Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face by Charles Kingsley (e book reader TXT) 📗

her finding herself the next morning palpably a prisoner in her own house. Her girls told her that they had orders—they would not say from whom—to prevent her leaving her own apartments. And though some of them made the announcement with sighs and tears of condolence, yet more than one, she could see, was well inclined to make her feel that her power was over, and that there were others besides herself who might aspire to the honour of reigning favourite.

What matter to her? Whispers, sneers, and saucy answers fell on her ear unheeded. She had one idol, and she had lost it; one power, and it had failed her. In the heaven above, and in the earth beneath, was neither peace, nor help, nor hope; nothing but black, blank, stupid terror and despair. The little weak infant soul, which had just awakened in her, had been crushed and stunned in its very birth-hour; and instinctively she crept away to the roof of the tower where her apartments were, to sit and weep alone.

There she sat, hour after hour, beneath the shade of the large windsail, which served in all Alexandrian houses the double purpose of a shelter from the sun and a ventilator for the rooms below; and her eye roved carelessly over that endless sea of roofs and towers, and masts, and glittering canals, and gliding boats; but she saw none of them—nothing but one beloved face, lost, lost for ever.

At last a low whistle roused her from her dream. She looked up. Across the narrow lane, from one of the embrasures of the opposite house-parapet bright eyes were peering at her. She moved angrily to escape them.

The whistle was repeated, and a head rose cautiously above the parapet.... It was Miriam’s. Casting a careful look around, Pelagia went forward. What could the old woman want with her?

Miriam made interrogative signs, which Pelagia understood as asking her whether she was alone; and the moment that an answer in the negative was returned, Miriam rose, tossed over to her feet a letter weighted with a pebble, and then vanished again.

‘I have watched here all day! They refused me admittance below. Beware of Wulf, of every one. Do not stir from your chamber. There is a plot to carry you off to-night, and give you up to your brother the monk; you are betrayed; be brave!’

Pelagia read it with blanching cheek and staring eyes; and took, at least, the last part of Miriam’s advice. For walking down the stair, she passed proudly through her own rooms, and commanding back the girls who would have stayed her, with a voice and gesture at which they quailed, went straight down, the letter in her hand, to the apartment where the Amal usually spent his mid-day hours.

As she approached the door, she heard loud voices within.... His!—yes; but Wulf’s also. Her heart failed her, and she stopped a moment to listen.... She heard Hypatia’s name; and mad with curiosity, crouched down at the lock, and hearkened to every word.

‘She will not accept me, Wulf.’

‘If she will not, she shall go farther and fare worse. Besides, I tell you, she is hard run. It is her last chance, and she will jump at it. The Christians are mad with her; if a storm blows up, her life is not worth—that!’

‘It is a pity that we have not brought her hither already.’

‘It is; but we could not. We must not break with Orestes till the palace is in our hands.’

‘And will it ever be in our hands, friend?’

‘Certain. We were round at every picquet last night, and the very notion of an Amal’s heading them made them so eager, that we had to bribe them to be quiet rather than to rise.’

‘Odin! I wish I were among them now!’

‘Wait till the city rises. If the day pass over without a riot, I know nothing. The treasure is all on board, is it not?’

‘Yes, and the galleys ready. I have been working like a horse at them all the morning, as you would let me do nothing else. And Goderic will not be back from the palace, you say, till nightfall!’

‘If we are attacked first, we are to throw up a fire signal to him, and he is to come off hither with what Goths he can muster. If the palace is attacked first, he is to give us the signal, and we are to pack up and row round thither. And in the meanwhile he is to make that hound of a Greek prefect as drunk as he can.’

‘The Greek will see him under the table. He has drugs, I know, as all these Roman rascals have, to sober him when he likes; and then he sets to work and drinks again. Send off old Smid, and let him beat the armourer if he can.’

‘A very good thought!’ said Wulf, and came out instantly for the purpose of putting it in practice.

Pelagia had just time to retreat into an adjoining doorway: but she had heard enough; and as Wulf passed, she sprang to him and caught him by the arm.

‘Oh, come in hither! Speak to me one moment; for mercy’s sake speak to me!’ and she drew him, half against his will, into the chamber, and throwing herself at his feet, broke out into a childlike wail.

Wulf stood silent, utterly discomfited by this unexpected submission, where he had expected petulant and artful resistance. He almost felt guilty and ashamed, as he looked down into that beautiful imploring face, convulsed with simple sorrow, as of a child for a broken toy..... At last she spoke.

‘Oh, what have I done-what have I done? Why must you take him from me? What have I done but love him, honour him, worship him? I know you love him; and I love you for it.—I do indeed! But you—what is your love to mine? Oh, I would die for him—be torn in pieces for him—now, this moment!....

Wulf was silent.

‘What have I done but love him? What could I wish but to make him happy? I was rich enough, praised, and petted;.... and then he came,.... glorious as he is, like a god among men—among apes rather—and I worshipped him: was I wrong in that? I gave up all for him: was I wrong in that? I gave him myself: what could I do more? He condescended to like me—he the hero! Could I help submitting? I loved him: could I help loving him? Did I wrong him in that? Cruel, cruel Wulf!....’

Wulf was forced to be stern, or he would have melted at once.

‘And what was your love worth to him? What has it done for him? It has made him a sot, an idler, a laughing-stock to these Greek dogs, when he might have been their conqueror, their king. Foolish woman, who cannot see that your love has been his bane, his ruin! He, who ought by now to have been sitting upon the throne of the Ptolemies, the lord of all south of the Mediterranean—as he shall be still!’

Pelagia looked tip at him wide-eyed, as if her mind was taking in slowly some vast new thought, under the