Arethusa

  CHAPTER VIII

  Zoe and the astrologer sat in the covered balcony in full view of thesecretary, who remained near the door, straining his sharp ears invain to catch some words of the whispered conversation. The maids hadbeen dismissed. From time to time Gorlias spoke aloud, pointing withhis compass to different parts of the figure, but what he said onlymade it more impossible to guess at what he whispered. Zoe sat almostmotionless, but she had opened the folds of her veil so as to uncoverher mouth, and after her companion had been speaking some time shebent down and answered in his ear, pretending, however, to point tothe figures on the paper, as if she were asking questions.

  The substance of what Gorlias told her was that he and his friendswere interested in a mighty enterprise, and had often tried to soundCarlo Zeno with regard to helping them to carry it out, but they hadmet with no success, for he either did not understand, or he wouldnot. Messer Sebastian Polo, whose house he frequented, was a timidman, and was not to be trusted with such a secret; moreover, he was soextremely anxious to make Zeno marry his daughter, that he wouldcertainly never allow him to run any risks.

  All this he put very clearly, and Omobono might have been surprisedto learn that he had not used any password. Then Zoe bent down to hisear.

  'What is the name of Sebastian Polo's daughter?' she asked.

  'Giustina,' whispered the astrologer. 'The sun near to mid-heaven,' hecontinued aloud, 'and in trine aspect to Mars, signifies fine horsesand a retinue of servants.' He dropped his voice again. 'She isthirty, and has had the smallpox,' he whispered.

  'The master has only been here once since I came,' said Zoe, bendingto his ear again. 'I have no influence with him.'

  Gorlias turned his face towards her in slow surprise.

  'Had he not seen you before he bought you, Kokona Arethusa?' heenquired.

  'Yes, indeed!'

  'Oh! I thought that you also might have had the smallpox,' was thewhispered answer.

  Zoe could not help laughing a little. The pretty notes, muffled by theveil, seemed to come from far away. It was the first time she hadlaughed naturally since many weeks. The astrologer bent nearer to herwhen she was silent again, and spoke aloud, pointing to his figure.

  'Venus is in the Seventh House in benign aspect to the Moon,' he saidaloud. 'You will be fortunate in love.' Then he whispered again, 'Iwill give you a philtre that has never failed. The next time hecomes----'

  Zoe shook her head decidedly, with something that looked likeindignation.

  'It is for a good matter, Kokona,' Gorlias answered. 'If you willhelp us, you shall have pearls and diamonds, and gold and liberty.'

  'Liberty? How?'

  Gorlias thought that he had tempted her with that, at least.

  'If you will promise your help with Messer Carlo, I will tell you.'

  'How can I promise what is not mine to give?' asked the girl.

  The astrologer was not discouraged, and after more talk about theplanets, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the maids if they werelistening at the door, he went on quickly again.

  'Messer Carlo is a man who loves adventures, who has led desperate andforlorn hope to victory, both in Italy and Greece, who has the gift ofthe leader, if ever a man had it. Surely, you knew all this.'

  'I know he has been a soldier,' Zoe answered, for Zeno had told herso.

  'He also possesses some fortune, and has great connexions in Venice.Moreover, I can tell you, Kokona, that this is no small matter. If hesucceeds, he will earn gratitude of the Serene Republic and honoureverywhere.'

  'As much as that?' asked Zoe, looking attentively at the astrologerthrough her veil. 'How am I to believe you?'

  'I thought I had spoken clearly enough,' Gorlias answered, 'but lestyou should doubt my word and promise, take these.'

  He had furtively slipped his hand into the bosom of his tunic, andwhen he withdrew it his fingers closed over something he held gatheredin his palm. Cleverly turning the sheet of paper on which he had shownhis astrological figures, so as to hinder Omobono from seeing, hedisclosed to Zoe a short string of very large and beautiful pearls.

  'In your nativity,' he rattled on, aloud, 'the beneficent influencesaltogether outweigh the malefic ones.'

  He said much more to the same effect, and while he was speaking he letthe pearls slip down upon the skirts of Zoe's over-garment on the sideaway from the secretary.

  'They are yours,' he whispered. 'You shall have a hundred strings likethem if you succeed.'

  'Give such things to my maids,' Zoe answered, 'not to me! If you arein earnest make a sign, that I may know whence you come.'

  'A sign?' repeated Gorlias, as if not understanding.

  'Yes, where?' Her mouth was close to his ear as she whispered thequestion, and she turned her ear towards him for the answer.

  He hesitated, and for the first time the dull fixedness of hisexpression was momentarily dispelled by a very faint look of surprise.

  'I ask, where?' Zoe repeated, with strong emphasis, bending to himagain.

  'Over the water,' he answered at last.

  'Both salt and fresh,' she replied instantly.

  Gorlias looked at her veiled face long.

  'Who are you?' he asked at length. 'Who taught you these things?' Heglanced suspiciously at Omobono, who, as he had reason to believe, wasacquainted with the secret.

  Zoe shook her head.

  'No,' she answered. 'One greater than he taught me what I know. Youmay go now, for your message is delivered. What I can do, I will do,and there is no more to say, for it is my own cause as well ashis--the cause of justice, and God is with it.'

  Gorlias spoke aloud again, and brought his explanation of thehoroscope to a conclusion by informing Zoe that if she wished to knowthe smaller details of her wonderful future, she must consult him atintervals, as the phases of the moon had a great influence on herfate.

  'When the Kokona wishes to see me,' he said, rising, 'Messer Omobonowill send for me, and I will come.'

  Before Zoe realised that he had not picked up the string of pearls, hehad made his obeisance and was at the door with Omobono, who bowed lowto her, and ushered him out.

  When she was alone she took the necklace from the folds of her dress,where it had lain, and looked at it a moment before she hid it in herbosom. For she would not allow the maids to see it, and was alreadydebating how she should hide it till she could find an opportunity ofgiving it back. But when the cold pearls touched her flesh they sent alittle chill to her heart, and she thought it was somehow like awarning.

  She understood well enough what had happened, for she wasquick-witted. Rustan, who had shown that he knew the secret, and hiswife, who had spoken to him of Gorlias, had told the latter that CarloZeno was in love with a beautiful Greek slave, who could, of course,be easily induced by gifts to use her influence with her master. ForZeno's past deeds had already woven a sort of legend about his name,so that even the soldiers talked of him among themselves, and toldstories of the desperate bravery and amazing skill with which he hadkept a small Turkish army at bay in Greece with a handful of men fornearly a whole year, and many other tales, of which the most fantasticwas less strange than much that afterwards happened to him in hislife.

  It must have seemed easy enough to the astrologer, and even to Omobonoperhaps; but it looked strangely impossible to Zoe herself, when sheremembered her only interview with the man whom she was now pledged towin over.

  The whole situation was known to her. A conspiracy was on foot to takethe Emperor Johannes from his prison and restore him to the throne,imprisoning his son Andronicus in the Amena tower in his stead.Thousands of John's loyal subjects recognised each other by passwords,and talked secretly of a great rising, in which some foresaw vengeancefor the wrongs they had suffered, while others, like the BokharianRustan, hoped for fortune, reward, and perhaps honour. But the body ofthe army was not with them yet, the disaffected men lacked skill orcourage to preach the cause of the lawful Emperor to their comrades,and the revolution
had no guiding spirit. It is far easier to choose ageneral among soldiers than to pick out a leader of revolt amongstuntried and untrained men.

  Before he lost his liberty the Emperor had known Zeno, and though aweak man, had judged him rightly. In his prison he possessed means ofcommunicating occasionally with his friends, and he had instructedthem to ask Zeno's help; but so far his message had either not beendelivered or Zeno had been deaf to the appeal, perhaps judging thatthe time was not come for the attempt, or that, after all, the causewas not a good one. Having failed to move him in all other ways, therevolutionaries had seized the unexpected opportunity that nowpresented itself.

  The thought that such a man might turn the tide of history, restorethe rightful sovereign to the throne, and avenge the awful death ofMichael Rhangabe, had crossed Zoe's mind when she had first seen herpurchaser in Rustan's house, for the born leader and fighting mangenerally has something in his face that is not to be mistaken; but toinfluence Carlo was another matter, as she had understood when he hadsupped with her. It would be as hard to induce him to do anything hewas not inclined to do of his own accord as it would be impossible tohinder him from attempting whatever he chose to try. As for winninghim to the cause by gentler means, the high-born girl blushed at thesuggestion. He was certainly not in love with her at first sight; ofthat she was as sure as that she did not love him either.

  Yet while she was thinking, she suddenly wondered whether Gorlias hadspoken the truth about Giustina Polo. Was she really thirty, and washer face pitted like a cheese-grater, as Gorlias had told her? If shewas ugly, why did Zeno go to Polo's house so often? For Zoe had nodoubt but that he went there every time he was rowed up the GoldenHorn in his pretty skiff. He was always carefully dressed when hestepped into his boat; it was not for old Polo that he wore such fineclothes.

  She was very lonely now. During the first two days she had restedherself in her luxurious surroundings, not without the excitement ofexpecting another visit from Zeno, and she had thought withsatisfaction of all the comfort her sacrifice must have brought to heradopted mother, to the little boys, and to poor old Nectaria. But nowshe wished she could at least be sure that all was well with them,though she was rather sadly conscious that she did not miss them asshe had thought she must. During many months she had nursed KyriaAgatha most tenderly, and had helped the old slave to take care of thechildren; the last weeks had been spent in abject misery, the lastdays in the final struggle with starvation and sickness, and still shehad bravely done her best. Yet she had long felt that Kyria Agatha hadnot much real affection for her, and would let her starve herself todeath to feed her and the boys. It would have been otherwise ifRhangabe had lived; she would have willingly died of hunger for him,but he was gone, and though she had done and borne the impossible, ithad not been for her own blood, but for the sake of the good and braveman's memory. He was in peace, after the agony of his death, his wifeand his sons were provided for, so far as Zoe could provide by givingher freedom and her life for them. As far as she could she had paidher debt of gratitude to the dead, and the debt that was not wiped outwas due to her; those who had murdered Rhangabe owed her hisunspeakable sufferings and every precious drop of his heart's blood.They should pay. If she lived, they should pay all to the uttermost.

  And now, fate had placed within her reach the instrument of vengeance,the bravest, rashest, wisest, most desperate of mankind. Her heart hadsilently and joyfully drunk in every word that Gorlias had said aboutthe man who owned her as he owned the carpet under her feet, the roofover her head, and the clothes that covered her.

  He was within her reach, but he was not within her power. Not yet. Hermood had changed, and for a while, not knowing what she dreamt of, shewished that she were indeed one of those Eastern enchantresses of whomshe had often heard, without half understanding, who roused men tofrenzy, or lulled their lovers to sleep and ruin, as they would; shewished she were that wicked Antonina, for whom brave, pure-heartedBelisarius had humbled himself in the dust; she wished she wereTheodora, shamelessly great and fair, an imperial Vision of Sin,compelling to her heel the church-going, priest-haunted master of halfthe known world--Justinian. She knew the story of her adoptedcountry. What had either of those women that she had not, wherewithto master a man?

  Then the tide of shame came back, and she turned her face away fromthe empty room, as if it had guessed her thoughts; and then, to getaway from them, she called her maids, clapping her hands sharply. Theycame running in and stood before her.

  'Go, Yulia,' she said, 'find the secretary and beg him to come to me.'

  While she waited, she made Lucilla arrange her veil again so that ithid her face, and this was scarcely done when Omobono was ushered inby the other girl. He bowed to Zoe and gravely stroked his pointedbeard.

  'What is the Kokona's pleasure?' he asked, after a pause.

  'Do you speak Latin?' Zoe enquired, in that language.

  The little man drew himself up proudly, and cleared his throat.

  'In my family we have been notaries for five generations,' heanswered, in language that was comprehensible but would have filled anaverage Churchman with vague uneasiness, and would have made Cicero'sashes rattle in their urn.

  Zoe was satisfied, however, for though her maids might understandItalian, she was quite sure that Latin was beyond them. She herselfspoke it far more correctly than Omobono, though with a rather lispingGreek accent. She could not have helped saying 'vonus' for 'bonus,''eyo' for 'ego,' and 'Thominus' for 'Dominus.'

  'Where is Thominus Carolus?' she enquired, so suddenly that thesecretary was almost taken off his guard.

  'He is--he is gone out,' he answered.

  'Yes. He is gone to dine with Messer Sebastian Polo. He goes there twoor three times a week.'

  Zoe watched the secretary's face with amusement; his surprise wascomical.

  'Then the man is really an astrologer,' he said, in a wondering tone,'and star-gazing is not all nonsense!'

  'Sebastian Polo's daughter is young and beautiful,' observed Zoe, whoapparently did not place implicit faith in astrology.

  Omobono's face and gesture expressed a qualified assent, but he saidnothing.

  'Tell me at once,' said Zoe, 'that she is thirty, that her complexionresembles the dust when it is pitted by raindrops after a shower----'

  'That would not be true,' cried the secretary. 'Giustina Polo is notsupremely beautiful, but she is young and pretty, and as fresh asroses.'

  'But she is very poor,' suggested Zoe. 'She has no dowry.'

  'Who says so?' asked Omobono indignantly. 'The house of Sebastian Polois as prosperous as any in Constantinople! He is as rich as anyVenetian here except, perhaps, Marin Corner!'

  'Then it is true that the master is going to marry his daughter,' Zoereplied, as if stating a fact that could no longer be denied.

  She was rapidly working the secretary into a state of excitement inwhich his Latin grammar went to the winds.

  'No, indeed!' he cried. 'It is altogether a lie! Who has told you suchthings?'

  'She is young, pretty, fresh as roses, and very rich,' said Zoe,recapitulating. 'Did you not say so?'

  'Yes----'

  'And the master goes to dine in her father's house three times aweek----'

  'Perhaps----'

  'Do you suppose that Polo would invite the master so often unless hewanted him for his daughter?'

  'Perhaps not----'

  'Or that the master would wilfully deceive Polo and the girl?'

  'What are you saying?'

  'Simply that Thominus Carolus is going to marry Thomna Justina.'

  'But I tell you----'

  'Either you are very simple, or you think I am,' interrupted Zoe, withcrushing logic. 'Which shall it be, Master Secretary?'

  Omobono thought her a terrible young person just then. He spread outhis hands and looked up to the ceiling in despair, but stillprotesting.

  'And meanwhile,' she continued, 'what is the master going to do withme? Am I to be locked up he
re for ever?'

  If anything could further disturb Omobono's equanimity it was thisquestion. His gentle temper was beginning to be ruffled.

  'How can I tell?' he asked. 'He will do what he thinks best! Ask himyourself!'

  After all, she was only a slave, he said in his heart, and he was thedescendant of five generations of notaries. What right had she tocross-examine him? He was the more angry with her for asking thequestion, because his own curiosity had tormented him for days to findan answer to it.

  'Omobono,' Zoe said, affecting a very grave tone, 'you know very wellwhat the master means to do. Now I ask you solemnly, and you arewarned that you must answer me--by four----'

  'No, no!' cried the secretary, in sudden distress. 'Do not ask me bythat!'

  'I must, Omobono; and of course you have been told what you have toexpect if you refuse to help a friend over the water.'

  She emphasised the last words in a way that made him tremble.

  'Yes, yes--I know----' he said feebly, though he had not the leastnotion of the penalty.

  'You will be broken to pieces by inches with a small hammer, beginningat the tips of your fingers till there is not a whole bone in yourbody. That is only the beginning.'

  Omobono's knees knocked together.

  'Then your skin will be turned inside out over your head and yourliving heart will be cut out of your body, Omobono, and you will die.'

  The secretary had already such belief in the power of those who knewthe magic words that he turned pale and the cold sweat stood on hisforehead.

  'If all this were to be done to me now,' he faltered, 'I could nottell you what the master intends!'

  She saw that it was the truth.

  'Very well,' she said; 'then you must manage that he shall come hereto-day as soon as he returns from Polo's house.'

  'I will tell him that you have asked to see him----'

  'No. Tell him that I shall fall ill if I am shut up in these rooms anylonger, and that if he does not believe it, he had better come and seehow I am. He will probably take your advice. I do not choose to showyou my face, but I assure you I am very pale, and I have no appetite.'

  'He will come,' said the secretary confidently.

  'You can also do me another service, Omobono,' continued Zoe. 'I havelearned that last Friday, when you went to find Rustan about buyingme, you came upon him in the beggars' quarter, near the church ofSaint Sergius and Saint Bacchus, at a house where some very poorpeople lived. This is true, is it not?'

  Omobono nodded, wondering how she knew of the circumstance.

  'A poor woman lay there ill, with children and a very old nurse, andRustan gave them something. I wish to know how these poor people are,and where they live, if they have left that house. I am sure themaster is charitable, and will let you give them something if they arestill in need. There were two little boys, and there was a grown girlbesides the sick woman and the other.'

  'You know everything!' cried Omobono. 'The man must be a greatastrologer! I will go myself to the beggars' quarter and do yourbidding.'

  Zoe had played her little comedy because she had by this time guessedthe man's character, and wished to make sure that she could rely onhis help in anything she decided to do; for it was clear that wheneverZeno was absent, the secretary was in charge of the wholeestablishment, and the servants would obey him without hesitation. AsGorlias had told him, whatever he did was right in their eyes.

  That he was in haste to do her bidding she discovered before theafternoon was half over, for as she sat in her window she saw him godown to wait for his master at the marble steps, and he walked slowlyon the strip of black and white pavement by the water's edge.

  At last he stood still, and looked towards Blachernae, for the skiffwas in sight. Zoe drew her veil across her face and rested her headagainst the right-hand side of the open window as if she were verytired, and she did not move from this position as the boat came near.Zeno was leaning back in the stern, and could not help seeing her ashe approached the house, but from her attitude he thought she did notsee him, and he looked up at her steadily for two or three seconds.She was quite motionless.

  Omobono stood by the water's edge as Zeno stepped ashore, and askedpermission to say a few words to him at once. Zeno dismissed the boatby a gesture.

  'Has anything happened?' he asked, glancing up at the window again.

  Zoe had not moved, but she could see him through her veil. Then thetwo men walked up and down, while Omobono spoke in a low tone, butthough she could not hear the words she knew what the substance was.Then came Zeno's voice, cold and clear.

  'Certainly not,' he said decidedly. 'I shall do nothing of the sort!If she has no appetite send for a doctor. Do you take me for one? Sendfor old Solomon the Jewish physician. He is the best, and he is an oldman. If he says the girl needs air, take her out in the boat, her andthe maids, on fine mornings.'

  A question from Omobono followed, which Zoe could not hear distinctly.Zeno was evidently annoyed.

  'Omobono, you are a good man,' he said; 'but you have no more sensethan a cackling hen! Never think! It is not your strong point. Whenyou do just what I tell you, you never make a mistake.'

  The secretary's voice was heard again, low and indistinct.

  'No,' answered Zeno. 'You need not go and tell her what I have said,for she has probably heard every word of it herself, from the window.It is useless ever to tell women anything. They always know beforethey are told.'

  Thereupon Zeno went in, apparently in a bad temper. If anything canmake a woman angry when she is overhearing a conversation aboutherself, it is to hear it said that she is undoubtedly listening. Zoehad not hidden herself, and Zeno must have meant her to hear what hewas saying, but she felt the more deeply insulted. Her cheek burned,and she drew back her veil to feel the cool air. So he had nointention of coming to see her again! A Jewish doctor and an airing inthe boat, with Omobono for company! And she had been told that she hadbeen listening--it was not to be borne! She threw her veil on oneside, her silk shawl on the other, and then walked up and down thelong room with restless steps, like a young wild animal in a cage.

  The little maids picked up the things and watched her uneasily, forshe had always seemed very gentle. They looked at her with wide eyesnow, and their gaze irritated her, till she felt that she wanted tobox their ears, and wished she had the negress's whip in her belt.Then, without any apparent reason, she threw her arms round the onethat stood nearest and kissed the astonished girl a dozen times,almost lifting her from the floor. As she let her go, she laughednervously at herself.

  She was thirsty, and she drank off a tall glass of cold water at adraught; and all the time she was unconsciously repeating one phraseto herself.

  'He shall pay me for this, he shall pay me for this!'

  The words rang in her ears, to a sort of silly tune that would not goaway. There is a vile natural hurdy-gurdy somewhere in our brains, andwhen we are angry, or in love, or broken-hearted, or otherwise besideourselves, it plays its absurd little tunes at us till we are ready togo mad. I sometimes think that devil's music may have brought on thefinal fatal irritation against life, that has decided the fate of manyhalf-mad suicides.

  'He shall pay me for this!' She heard the words keeping time with hermovements; she walked slower--faster, but it made no difference, forthe infernal little notes took the beat from her steps.

  She had not the least notion how Zeno was to pay for having made herso very angry, and that question did not obtrude itself on herthoughts till her temper was beginning to subside; then she suddenlyfelt how utterly helpless she was, and her wrath boiled up again. Theonly way of paying him out that suggested itself was to throw herselfout of the window. Then he would be sorry for what he had done.

  Would he? He would probably send Omobono to have her corpse taken awayas quickly as possible. And the day after to-morrow he would go againto see Giustina Polo in her father's house, and she would have thrownherself out of the window for nothing. Besides, it wo
uld be wicked.

  She realised how childish her thoughts were, and she sat down tothink--'like a grown-up woman,' she said to herself. But just then sheremembered Zeno's words to Omobono. 'Never think, for it is not yourstrong point,' he had said to his secretary; but he had of coursemeant it for her. Everything had been meant for her. She wished shecould hold his brown throat in her hands and dig her little nails intoit.

  Appetite, indeed! Was it strange that she should not be hungry? Howcould any one eat who lived such a life, shut up between fourwalls?--with a tyrant downstairs who did not even take the trouble tocome and look at her, but sent his silly old clerk to keep hercompany! He took trouble enough to go and see Giustina Polo!

  This was thinking 'like a grown-up woman,' as she had proposed to do!She was disgusted with herself, and looked about for something tooccupy her thoughts. There were sweetmeats, whole boxes of sweetmeatsof every sort. Twice already they had been emptied and refilled withfresh ones, since she had been brought to the house. That was Zeno'sidea of what a woman needed to occupy her thoughts and be happy!Sweetmeats! Preserve of rose-leaves! Figs in syrup! That was all heknew of her wants!

  She lay back among her cushions, her brown eyes gleamed angrily, herlips were a little parted, and her nostrils quivered now and then asshe drew a sharp breath. Presently, she called Yulia to her side.

  'Go to the secretary,' she said, 'and tell him to send me a book.'

  'A book?' repeated the slave stupidly, for she had never seen a womanwho could read.

  'Yes. A book in Greek, Latin, or Italian; it does not matter which. Iam sick of doing nothing. Tell him to be quick, too,' she added, in atone of authority.

  The girl tripped away and found Omobono in the counting-house on theground floor. He was in a bad humour too, but in his case it took theform of dignified sorrow. His master had compared him to a fowl, andto one that cackled.

  'What does she want with a book?' he asked, in a dreary tone, lookingup from his accounts.

  'To read, I think, sir,' answered the little maid timidly; 'and shetold me to beg you to let her have it soon.'

  'As if a slave could read!' He looked about him in a melancholy way,and rose to take from the shelf above his head a good-sized volumebound in soft brown leather, with little thongs tied in slip knots,for clasps, to keep it shut.

  'Take her that,' he said, thrusting the book into the girl's hands.

  Yulia took it, and before she had left the room Omobono was gravelybusy with his figures again; but each time he added up a column thesum seemed to be 'cackling hen,' instead of anything reasonable. ButYulia ran upstairs.

  Zoe untied the thongs and opened the book in the middle. Anexclamation of anger and disgust escaped her lips. The secretary, whodid not believe she could really read, though she spoke Latinfluently, had sent an old volume of accounts in answer to her request.There were pages and pages of entries and columns of figures, allneatly written in his small, clear hand, on stout cotton paper. Hereand there some one else had made a note, as if checking his work.

  Zoe pushed the book away from her on the divan, and it fell over theedge and lay face downwards and open on the floor. Then the littletune began again in her head.

  'He shall pay me for this!'

  She wished he would open the door noiselessly and be all at oncebeside her, as on that first evening. That had been Friday, and to-daywas Wednesday; five days had gone by. Counting Friday there were six,and six days were practically a week! She had been under his roof awhole week and he had only cared to see her face once.

  'He shall pay me for this!'

  The tune went on, and she quite forgot how she had longed for death,and how his first anticipated coming had been dreadful beyond anythingshe had ever suffered, beyond cold, starvation, and misery. Or if sheremembered it at all, she told herself that the man she had seen wasnot the kind of man she had expected, and that she had nothing to fearfrom him. She was quite sure of that.

  She turned on one side, as she half lay on the divan, till she couldreach the account-book to pick it up. One of the maids jumped up fromthe carpet to help her.

  'Go away!' she exclaimed crossly, for she had got hold of the coverand had drawn the volume over the edge of the divan. 'I will call if Iwant anything.'

  The girls slipped away in silence and left her alone. She turned overthe pages with a sort of angry curiosity, half expecting to find anentry concerning slaves bought and sold like herself. Just then shecould have believed Zeno capable of anything.

  But though she found a great many strange words which she did notunderstand, and which referred to tonnage, insurance, profit andloss, and all the complicated matters of an Eastern merchant'sbusiness, there was nothing which could possibly be interpreted tomean that Zeno had dealt in humanity, as most of the Venetians wholived in Constantinople certainly did. Sebastian Polo's name occurredvery often. Large sums had been paid to him, and other large sums hadbeen received from him. It was clear that the two men were in closerelations of business, and constantly made ventures together, dividingthe profits and sharing the losses.

  That might account for Zeno's constant visits to his fellow-merchant,though Zoe was not inclined to admit such a view. On the contrary, shemade herself believe that Zeno dealt with Polo solely in order to makean excuse for seeing more of the latter's daughter. He should pay forthat, too! The little tune hammered away in her head at a great rate.

  She clapped her hands.

  'Take this back to the secretary,' she said, giving the book to Yulia.'Tell him I am not a merchant's clerk, and that I want something toread.'

  Again little Yulia tripped downstairs to the ground floor. But thecounting-house was locked, and the men-servants told her that Omobonohad gone out. She would not leave the book with them, for she had asuperstitiously exaggerated idea of the value of all written things;therefore, after a moment's hesitation, she turned and carried itupstairs again, though she did not like the idea of facing hermistress.

  At the first landing she almost ran against the master of the house,who asked her what she was carrying and where she was going. He spokerather sharply, and Yulia was frightened and told him the whole story,explaining that Zoe seemed to be in a bad temper, and would be angrywith her for bringing back the account-book, but that it was Omobono'sfault. How could he dare to suppose that the Kokona could not read?And why was he out? And if he was not out why had the men-servantstold her that he was?

  The little slave did as all slaves and servants naturally do when theywish to gain favour with the master; she hinted that all the otherservants in the house were in league to do evil, and that she only wasrighteous. Zeno carelessly looked through the pages of theaccount-book as he stood listening to her tale.

  'You talk too much,' he observed, when she paused. 'Go upstairs.'

  Thereupon he turned his back on her and went in under the heavycurtain to his own room, taking the book with him and leaving Yuliaconsiderably disconcerted. She looked at the curtain disconsolatelyfor a few seconds, and then slowly ascended the second flight of stepsto the women's apartments.

  A few minutes later Zeno himself followed her, with another book inhis hand. He knocked discreetly at the outer door, and Lucilla opened,for Yulia was still explaining to Zoe what had happened. The maidstood aside to let the master pass through the vestibule whichseparated the inner rooms from the staircase. Zeno raised the curtainand went in.

  'I am no great reader,' he said, as he came forward towards the divan,'but I have brought you this old book. It may amuse you. The man diedmore than fifty years ago, and I fancy he was mad; but there must besomething in his poem, for it has been copied again and again. Thiswas given me by the Emperor Charles when I was with him in Venice.'

  Zoe had time to recover from her surprise and to study his face andmanner while he spoke, and again she was convinced that he was alittle shy in her presence. If she changed colour at all he did notsee it, for though he glanced at her two or three times, he lookedmore often at the book he held. A
s he finished speaking he placed itin her hands and his eyes met hers.

  Possibly Zoe had guessed that if she could make a stir in the house bysending messages to Omobono, the master would at last come in person;at all events she felt a little thrill of triumph when he was beforeher bringing his book and speaking pleasantly, as a sort ofpeace-offering for having neglected her so long.

  'Thank you,' said she, very sweetly. 'Will it please your lordship tobe seated?'

  Yulia had pushed forward a large fold-stool, and Zoe motioned to herand her companion to sit down in a corner. Zeno thought she had sentthem out of the room, and he looked round and saw them squatting ontheir carpet, side by side.

  'Shall I send them away?' asked Zoe, with a sweet smile.

  'They are not in the way,' Zeno answered coldly; for he felt thatthey might be if they understood, but nothing would have induced himto dismiss them just then.

  A little pause followed, during which Zoe opened the manuscript andread the illuminated title-page.

  'It is dull for you, here,' said Carlo awkwardly.

  Zoe did not even look up, and affected to answer absently, while sheturned over the pages.

  'Oh no!' she said. 'Not in the least, I assure you!' She went back tothe title and read it aloud. '"The Divine Comedy of DanteAlighieri"--I have heard his name. A Sicilian, was he not? Or aLombard? I cannot remember. Have you read the poetry? The paintingsare very pretty, I see. There is much more life in Italian paintingthan in our stiff pictures with their gilt backgrounds. Of course,there is a certain childlike simplicity about them, an absence ofschool, of the traditions of good masters, of reverence for the oldart! But they mean something that is, whereas our Greek pictures meansomething that never was. Do you agree with me?'

  She had talked on in a careless tone, toying with the book, and onlylooking up as she asked a question without waiting for a reply. By thetime she paused she had asked so many that Zeno only noticed the last.

  'You would like Venice,' he said, 'but you would like Florence better.There are good pictures there, I believe.'

  'You have not seen them yourself?'

  'Oh yes! But I do not understand such things. This man Alighieridescribes some of them in his book. He was a Florentine.'

  As Zeno showed himself more willing to talk, Zoe seemed to grow moreindifferent. She laid the book down beside her, leaned back, andlooked out of the window, turning her face half away from him. It wasthe first time he had seen her by daylight since she had come, and thestrong afternoon light glowed in her white skin, her eyes, and herbrown hair. He could have seen on her cheek the very smallestimperfection, had it been as tiny as the point of a pin, but there wasnone. He looked at her tender mouth; and in the strong glare he couldhave detected the least roughness on her lips, if they had not been assmooth as fresh fruit. Moreover, the line from her ear to her neck wasreally as perfect as it had seemed at first sight. Her nervous,high-bred young hand lay on the folds of her over-garment, within hisreach, and he felt much inclined to take it and hold it. He did notremember that any woman's near presence had disturbed him in the sameway, nor had he ever hesitated on the few occasions in his life whenhe had been inclined to take a woman's hand. He had the fullest rightswhich the laws of the Empire could give him, for Arethusa, as hecalled her, was his property out-and-out, and if he died suddenly shewould be sold at auction with the furniture. Yet, for some whollyinexplicable reason he did not quite dare to touch the tips of herfingers.

  'I have heard that you are a hero,' Zoe observed, without looking athim. 'Is it true?'

  Then she turned her eyes to him and smiled a little maliciously, hefancied, as if she had guessed his timidity from his silence.

  'Who told you such nonsense?' Zeno asked, with a laugh, for herquestion had broken the ice--or perhaps had quenched the fire for awhile. 'I am a man like any other!'

  'That I doubt, sir,' answered Zoe, laughing too, though not much.

  'You have no experience of men,' he said. 'They are all like me, Iassure you. One sheep is not more like another in a flock.'

  'I should not have taken you for one of the common herd. Besides, Iknow of your deeds in Italy and Greece, and how you fought a Turkisharmy for a whole year with a handful of men----'

  'I have seen some fighting, of course,' Zeno replied. 'But that is allin the past. I am a sober, peace-loving Venetian merchant now, andnothing else.'

  'It must be very dull to be a sober, peace-loving Venetian merchant,'said Zoe, faintly mimicking his tone.

  'Making money is too hard work to be dull.'

  'I suppose so. And then,' she added, with magnificent calm, 'I havealways heard that avarice is the passion of old age.'

  Zeno fell into the trap.

  'Dear me!' he cried in astonishment. 'How old do you think I am?'

  Zoe looked at him quietly.

  'I have no experience of men,' she said, with perfect gravity, 'butfrom your manner, sir, I should judge you to be--about fifty.'

  Zeno's jaw dropped, for she spoke so naturally and quietly that hecould not believe she was laughing at him.

  'I shall be twenty-nine in August,' he answered.

  'Only twenty-nine?' Zoe affected great surprise. 'I should havethought you were much, much older! Are you quite sure?'

  'Yes.' Carlo laughed. 'I am quite sure. But I suppose I seem very oldto you.'

  'Oh yes! Very!' She nodded gravely as she spoke.

  'You are seventeen, are you not?' Zeno asked.

  'How in the world should I know!' she enquired. 'Is not my age setdown in the receipt Rustan gave you with me? How should a slave knowher own age, sir? And if we knew it, do you think that any of us couldspeak the truth, except under torture? It would not be worth while todislocate my arms and burn my feet with hot irons, just to know howold I am, would it? You could not even sell me again, if I had oncebeen tortured!'

  'What horrible ideas you have! Imagine torturing this little thing!'

  Thereupon, without warning, he took her hand in his and looked at it.She made a very slight instinctive movement to withdraw it, and thenit lay quite still and passive.

  'I am sure I could never bear pain,' she said, smiling. 'I should telleverything at once! I should never make a good conspirator. I supposeyou must have been wounded once or twice, when you were young. Tellme, did it hurt very much?'

  He let her hand fall as he answered, and she drew it back and hid itunder her wide sleeve.

  'A cut with a sharp sword feels like a stream of icy-cold water,' heanswered. 'A thrust through the flesh pricks like a big thorn, andpricks again when the point comes out on the other side. One feelsvery little, or nothing at all, if one is badly wounded in the head,for one is stunned at once; it is the headache afterwards that reallyhurts. If one is wounded in the lungs, one feels nothing, but one ischoked by the blood, and one must turn on one's face at once in ordernot to suffocate. Broken bones hurt afterwards as a rule, more than atfirst, but it is a curious sensation to have one's collar bone smashedby a blow from a two-handed sword----'

  'Good heavens!' cried Zoe. 'What a catalogue! How do you know how eachthing feels?'

  'I can remember,' Zeno answered simply.

  'You have been wounded in all those different ways, and you arealive?'

  Zeno smiled.

  'Yes; and you understand now why I look so old.'

  'I was not in earnest,' Zoe said. 'You knew that I was not. You needonly look at yourself in a mirror to see that I was laughing.'

  'I was not very deeply hurt by being taken for a man of fifty,' Zenoanswered, not quite truthfully.

  'Oh no!' laughed Zoe. 'I cannot imagine that my opinion of your agecould make any difference to you. It was silly of me--only, for a manwho has had so many adventures, you do look absurdly young!'

  'So much the better, since my fighting days are over.'

  'And since you are a sober, peace-loving merchant,' said Zoe,continuing the sentence for him. 'But are you so very sure, my lord?Would nothing make you draw your
sword again and risk your life onyour fencing? Nothing?'

  'Nothing that did not affect my honour, I truly believe.'

  'You would not do it for a woman's sake?' She turned to him, to watchhis face, but its expression did not change.

  'Three things can drive a wise man mad,--wine, women, and dice.'

  'I daresay! Your lordship reckons us in good company. But that is noanswer to my question.'

  'Yes it is,' said Zeno with a laugh. 'Why should I do for a woman whatI would not do for dice or wine?'

  'But dice and wine never tempted you,' Zoe objected.

  Zeno laughed louder.

  'Never? When I was a student at Padua I sold everything, even mybooks, to get money for both. It was only when the books were gonethat I turned soldier, and learned the greatest game of hazard in theworld. Compared with that, dice are an opiate, and wine is asleeping-draught.'

  He only smiled now, after laughing, but there was a look in his faceas he spoke which she saw then for the first time and did not forget,and recognised when she saw it again. It was subtle, and might havepassed unnoticed among men, but it spoke to the sex in the girl, andmade her young blood thrill. For worlds, she would not have had himguess what she felt just then.

  'Fighting for its own sake would tempt you, if nothing else could,'she answered quietly.

  'Ah--perhaps, perhaps,' he answered, musing.

  'But you would need a cause, though ever so slight, and you have nonehere, have you?'

  'None that I care to take up.'

  'You may find something to fight for--over the water,' Zoe suggested,emphasising the words a little and watching his face.

  The phrase meant nothing to him.

  'Over the water?' he repeated carelessly. 'At home, in Venice, youmean. Yes, if Venice needed me, I should not wait to be called twice!'

  It was quite clear that he attached no meaning to the words she hadused, and this fact tallied with what the astrologer had told her inthe morning as to his having been deaf to all advances made to him bythe imprisoned Emperor's party.

  Zoe leaned back in silence for a while, almost closing her eyes, andshe saw that he watched her, and that an unmistakable look ofadmiration stole into his face. She was wondering whether it wouldever turn into something more, and whether she should ever see thegleam of fight in his eyes, for her sake, that had flashed in them amoment ago at the mere thought of battle. What did women do, to makemen love them? There is an age when girls believe that love need onlybe called, like a tame dove, and that he will fly in at the window;and there is an age when he comes to them uncalled-for. If only theages were the same for all, much trouble might be spared. Zoe wasperhaps between the two, but she still believed that there was somefixed rule on which clever women acted to make men fall in love withthem, those wicked women who are described to young girls as'designing,' and are supposed to know precisely the effect they canproduce on men at any moment, to the very nicety of an eyelash.

  Zeno broke the long silence with an unexpected speech which roughlyawakened Zoe from her reflection.

  'As for this Emperor John whom his son has locked up,' he said, 'hisfriends have done their best to interest me in his cause. He has evensent me messages, begging me to help him to escape. Why? Whatdifference can it make to me whether he or his son dies in the Amenatower? They are poor things, both of them, and for all I care John maystarve in his chains before I will lift a finger!'

  Zoe sighed and bit her lip to check herself, for his voluntarydeclaration had dashed the palace of her hopes to pieces in aninstant.

  Then she was ashamed of having even dreamt that he might love her,since he despised the very cause for which she had wished to win hislove. But this state of mind did not last long, either. She was toobrave to let such a speech pass, as if she agreed with it.

  'You are wrong,' she said, quite forgetting that she had set herselfto play the part of the slave. 'You ought to help him, if you can--andyou can, if you will.'

  Zeno looked at her in surprise. There was something like authority inher tone, and the two little maids, whom he had forgotten in theircorner behind him, stared in astonishment at her audacity. Not a wordof the conversation had escaped them.

  'I mean,' continued Zoe, before he could find an answer to her plainstatement, 'if you are a true Venetian you should wish to put down theman whom the Genoese and the Turks have set on the throne. Johannes isyour friend and your country's friend, though he is a weak man andalways will be. Andronicus is an enemy to Venice and a friend to herenemies. He is even now ready to give the island of Tenedos tothem--the key to the Dardanelles----'

  'What?' asked Zeno in a loud and angry tone. 'Tenedos?'

  His manner had changed, and he almost rose from his seat as he bentforwards and seized her wrist in his excitement. She was glad, andsmiled at him.

  'Yes,' she answered, 'the Genoese demand it as the price of theirprotection, and they will force him to give it to them. But it may notbe easy, for the governor of the island is loyal to Johannes.'

  'How do you know these things?' asked Zeno, still holding her wristand trying to look into her eyes.

  'I know them,' Zoe answered. 'If I am not telling you the truth, sellme in the market to-morrow.'

  'I know them,' Zoe answered. 'If I am not telling you the truth, sell me in the market to-morrow.']

  'By the Evangelist,' swore Zeno, 'you will deserve it.'