CHAPTER XVII
THE CHARMING BY ROXANA
Glaucon's longing for the old life ebbed and flowed. Sometimes the returnof memory maddened him. Who had done it?--had forged that damning letterand then hid it with Seuthes? Themistocles? Impossible. Democrates?--"thefriend with the understanding heart no less than a brother dear," as Homersaid? More impossible. An unknown enemy, then, had stolen the fleet orderfrom Themistocles? But what man had hated Glaucon? One answerremained,--unwittingly the athlete had offended some god, forgotten somevow, or by sheer good fortune had awakened divine jealousy. Poseidon hadbeen implacable toward Odysseus, Athena toward Hector, Artemis towardNiobe,--Glaucon could only pray that his present welcome amongst thePersians might not draw down another outburst of Heaven's anger.
More than all else was the keen longing for Hermione. He saw her in thenight. Vainly, amidst the storms of the gathering war, he had sought amessenger to Athens. In this he dared ask no help from Mardonius. Thenalmost from the blue a bolt fell that made him wish to tear Hermione fromhis heart.
A Carian slave, a trusted steward at the Athenian silver mines of Laurium,had loved his liberty and escaped to Sardis. The Persians questioned himeagerly, for he knew all the gossip of Athens. Glaucon met the runaway,who did not know then who he was, so many Greek refugees were alwaysfluttering around the king's court. The Carian told of a new honour forDemocrates.
"He is elected strategus for next year because of his proud patriotism.There is talk, too, of a more private bit of good fortune."
"What is it?"
"That he has made successful suit to Hermippus of Eleusis for hisdaughter,--the widow of Glaucon, the dead outlaw. They say the marriagefollows at the end of the year of mourning--Sir, you are not well!"
"I was never better." But the other had turned ashen. He quitted theCarian abruptly and shut himself in his chamber. It was good that he woreno sword. He might have slain himself.
Yet, he communed in his heart, was it not best? Was he not dead to Athens?Must Hermione mourn him down to old age? And whom better could she takethan Democrates, the man who had sacrificed even friendship for love ofcountry?
Artabanus, the vizier, gave a great feast that night. They drank thepledge, "Victory to the king, destruction to his enemies." The lords alllooked on Glaucon to see if he would touch the cup. He drank deeply. Theyapplauded him. He remained long at the wine, the slaves bore him homedrunken. In the morning Mardonius said Xerxes ordered him to serve in thecavalry guards, a post full of honour and chance for promotion. Glaucondid not resist. Mardonius sent him a silvered cuirass and a black horsefrom the steppes of Bactria,--fleet as the north wind. In his new armour hewent to the chambers of Artazostra and Roxana. They had never seen him inpanoply before. The brilliant mail became him rarely. The ladies weredelighted.
"You grow Persian apace, my Lord Prexaspes,"--Roxana always called him byhis new name now,--"soon we shall hail you as 'your Magnificence' thesatrap of Parthia or Asia or some other kingly province in the East."
"I do well to become Persian," he answered bitterly, unmoved by theadmiration, "for yesterday I heard that which makes it more than evermanifest that Glaucon the Athenian is dead. And whether he shall ever riseto live again, Zeus knoweth; but from me it is hid."
Artazostra did not approach, but Roxana came near, as if to draw thebuckle of the golden girdle--the gift of Xerxes. He saw the turquoiseshining on the tiara that bound her jet-black hair, the fine dark profileof her face, her delicate nostrils, the sweep of drapery that halfrevealed the form so full of grace. Was there more than passing friendshipin the tone with which she spoke to him?
"You have heard from Athens?"
"Yes."
"And the tidings were evil."
"Why call them evil, princess? My friends all believe me dead. Can theymourn for me forever? They can forget me, alas! more easily than I in mylonesomeness can forget them."
"You are very lonely?"--the hand that drew the buckle worked slowly. Howsoft it was, how delicately the Nile sun had tinted it!
"Do you say you have no friends? None? Not in Sardis? Not among thePersians?"
"I said not that, dear lady,--but when can a man have more than one nativecountry?--and mine is Attica, and Attica is far away."
"And you can never have another? Can new friendships never take the placeof those that lie forever dead?"
"I do not know."
"Ah, believe, new home, new friends, new love, are more than possible,will you but open your heart to suffer them."
The voice both thrilled and trembled now, then suddenly ceased. The coloursprang into Roxana's forehead. Glaucon bowed and kissed her hand. Itseemed to rise to his lips very willingly.
"I thank you for your fair hopes. Farewell." That was all he said, but ashe went forth from Roxana's presence, the pang of the tidings brought bythe Carian seemed less keen.
* * * * * * *
The hosts gathered daily. Xerxes spent his time in dicing, hunting,drinking, or amusing himself with his favourite by-play, wood-carving. Heheld a few solemn state councils, at which he appeared to determine allthings and was actually guided by Artabanus and Mardonius. Now, at last,all the colossal machinery which was to crush down Hellas was being set inmotion. Glaucon learned how futile was Themistocles's hope of succour toAthens from the Sicilian Greeks, for,--thanks to Mardonius's indefatigablediplomacy,--it was arranged that the Phoenicians of Carthage should launch apowerful armament against the Sicilians, the same moment Xerxes descendedon Sparta and Athens. With calm satisfaction Mardonius watched thecompletion of his efforts. All was ready,--the army of hundreds ofthousands, the twelve hundred war-ships, the bridges across theHellespont, the canal at Mt. Athos. Glaucon's admiration for the son ofGobryas grew apace. Xerxes was the outward head of the attack on Hellas.Mardonius was the soul. He was the idol of the army--its best archer andrider. Unlike his peers, he maintained no huge harem of jealous concubinesand conspiring eunuchs. Artazostra he worshipped. Roxana he loved. He hadno time for other women. No servant of Xerxes seemed outwardly moreobedient than he. Night and day he wrought for the glory of Persia.Therefore, Glaucon looked on him with dread. In him Themistocles andLeonidas would find a worthy foeman.
Daily Glaucon felt the Persian influence stealing upon him. He grew evenaccustomed to think of himself under his new name. Greeks were about him:Demaratus, the outlawed "half-king" of Sparta, and the sons of Hippias,late tyrant of Athens. He scorned the company of these renegades. Yetsometimes he would ask himself wherein was he better than they,--hadDemocrates's accusation been true, could he have asked a greater rewardfrom the Barbarian? And what he would do on the day of battle he did notdare to ask of his own soul.
* * * * * * *
Xerxes left Sardis with the host amidst the same splendour with which hehad entered. Glaucon rode in the Life Guard, and saw royalty frequently,for the king loved to meet handsome men. Once he held the stirrup asXerxes dismounted--an honour which provoked much envious grumbling.Artazostra and Roxana travelled in their closed litters with the train ofwomen and eunuchs which followed every Persian army. Thus the myriadsrolled onward through Lydia and Mysia, drinking the rivers dry by theirnumbers; and across the immortal plains of Troy passed that army which wasdestined to do and suffer greater things than were wrought beside thepoet-sung Simois and Scamander, till at last they came to the Hellespont,the green river seven furlongs wide, that sundered conquered Asia from theEurope yet to be conquered.
Here were the two bridges of ships, more than three hundred in each, heldby giant cables, and which upbore a firm earthen road, protected by a highbulwark, that the horses and camels might take no fright at the water.Here, also, the fleet met them,--the armaments of the East, Phoenicians,Cilicians, Egyptians, Cyprians,--more triremes and transports than had everbefore ridden upon the seas. And as he saw all this power, all directed byone will, Glaucon grew even more des
pondent. How could puny, faction-rentHellas bear up against this might? Only when he looked on the myriadspassing, and saw how the captains swung long whips and cracked the lashacross the backs of their spearmen, as over driven cattle, did a littlecomfort come. For he knew there was still a fire in Athens and Sparta, afire not in Susa nor in Babylon, which kindled free souls and free handsto dare and do great things. "Whom will the high Zeus prosper when the_slaves_ of Xerxes stand face to face with _men_?"
A proud thought,--but it ceased to comfort him, as all that afternoon hestood near the marble throne of the "Lord of the World," whence Xerxesoverlooked his myriads while they filed by, watched the races of swifttriremes, and heard the proud assurances of his officers that "no kingsince the beginning of time, not Thothmes of Egypt, not Sennacherib ofAssyria, not Cyrus nor Darius, had arrayed such hosts as his that day."
Then evening came. Glaucon was, after his wont, in the private pavilion ofMardonius,--itself a palace walled with crimson tapestry in lieu of marble.He sat silent and moody for long, the bright fence of the ladies or of thebow-bearer seldom moving him to answer. And at last Artazostra couldendure it no more.
"What has tied your tongue, Prexaspes? Surely my brother in one of hispleasantries has not ordered that it be cut out? Your skin is too fair tolet you be enrolled amongst his Libyan mutes."
The Hellene answered with a pitiful attempt at laughter.
"Silent, am I? Then silent because I am admiring your noble ladyship'splay of wit."
Artazostra shook her head.
"Impossible. Your eyes were glazed like the blue of Egyptian beads. Youwere not listening to me. You were seeing sights and hearkening to voicesfar away."
"You press me hard, lady," he confessed; "how can I answer? No man ismaster of his roving thoughts,--at least, not I."
"You were seeing Athens. Are you so enamoured of your stony country thatyou believe no other land can be so fair?"
"Stony it is, lady,--you have seen it,--but there is no sun like the sunthat gilds the Acropolis; no birds sing like the nightingales from thegrove by the Cephissus; no trees speak with the murmur of the olives atColonus, or on the hill slope at Eleusis-by-the-Sea. I can answer you inthe words of Homer, the singer of Hellas, the words he sets on the tongueof a wanderer and outcast, even as I. 'A rugged land, yet nurse of noblemen, and for myself I can see naught sweeter than a man's own country.' "
The praise of his native land had brought the colour into the cheeks ofthe Athenian, his voice rose to enthusiasm. He knew that Roxana waswatching him intently.
"Beautiful it must be, dear Hellene," she spoke, as she sat upon thefootstool below the couch of her brother, "yet you have not seen all theworld. You have not seen the mystic Nile, Memphis, Thebes, and Sais, ourwondrous cities; have not seen how the sun rises over the desert, how itturns the sand hills to red gold, how at sunset the cliffs glow like wallsof beryl and sard and golden jasper."
"Tell then of Egypt," said Glaucon, clearly taking pleasure in the musicof her voice.
"Not to-night. I have praised it before. Rather I will praise also therose valleys of Persia and Bactria, whither Mardonius took me after mydear father died."
"Are they very beautiful also?"
"Beautiful as the Egyptian's House of the Blessed, for those who havepassed the dread bar of Osiris; beautiful as Airyana-Vaeya, the home landof the Aryans, whence Ahura-Mazda sent them forth. The winters are short,the summers bright and long. Neither too much rain nor burning heat. TheParadise by Sardis is nothing beside them. One breathes in the roses, andhearkens to the bulbuls--our Aryan nightingales--all day and all night long.The streams bubble with cool water. At Susa the palace is fairer than wordmay tell. Hither the court comes each summer from the tedious glories ofBabylon. The columns of the palace reach up to heaven, but no wallsengirdle them, only curtains green, white, and blue,--whilst the warm sweetbreeze blows always thither from green prairies."
"You draw a picture fair as the plains of Elysium, dear lady," spokeGlaucon, his own gaze following the light that burned in hers, "and yet Iwould not seek refuge even in the king's court with all its beauty. Thereare times when I long to pray the god, 'Give to me wings, eagle wings fromZeus's own bird, and let me go to the ends of the earth, and there in somecharmed valley I may find at last the spring of Lethe water, the water offorgetfulness that gives peace.' "
Roxana looked on him; pity was in her eyes, and he knew he was takingpleasure in her pitying.
"The magic water you ask is not to be drunk from goblets," she answeredhim, "but the charmed valley lies in the vales of Bactria, the 'Roof ofthe World,' high amid mountains crowned with immortal snows. Every goodtree and flower are here, and here winds the mystic Oxus, the great riversweeping northward. And here, if anywhere, on Mazda's wide, green earth,can the trouble-tossed have peace."
"Then it is so beautiful?" said the Athenian.
"Beautiful," answered Mardonius and Artazostra together. And Roxana, withan approving nod from her brother, arose and crossed the tent where hung asimple harp.
"Will my Lord Prexaspes listen," she asked, "if I sing him one of thehomely songs of the Aryans in praise of the vales by the Oxus? My skill issmall."
"It should suffice to turn the heart of Persephone, even as did Orpheus,"answered the Athenian, never taking his gaze from her.
The soft light of the swinging lamps, the heavy fragrance of thefrankincense which smouldered on the brazier, the dark lustre of thesinger's eyes--all held Glaucon as by a spell. Roxana struck the harp. Hervoice was sweet, and more than desire to please throbbed through thestrings and song.
"O far away is gliding The pleasant Oxus's stream, I see the green glades darkling, I see the clear pools gleam. I hear the bulbuls calling From blooming tree to tree. Wave, bird, and tree are singing, 'Away! ah, come with me!'
"By Oxus's stream is rising Great Cyrus's marble halls; Like rain of purest silver, His tinkling fountain falls; To his cool verdant arbours What joy with thee to flee. I'll join with bird and river, 'Away! rest there with me!'
"Forget, forget old sorrows, Forget the dear things lost! There comes new peace, new brightness, When darksome waves are crossed; By Oxus's streams abiding, From pang and strife set free, I'll teach thee love and gladness,-- Rest there, for aye, with me!"
The light, the fragrance, the song so pregnant with meaning, all wroughtupon Glaucon of Athens. He felt the warm glow in his cheeks; he feltsubtle hands outstretching as if drawing forth his spirit. Roxana's eyeswere upon him as she ended. Their gaze met. She was very fair, high-born,sensitive. She was inviting him to put away Glaucon the outcast fromHellas, to become body and soul Prexaspes the Persian, "Benefactor of theKing," and sharer in all the glories of the conquering race. All the pastseemed slipping away from him as unreal. Roxana stood before him in herdark Oriental beauty; Hermione was in Athens--and they were giving her inmarriage to Democrates. What wonder he felt no mastery of himself, thoughall that day he had kept from wine?
"A simple song," spoke Mardonius, who seemed marvellously pleased at allhis sister did, "yet not lacking its sweetness. We Aryans are without theelaborate music the Greeks and Babylonians affect."
"Simplicity is the highest beauty," answered the Greek, as if still in histrance, "and when I hear Euphrosyne, fairest of the Graces, sing with thevoice of Erato, the Song-Queen, I grow afraid. For a mortal may not hearthings too divine and live."
Roxana replaced the harp and made one of her inimitable Orientalcourtesies,--a token at once of gratitude and farewell for the evening.Glaucon never took his gaze from her, until with a rustle and sweep of herblue gauze she had glided out of the tent. He did not see the meaningglances exchanged by Mardonius and Artazostra before the latter left them.
When the two men were alone, the bow-bearer asked a question.
"Dear Prexaspes, do you not think I should bless the twelve archangels Ipossess so beautiful a sister?"
"She is so fair, I wonder that Zeu
s does not haste from Olympus toenthrone her in place of Hera."
The bow-bearer laughed.
"No, I crave for her only a mortal husband. Though there are few inPersia, in Media, in the wide East, to whom I dare entrust her.Perhaps,"--his laugh grew lighter,--"I would do well to turn my eyeswestward."
Glaucon did not see Roxana again the next day nor for several following,but in those days he thought much less on Hermione and on Athens.