Little thought Hypatia that the moment the old woman had found herself alone, she had dashed herself down on the turf, rolling and biting at the leaves like an infuriated wild beast. .... 'I will have it yet! I will have it, if I tear out her heart with it!'

CHAPTER XVI.

: VENUS AND PALLAS.

As Hypatia was pa.s.sing across to her lecture-room that afternoon, she was stopped midway by a procession of some twenty Goths and damsels, headed by Pelagia herself, in all her glory of jewels, shawls, and snow-white mule; while by her side rode the Amal, his long legs, like those of Gang-Rolf the Norseman, all but touching the ground, as he crushed down with his weight a delicate little barb, the best subst.i.tute to be found in Alexandria for the huge black chargers of his native land.

On they came, followed by a wondering and admiring mob, straight to the door of the Museum, and stopping began to dismount, while their slaves took charge of the mules and horses.

There was no escape for Hypatia; pride forbade her to follow her own maidenly instinct, and to recoil among the crowd behind her; and in another moment the Amal had lifted Pelagia from her mule, and the rival beauties of Alexandria stood, for the first time in their lives, face to face.

'May Athene befriend you this day, Hypatia!' said Pelagia with her sweetest smile. 'I have brought my guards to hear somewhat of your wisdom this afternoon. I am anxious to know whether you can teach Ahem anything more worth listening to than the foolish little songs which Aphrodite taught me, when she raised me from the sea-foam, as she rose herself, and named me Pelagia.'

Hypatia drew herself up to her stateliest height, and returned no answer.

'I think my bodyguard will well hear comparison with yours. At least they are the princes and descendants of deities. So it is but fitting that they should enter before your provincials. Will you show them the way?'

No answer.

'Then I must do it myself. Come, Amal!' and she swept up the steps, followed by the Goths, who put the Alexandrians aside right and left, as if they had been children.

'Ah! treacherous wanton that you are!' cried a young man's voice out of the murmuring crowd. 'After having plundered us of every coin out of which you could dupe us, here you are squandering our patrimonies on barbarians!'

'Give us back our presents, Pelagia,' cried another, 'and you are welcome to your herd of wild bulls!'

'And I will!' cried she, stopping suddenly; and clutching at her chains and bracelets, she was on the point of dashing them among the astonished crowd-- 'There! take your gifts! Pelagia and her girls scorn to be debtors to boys, while they are worshipped by men like these!'

But the Amal, who, luckily for the students, had not understood a word of this conversation, seized her arm, asking if she were mad.

'No, no!' panted she, inarticulate with pa.s.sion. 'Give me gold-- every coin you have. These wretches are twitting me with what they gave me before--before--oh Amal, you understand me?' And she clung imploringly to his arm.

'Oh! Heroes! each of you throw his purse among these fellows! they say that we and our ladies are living on their spoils!' And be tossed his purse among the crowd.

In an instant every Goth had followed his example: more than one following it up by dashing a bracelet or necklace into the face of some hapless philosophaster.

'I have no lady, my young friends,' said old Wulf, in good enough Greek, 'and owe you nothing: so I shall keep my money, as you might have kept yours; and as you might, too, old Smid, if you had been as wise as I.'

'Don't be stingy, prince, for the honour of the Goths,' said Smid, laughing.

'If I take in gold I pay in iron,' answered Wulf, drawing half out of its sheath the huge broad blade, at the ominous brown stains of which the studentry recoiled; and the whole party swept into the empty lecture-room, and seated themselves at their ease in the front ranks.

Poor Hypatia! At first she determined not to lecture--then to send for Orestes--then to call on her students to defend the sanct.i.ty of the Museum; but pride, as well as prudence, advised her better; to retreat would be to confess herself conquered--to disgrace philosophy--to lose her hold on the minds of all waverers. No! she would go on and brave everything, insults, even violence; and with trembling limbs and a pale cheek, she mounted the tribune and began.

To her surprise and delight, however, her barbarian auditors were perfectly well behaved. Pelagia, in childish good-humour at her triumph, and perhaps, too, determined to show her contempt for her adversary by giving her every chance, enforced silence and attention, and checked the t.i.ttering of the girls, for a full half- hour. But at the end of that time the heavy breathing of the slumbering Amal, who had been twice awoke by her, resounded unchecked through the lecture-room, and deepened into a snore; for Pelagia herself was as fast asleep as he. But now another censor took upon himself the office of keeping order. Old Wulf, from the moment Hypatia had begun, had never taken his eyes off her face; and again and again the maiden's weak heart had been cheered, as she saw the smile of st.u.r.dy intelligence and honest satisfaction which twinkled over that scarred and bristly visage; while every now and then the graybeard wagged approval, until she found herself, long before the end of the oration, addressing herself straight to her new admirer.

At last it was over, and the students behind, who had sat meekly through it all, without the slightest wish to 'upset' the intruders, who had so thoroughly upset them, rose hurriedly, glad enough to get safe out of so dangerous a neighbourhood. But to their astonishment, as well as to that of Hypatia, old Wulf rose also, and stumbling along to the foot of the tribune, pulled out his purse, and laid it at Hypatia's feet.

'What is this?' asked she, half terrified at the approach of a figure more rugged and barbaric than she had ever beheld before.

'My fee for what I have heard to-day. You are a right n.o.ble maiden, and may Freya send you a husband worthy of you, and make you the mother of kings!'

And Wulf retired with his party.

Open homage to her rival, before her very face! Pelagia felt quite inclined to hate old Wulf.

But at least he was the only traitor. The rest of the Goths agreed unanimously that Hypatia was a very foolish person, who was wasting her youth and beauty in talking to donkey-riders; and Pelagia remounted her mule, and the Goths their horses, for a triumphal procession homeward.

And yet her heart was sad, even in her triumph. Right and wrong were ideas as unknown to her as they were to hundreds of thousands in her day. As far as her own consciousness was concerned, she was as dest.i.tute of a soul as the mule on which she rode. Gifted by nature with boundless frolic and good-humour, wit and cunning, her Greek taste for the physically beautiful and graceful developed by long training, until she had become, without a rival, the most perfect pantomime, dancer, and musician who catered for the luxurious tastes of the Alexandrian theatres, she had lived since her childhood only for enjoyment and vanity, and wished for nothing more. But her new affection, or rather worship, for the huge manhood of her Gothic lover had awoke in her a new object--to keep him--to live for him--to follow him to the ends of the earth, even if he tired of her, ill-used her, despised her. And slowly, day by day, Wulf's sneers bad awakened in her a dread that perhaps the Amal might despise her .... Why, she could not guess: but what sort of women were those Alrunas of whom Wulf sang, of whom even the Amal and his men spoke with reverence, as something n.o.bler, not only than her, but even than themselves? And what was it which Wulf had recognised in Hypatia which had bowed the stern and coa.r.s.e old warrior before her in that public homage? .... it was not difficult to say what .... But why should that make Hypatia or any one else attractive?. And the poor little child of nature gazed in deep bewilderment at a crowd of new questions, as a b.u.t.terfly might at the pages of the book on which it has settled, and was sad and discontented--not with herself, for was she not Pelagia the perfect?--but with these strange fancies which came into other people's heads.--Why should not every one be as happy as they could? And who knew better than she how to be happy, and to make others happy? ....

'Look at that old monk standing on the pavement, Amalric! Why does he stare so at me? Tell him to go away.'

The person at whom she pointed, a delicate-featured old man, with a venerable white beard, seemed to hear her; for he turned with a sudden start, and then, to Pelagia's astonishment, put his hands before his face, and burst convulsively into tears.

'What does he mean by behaving in that way? Bring him here to me this moment! I will know!' cried she, petulantly catching at the new object, in order to escape from her own thoughts.

In a moment a Goth had led up the weeper, who came without demur to the side of Pelagia's mule.

'Why were you so rude as to burst out crying in my face?' asked she petulantly.

The old man looked up sadly and tenderly, and answered in a low voice, meant only for her ear-- 'And how can I help weeping, when I see anything as beautiful as you are destined to the flames of h.e.l.l for ever?'

'The flames of h.e.l.l?' said Pelagia, with a shudder. 'What for?'

'Do you not know?' asked the old man, with a look of sad surprise. 'Have you forgotten what you are?'

'I? I never hurt a fly!'

'Why do you look so terrified, my darling? What have you been saying to her, you old villain?' and the Amal raised his whip.

'Oh! do not strike him. Come, come to-morrow, and tell me what you mean.'

'No, we will have no monks within our doors, frightening silly women. Off, sirrah! and thank the lady that you have escaped with a whole skin.' And the Amal caught the bridle of Pelagia's mule, and pushed forward, leaving the old man gazing sadly after them.

But the beautiful sinner was evidently not the object which had brought the old monk of the desert into a neighbourhood so strange and ungenial to his habits; for, recovering himself in a few moments, he hurried on to the door of the Museum, and there planted himself, scanning earnestly the faces of the pa.s.sers-out, and meeting, of course, with his due share of student ribaldry.

'Well, old cat, and what mouse are you on the watch for, at the hole's mouth here?'

'Just come inside, and see whether the mice will not singe your whiskers for you....'

'Here is my mouse, gentlemen,' answered the old monk, with a bow and a smile, as he laid his hand on Philammon's arm, and presented to his astonished eyes the delicate features and high retreating forehead of a.r.s.enius.

'My father,' cried the boy, in the first impulse of affectionate recognition; and then--he had expected some such meeting all along, but now that it was come at last, he turned pale as death. The students saw his emotion.

'Hands off, old Heautontimoroumenos! He belongs to our guild now! Monks have no more business with sons than with wives. Shall we hustle him for you, Philammon?'

'Take care how you show off, gentlemen: the Goths are not yet out of hearing!' answered Philammon, who was learning fast how to give a smart answer; and then, fearing the temper of the young dandies, and shrinking from the notion of any insult to one so reverend and so beloved as a.r.s.enius, he drew the old man gently away, and walked up the street with him in silence, dreading what was coming.

'And are these your friends?'

'Heaven forbid! I have nothing in common with such animals but flesh and blood, and a seat in the lecture-room!'

'Of the heathen woman?'

Philammon, after the fashion of young men in fear, rushed desperately into the subject himself, just because he dreaded a.r.s.enius's entering on it quietly.

'Yes, of the heathen woman. Of course you have seen Cyril before you came hither?'

'I have, and--'

'And,' went on Philammon, interrupting him, 'you have been told every lie which prurience, stupidity, and revenge can invent. That I have trampled on the cross--sacrificed to all the deities in the pantheon-and probably'--(and he blushed scarlet)--'that that purest and holiest of beings--who, if she were not what people call a pagan, would be, and deserves to be, worshipped as the queen of saints--that she--and I--' and he stopped.

'Have I said that I believed what I may have heard?'

'No--and therefore, as they are all simple and sheer falsehoods, there is no more to be said on the subject. Not that I shall not be delighted to answer any questions of yours, my dearest father--'

'Have I asked any, my child?'

'No. So we may as well change the subject for the present,'--and he began overwhelming the old man with inquiries about himself, Pambo, and each and all of the inhabitants of the Laura to which a.r.s.enius, to the boy's infinite relief, answered cordially and minutely, and even vouchsafed a smile at some jest of Philammon's on the contrast between the monks of Nitria and those of Scetis.

a.r.s.enius was too wise not to see well enough what all this flippancy meant; and too wise, also, not to know that Philammon's version was probably quite as near the truth as Peter's and Cyril's; but for reasons of his own, merely replied by an affectionate look, and a compliment to Philammon's growth.

And yet you seem thin and pale, my boy.'

'Study,' said Philammon, 'study. One cannot burn the midnight oil without paying some penalty for it .... However, I am richly repaid already; I shall be more so hereafter.'

'Let us hope so. But who are those Goths whom I pa.s.sed in the streets just now?'

'Ah! my father,' said Philammon, glad in his heart of any excuse to turn the conversation, and yet half uneasy and suspicious at a.r.s.enius's evident determination to avoid the very object of his visit. 'It must have been you, then, whom I saw stop and speak to Pelagia at the farther end of the street. What words could you possibly have had wherewith to honour such a creature?'

'G.o.d knows. Some secret sympathy touched my heart .... Alas! poor child! But how came you to know her?'

'All Alexandria knows the shameless abomination,' interrupted a voice at their elbow--none other than that of the little porter, who had been dodging and watching the pair the whole way, and could no longer restrain his longing to meddle. 'And well it had been for many a rich young man had odd Miriam never brought her over, in an evil day, from Athens. .h.i.ther.'

'Miriam?'

'Yes, monk; a name not unknown, I am told, in palaces as well as in slave-markets.'

'An evil-eyed old Jewess?'

'A Jewess she is, as her name might have informed you; and as for her eyes, I consider them, or used to do so, of course--for her injured nation have been long expelled from Alexandria by your fanatic tribe--as altogether divine and demoniac, let the base imagination of monks call them what it likes.'

'But how did you know this Pelagia, my son? She is no fit company for such as you.'

Philammon told, honestly enough, the story of his Nile journey, and Pelagia's invitation to him.

'You did not surely accept it?'

'Heaven forbid that Hypatia's scholar should so degrade himself!'

a.r.s.enius shook his head sadly.

'You would not have had me go?'

'No, boy. But how long hast thou learned to call thyself Hypatia's scholar, or to call it a degradation to visit the most sinful, if thou mightest thereby bring back a lost lamb to the Good Shepherd? Nevertheless, thou art too young for such employment--and she meant to tempt thee doubtless.'

'I do not think it. She seemed struck by my talking Athenian Greek, and having come from Athens.'

'And how long since she came from Athens?' said a.r.s.enius, after a pause. 'Who knows?'

'Just after it was sacked by the barbarians,' said the little porter, who, beginning to suspect a mystery, was peaking and peering like an excited parrot. 'The old dame brought her hither among a cargo of captive boys and girls.'

'The time agrees .... Can this Miriam be found?'

'A sapient and courteous question for a monk to ask! Do you not know that Cyril has expelled all Jews four months ago?'

'True, true .... Alas!' said the old man to himself, 'how little the rulers of this world guess their own power! They move a finger carelessly, and forget that that finger may crush to death hundreds whose names they never heard--and every soul of them as precious in G.o.d's sight as Cyril's own.'

'What is the matter, my father?' asked Philammon. 'You seem deeply moved about this woman....'

'And she is Miriam's slave?'

'Her freedwoman this four years past,' said the porter. 'The good lady--for reasons doubtless excellent in themselves, though not altogether patent to the philosophic mind--thought good to turn her loose on the Alexandrian republic, to seek what she might devour.'

'G.o.d help her! And you are certain that Miriam is not in Alexandria?'

The little porter turned very red, and Philammon did so likewise; but he remembered his promise, and kept it.

'You both know something of her, I can see. You cannot deceive an old statesman, sir!'--turning to the little porter with a look of authority--'poor monk though he be now. If you think fitting to tell me what you know, I promise you that neither she nor you shall be losers by your confidence in me. If not, I shall find means to discover.'

Both stood silent.

'Philammon, my son! and art thou too in league against--no, not against me; against thyself, poor misguided boy?'

'Against myself?'

'Yes--I have said it. But unless you will trust me, I cannot trust you.'

'I have promised.'

'And I, sir statesman, or monk, or both, or neither, have sworn by the immortal G.o.ds!' said the porter, looking very big.