many a shrine. Still, on she went, footsore and weary, to find, alas! the door of her asylum closed; then, gazing for a moment at the mighty structure within the parabolus walls, she uttered a faint cry and burst into a flood of tears. Nothing could she do but fly to the grove and pa.s.s the night there, and, creeping stealthily away, she moved towards the pines and cypress-trees.

That night there raged a storm. The great clouds in wild ma.s.ses sailed across the sky like leviathans in the blue-tinted darkness of ocean depths. No moon nor star. The mighty winds swayed the trees, and bent the stoutest of them like reeds. Saronia crouched beneath a giant pine, whose summit seemed to pierce the sky. Faint and shivering, she drew her garments closely around her and fell asleep, only to be awakened by the thunderings which seemed to break the universe in twain with echoes like the voices of the G.o.ds in combat. A lightning flash flew down like a haunted fiend and blasted her tree from top to base, but it hurt her not.

And after hours had pa.s.sed, and the furious winds had sailed out over the deep, the rains descended and drenched her flimsy garment. The stormy winds sank down to a melancholy wail, and played their dirge amongst the branches of the cl.u.s.ter-pine, and the dawn came up from the east and struggled between the dark-green foliage.

Saronia arose and staggered through the long wet gra.s.s, heeding not the ma.s.ses of yellow iris or the flaming poppies. When she arrived at the confines of the grove the light had broken through the gray, and soon she saw the sun, and knew it was her hour.

On she went, with her thin brown garments clinging to her lovely form.

For a moment, like a thief, she hung around the entrance gate, and with a wild convulsive moan pa.s.sed within--to sanctuary!

When the priests went by they saw the fallen form, and thought her dead.

They raised her tenderly and led her away.

'Who art thou?' said the chief of the priests.

The girl looked beseechingly at him, and said:

'I am the slave of the Roman Venusta, whose home is on the Mount Coressus. Faithfully have I served her, and would have continued but for her cruelty. Before I saw this city my home was Sidon, in Phoenicia.

There also I was a slave as far back as my memory serves me. Who I am I know not----'

'What is thy name?'

'Saronia; and hither have I fled to throw myself on the mercy of the G.o.ddess, with the hope that I may serve her.'

Then answered he of the Megalobyzi:

'Thou speakest plainly, and we will inquire into the matter;' and, turning to a priestess standing near, he requested her to protect the girl and give her food.

The young priestess was of exquisite beauty, and her face beamed with rarest charity. Her voice was full of sweetness as she said:

'Maiden, lean on my arm, and let me lead thee to thy rest;' and Saronia heard the chanting of the morning hymn, and felt she had reached her goal--the dearest to her heart.

At Venusta's house, just after the morning meal, a slave delivered to her mistress a message. The Roman autocrat broke the ominous seal, and, turning deathly pale, read out the following:

'Great is Diana of the Ephesians, whom all Asia and the inhabited earth worshippeth.

'UNTO THE n.o.bLE LADY VENUSTA,

'Whereas thy slave-girl Saronia is now within the sacred precincts of the Temple of our Lady Saviour, and claims sanctuary, alleging that by your cruel treatment she has fled your abode;

'And this Notice, in accordance with the Law, demands that you appear at our Tribunal, and if by proof you show her allegations false, she shall forthwith be handed back, you releasing her from all punishment for thus submitting her case to this our High and Sacred Court.

'On the other hand, if she be in the right, then she shall be free to consecrate herself unto the service of the Ephesian G.o.ddess, and observe the rites as practised in the Temple of Artemis.'

For a moment Venusta was silent. What was to be done? Her Roman blood ran riot through her veins. Recovering herself, she said to her daughter:

'I will pursue her even to the jaws of death. Shall I thus be taunted by a slave? No; the wife of Lucius will not submit to be taught her duty to a hag such as she! I will reply immediately and use the law to win her back.'

'Leave her,' said Nika. 'See, will it avail thee to have thy name blazoned abroad among the n.o.ble ones of Ephesus? She is not worth much--never was, and would be worthless were she back again. Let her go!'

'No, child, my dignity is hurt. Thou knowest the high position held by us in this city, and to remain silent, I fear, in this case is to admit guilt. This would not do.'

'Mother dear, let me speak again, and plainly. I fear her. Should she return, soon must thou prepare the marble urn to receive the ashes of Nika. What could we do with her? She is far too terrible for us. If she spake never a word, her look would kill me. Thou knowest she cannot now be punished, for after having sought sanctuary the law provides a shelter against torture, and think of the scandal were the case tried, and her name in any way coupled with our beloved friend Chios. No, no; let her go. Were it not an insult to offer thee, I would sell my jewels, all, all I possess--everything--and pay her ransom. Say, dearest mother, say to Nika, say for the torn fragment of peace left me, that my request is granted.'

'I will let her go,' said the Roman. 'I think it best as thou hast said.

Her destiny seems to lie outside our reach. To bring her back is wrong to thee after what thou hast now said. To let her remain may be humiliation. However, one thing we know: whilst within the Temple she cannot trouble us. To free her and let her wander abroad--well, it would be worse than playing with a deadly serpent. Discussion further may only hamper our best policy. She shall circle in her own orbit.' And Venusta framed reply, stating the slave's a.s.sertions quite untrue; but, being desirous of making an offering to the Queen of Heaven, she set her free.

And thus does fate work out our destiny, and prove

'Man's goings are not of his own ways; How then can he direct his paths?'

CHAPTER V

THE TEMPLE OF DIANA