The soldiers withdrew, having accomplished the safety of one only. A deep silence for a moment reigned. Neither spoke. Both hearts were too full for speech. Chios took the hands of Saronia and clasped them within his own, and with silent joy gazed into her face.
She broke the silence with an agonizing cry. Going towards the lifeless form, she uncovered the cold, dead face, and, stooping, kissed the snowy brow, sobbing:
"Oh, Endora, Endora, thou hast proved thy love! Thou hast proved thy love to me!"
"Endora!" exclaimed Chios. "Is it Endora?"
"Yes, it is Endora. She received the death intended for me. Look well at her, Chios. Gaze on her peaceful face. Gaze on her face. Dost thou recognise who she was? It is meet thou shouldst know, for she loved thee dearly."
Chios was like a man stupefied with wine.
"What dost thou mean, Saronia? I know her not, save as the mountain sorceress."
"True, Chios. That is the answer I might have expected. But one day, not so very long ago, I visited the Ephesian sh.o.r.e, and on a rocky eminence where an altar stands---- Thou knowest the place where the seas dash up?"
"Yes, I know, Saronia."
"Well, there I met Endora--quite by chance--and spoke to her, and found from her that she at one time lived at Delos."
"Delos?"
"Yes, Chios, Delos. And thou hast heard of Myrtile the priestess?"
"Yes, that I have. I heard fully of her when last I visited the isle. A sad story."
"Yes, "twas sad, and strange to know that Endora was no other than Myrtile."
"But, Saronia, she died."
"No, no! She lived on unknown, and this lifeless form is she."
"Poor Myrtile!" said Chios. "I wonder what became of her child. A boy it was."
"I wonder," said Saronia. "Didst thou ever know thy mother, Chios? I have never heard thee speak of her."
"Oh, Saronia, Myrtile--Endora--asked me the same. Is there meaning in all this? What may it portend?"
"It means, Chios, that she is thy mother."
"Mine? Mine? My mother?"
"Yes, thine, Chios."
He went out amongst the myrtle-trees; he breathed the calm, cool air.
Along the Temple Way he saw the lights of torches burning brightly. The people had thinned away, and exhaustion like a funeral pall hung over those remaining. Many slept in the streets, some overcome with rage, others with wine, whilst from distant quarters now and again rose the stifled cry of angry men and frantic women.
Chios paced up and down, lost in reverie. He heard not the call of the Roman guard or the groaning of the city. He was absorbed, thinking of his dead mother and of the safety of Saronia. What could he best do for her? Should he go to Lucius and ask his help? He knew that quickly the Roman fleet would put to sea with the stolen treasures of the Temple, and Saronia would be sought for and slain. To stay in Ephesus was certain death for her. In Rome perhaps worse awaited her. Should he hire a trading ship and escape? He was a freed man, and could leave the city unquestioned in time of war or siege. No, that would not do. He could go himself, but could not take another. Besides, the mariners of the craft, if such proved available, would know her, and refuse to aid the fallen rebel priestess. Well he knew those sailors, fit for strife or storm, had the warmest corners of their hearts filled with admiration for their faith and their G.o.ddess. He saw no alternative. Go to Lucius he must.
The day was dawning; the first light was uplifting. He went noiselessly within his apartment and gazed upon her face. She slept.
Carefully retreating, as if an empire depended on his footfall, he left the room, secured the door, hastened down the streets. As yet the people were not astir. Until he reached well into the city near the Odeum, he had little opposition, but there the troops questioned him. He had special business with Lucius, the commander of the Roman fleet, and must see him.
"Thou canst not," replied the guard. "He sleeps on board the warship, and will not come on sh.o.r.e until the sun is high."
"I tell thee," said Chios, "I must see Lucius immediately."
"And I tell thee it is impossible."
"Nothing is impossible to a soldier! Nothing shall be impossible to me!
Let me pa.s.s to the wharves, or I will see the Tribune. Is he here?"
Chios claimed from the Tribune a right, as a free citizen, to pa.s.s to the port, which was granted.
He sent by boat a message to Lucius that he would speak with him, and a reply came back requesting the Greek to come at once.
They met; their hearts went out to each other. Were they not old and dear friends?
"What brings thee here, Chios? Art thou persecuted by this unseemly tumult?"
"No, Lucius. Not so. I came to plead for a helpless woman."
"Who is she?"
"Saronia. Once thy slave--thy----"
"I cannot help thee."
The face of the sailor grew clouded, dark, and a fire rose up and glittered through his eyes.
"No, no, no! I cannot help! This girl, like an evil star, has rested over my home--that home, once filled with joy, now desolate, the loved ones gone away. Would that I had never heard the name of this mysterious being, Saronia! She has engendered strife, murdered the High Priest, and cut adrift from her faith. Let her answer for her crimes as my child did."
"No, no!" exclaimed Chios. "She did no murder. Oh, Lucius, my friend, listen! This slave girl was ever good to thee--good as thou wert kind.
Hast thou not looked into her eyes, and, meeting thine, spoke they not sincere love for thee? Is this not so? True, she left thine home, but of this we will not now speak--she was born to rule, and could not serve as a slave. She chose not her destiny--it was written for her; she did not make it. I say again, she did not make it any more than she chose her dignity of birth! Born from a long line of warriors on the one side and a princess priestess on the other, how could she serve?"
"Thou art rambling, Chios! The excitement of yesterday makes inroads on thy mind."
"Nay, n.o.ble Lucius. Chios is not mad, but soon will be. Help, Lucius!
Help for Saronia!"
The Roman remained stolid, silent.
"Let me go on--let me speak," said Chios. "As I have said, of such n.o.ble descent, her soul awakened, arose, towered above all others. She, the slave, became the priestess of yonder mighty Temple, which Nero of Rome has sent the vile Acratus to plunder. Fortunately, before this robbery took place, Saronia had stepped from the old faith into the new. Had she not, her blood would have crimsoned the great altar of Diana--she would have laid down her life for her G.o.ddess! Now this precious life is in the hands of Lucius. Wilt thou loose the silver thread and let her go?
"Were her father here--a warrior like unto thyself, armed, full of power, with hosts of warships under his command, the strongest sanctuary under heaven--say, Lucius, would he not clasp her in his arms, and, covering her with kisses, bear her away? What would you say of him if he, knowing she were his child, refused to save--sailed away with all his hosts, leaving her for brutal sport and a hideous death?"
"He would be worthy of death," said the Roman.