I
THE SEA
A hot April sun shone full over the waters to the pencilled line of thesouthern horizon, where a long circle divided the misty, shimmeringdove-color of the Mediterranean from the richer blue of the swellingsky. A path of sun-strewn ripples, broadening as the afternoon advanced,ended at that distant line, and found its starting-point at the rockybase of the Selinuntian acropolis, on the southwestern coast of Sicily.The day was warm, and the air rich with the perfume of sweet alyssum,beneath which delicate flower the whole island lay buried. A lightbreeze feathered the sea, occasionally sweeping away enough powderedsunshine to disclose the rich sapphire depths of the under-waters.Nevertheless more perfect skies had been, and generally were, at thisseason of the year; for to-day half the west was hidden by a curtain ofshort, thick clouds that threatened to hide the usual evening glory ofwine-tinted waters and crimson-flooded skies.
Upon the height of the cliff that terminates the broad Selinuntianplain, Selinous, white, Doric city, with her groups of many-columnedtemples and her well-built walls, sent forth the usual droning murmur oflife. White-robed men and women were wont to move in unhurried dignityin their citadels in those days when AEneas was not yet a myth, beforeSyracuse knew Gelon, when the first Aahmes ruled in Egypt, when Croesusof Lydia and Astyages of Media were paying bitter tribute to the greatElamite just retired from Babylonian plains to his far Rhagae in theEastern hills; and here, on the Sicilian coast, the Greek city lay inplacid beauty upon her two hills, divided by the philosophically drainedvalley, bounded upon the right hand by her shining river, while far tothe left, in the direction of Acragas, a line of rugged hills rose intothe blue. The four bright temples of the acropolis were mirrored in thesea below. On the east hill, at some distance from where the giganticnew sanctuary to Apollo was building, and directly in front of the oldtemple of Hera, on the very edge of the cliff, drowsing in the sunlight,lay Charmides, a shepherd, surrounded by his flock.
The life of a shepherd in the flood-time of a Sicilian spring was not anarduous one. If it had been, Theron's son would not, in all probability,have followed that calling through the few years that he was required tospend at ordinary labor. For, as his family realized and his appearancetoo markedly proclaimed, this child of the Spartans did not partake ofthe spirit of his race. Rarely, singularly beautiful he was, and fair asan Athenian. Apollo himself might have turned envious at sight of thisdisciple of his as he slept on a drift of wild daisies, his short, whitetunic stained with green, the thong that served him for a girdle looselytied, much-worn sandals bound upon his feet, and a wreath of grayolive-leaves woven into the rumpled hair that fell upon his neck inrings of living gold. Charmides' eyes had the color of the sea. Hisbrows were fine and straight; his mouth not altogether lacking instrength, yet perfect as a woman's. As he slept, one of the youth'ssunburned hands grasped a tuft of herbs that grew upon the edge of theslope, while the other, even in his unconsciousness, drew a fleetingharmony from the lyre that lay beside him.
This dalliance with the honored instrument, taken with his unathleticphysique, was evidence enough of the chosen profession of the temporaryshepherd. Four years ago, at the age of eighteen, Charmides had electedto enter the ranks of that band of rhapsodists known to us now only asthe predecessors of fire-winged Pindar and his glorious brethren. Neverwas the shepherd seen following his flock over the fields without lyreor flute in his hands; and no holiday or festival was quite completewithout some lyric chanted in his clear tenor to the accompaniment ofthose sweet, primitive chords that so fittingly clothed the syllables ofthe most melodious of all tongues. Charmides' poems, however, werealways of one type. Natural beauty, the evening wind, the perfume of aflower, the red of dawn, the silver of moonlight, he would reproduce soperfectly in words that he was left unrivalled in his peculiar field.But greater themes, battle-hymns of Mars and Nike, or idyls of Cytheraand the dove-drawn chariot, had not apparently occurred to him asdesirable subjects for his art. Either Charmides was what his athletebrother declared him--a woman dressed in too short a tunic--or his truenature was sleeping far beyond its natural period.
The sun hung just above the clouds as the youth sat up and looked abouthim. His flock, a drove of white, long-haired sheep, whose wool waswoven into many a tunic of their herdsman, had wandered out of sightbehind the temple of Hera. Charmides unbound his flageolet from the sideof his left leg, and, without stirring from his place, lifted theinstrument to his lips, playing upon it a quaint, primitive strain fullof minor cadences, mournful, but peculiarly pleasing. For two or threeminutes this tune was the only sound to be heard. Then, of a sudden,came a distant "Ba-a!" from the direction of the temple, and round itseastern columns appeared a white head, another, and another, till thewhole flock was visible. For a moment or two they halted, regardingtheir keeper with silly, affectionate eyes. Charmides smiled as hewatched them, and presently gave a little nod. At sight of it the leaderof the company started forward again, and the entire number followed, ata gentle trot. When he was entirely surrounded by his animals, Charmidesput his pipe back in its place, caressed with rough tenderness thenearest lamb, and finally, having had enough of afternoon with the sea,sprang to his feet thinking to proceed farther afield. As his eyes metthe western horizon, from which his face had for the last few momentsbeen turned, he broke his yawn short off in the middle, and his intentwas forgotten. The cloud, which now covered the sun, was no longer gray,but a deep purple, palpitating with inward fire; while far to the west agalley, a little, black patch upon the waters, rose upon the horizon,coming from Mazzara. Charmides saw possibilities of hexameters in therace, and, though its outcome did not affect him in the least, he had adesire to know whether he must have Zeus with his bolts bring vengeanceon some disobedient mortal, or whether Father Neptune and his dolphinswere to lead the men of the galley safely into the little Selinuntianharbor.
It was not many minutes before the little vessel had become a Phoenicianbireme with a huge, brown mainsail hanging loosely on the mast, andbarely visible oars churning the water on each side with hasty vigor. Bythis time the last radiance had been swept from the sky. The distantwaters darkened, and their restless, uneasy masses began to show flecksof foam. Presently, for a bare second, through a single rift in thecloud, a thin gleam of sunlight shot out and down to the misty sea,lighting the dark surface to opalescent brightness, and thendisappearing in a single breath. As the sky darkened again the air grewcold. Three or four petrels, birds of the storm, rising from the distantsands, veered joyously out over the flattening waters. A faint murmur ofangry winds came from the west, and with its first sound Charmides wasrecalled from the scene in which he was blithely living to his flock,who were upon the verge of a stampede. They had ceased to eat and werestanding quiveringly still, heads up, nostrils distended, fore-legsstiffening for the leap and race which would follow the firstthunder-clap. Their shepherd was just in time. Putting all thought ofthe storm behind him, he lifted his lyre and started forward, singing ashe went. The sheep followed him, with implicit faith, across the broadpasture and down the long, gentle slope in the direction of their foldand his father's house, till the sea and the galley and the storm wereleft to the petrels and those on the acropolis to watch.
There, indeed, in front of the basilica, quite a band of citizens hadassembled, watching with interest and anxiety the progress of thestorm-beset vessel. The little ship had apparently a daring captain. Noprecautions whatever had been made for the first gust of wind; neitherdid the ship's course suggest that there would be an effort to gain theinner harbor of the city as speedily as possible. Instead, those thatwatched realized that she would be a hundred feet off the base of theacropolis cliff when the storm broke. At present the wind had so nearlydied away that the main-sail flapped at the mast. The double banks ofoars were working rapidly and unevenly, and the main deck of the vesselwas, to all appearances, entirely deserted. Evidently an unusual stateof affairs prevailed on board of the Phoenician galley.
The pause that
preceded the breaking of the storm was unnaturally long.Save for the gleam of an occasional, faintly hissing wave-crest, thewaters had grown black. The heart of the storm-cloud seethed in purple,while all the rest of the sky was hung with gray. There came one longmoment when the atmosphere sank under a weight of sudden heat. Then thefar-distant murmur, which till now had been scarcely audible, rushedupon the silence in a mighty roar, as, up from the south, driven beforethe gale, came a long line of white waves that rose as they advancedtill the very Tritons bent their heads and the nymphs scurried down togreener depths. Now a sudden, zigzag streak of fire shot through thecloud, followed by a crash as of all the bolts of Zeus let off at once.The galley seemed to be scarcely moving. Her sail hung loose upon itsmast. Not a soul was to be seen upon the upper deck. Only the oars stillcreaked in their holes, and the water churned unevenly along thevessel's sides. The wind was nearly upon her. There was a second glareof lightning, a second crash more fearful than the first; and then itwas as if the fragile craft, seized by some cyclopean hand, had beenlifted entirely from the water to be plunged downward again into themidst of chaos.
The number of spectators of this unusual scene had by this time beengreatly augmented. Upon the acropolis, at the point where the street ofVictory came to an end upon the edge of the precipitous cliff, stood acrowd of men and women, to whom others were continually coming from theshelter of their houses. Presently Charmides, together with his brother,Phalaris, both breathless from their run across the valley of theHypsas, arrived on the cliff. The galley was now struggling in thecentre of the storm, writhing and shuddering over the waves directly infront of the acropolis. As the only possible salvation, her bow had beenpointed directly to the south into the wind, a move which made itnecessary for the rowers, backing water with all their strength, to keepher from driving backward upon the great rock, fragments of which werestrewn far out through the water from the base of the cliff behind.Through the incessant lightning flashes the violent and uneven use ofthe oars was clearly visible, and, after watching them in silence for afew moments, Phalaris shook his head.
"The rowers will not endure long under such labor. The boat must bedriven ashore."
"As yet they have lost no distance, though."
And this, indeed, was true. Full fifty yards now lay between the firstrock and the stern of the galley. It seemed, too, as if the storm hadlulled a little. Charmides shouted the idea into his brother's ear, butPhalaris again shook his head, and both looked once more to the vessel,just in time to see her struck by a fresh gust of wind that tore theoverstrained sail into ribbons and shreds. At the same instant the oarsceased their work. The boat spun completely round, twice, like a wheel,and a second later was driven, by one great wave, straight towards thehuge rocks off the cliff.
"Apollo! What has happened to the rowers?" cried one of the elders.
"And where is the captain of this vessel? Is he a madman?"
"In three minutes more she will be a wreck. Come, Charmides!" shoutedPhalaris, starting over the cliff.
Together the brothers climbed down the precipitous descent to the narrowstrip of sand at its base. Here was a scene of no little activity. TheTheronides found themselves last of a company of their friends to arriveat this point of vantage, where not a few had been standing for half anhour. Several older men were also grouped along the beach, anxiouslywatching the drama which threatened to terminate in a tragedy. At themoment when the brothers reached the lower shore, the galley, liftedhigh upon the wave, hung for a second on its summit, and then, as itbroke, spun down and forward with sickening speed straight upon twohorn-shaped rocks, between which she was presently wedged fast andfirmly, twenty yards from shore.
A little cry broke from Charmides' lips. With the next flash he beheldthe galley heeled far upon her right side, oars shattered, sides stilluncrushed, while on her prow there stood at last a black swarm of men.
By this time a dozen of the young Greeks, stripped of their wet tunics,were making their way out into the breakers, intent upon saving thewrecked sailors from being dashed upon the rocks as they escaped fromtheir ship. Charmides hastily followed the example of his fellows andran into the chilly water after Phalaris, who stood in, shoulder-deep,fifty feet from the ship. It was nearly impossible to keep a footingthere. Breaker after breaker dashed over their heads, and Phalaris,expert swimmer as he was, found himself unable to stand upright, andfrequently struggled to his feet choking for breath, with sea-water inhis eyes, ears, and nose. Charmides fared worse still. Overbalanced bythe second wave that struck him, he was whirled round and round in it,and finally washed up on shore, half drowned. After a moment or two ofgasping and reeling, he returned pluckily into the water, this timefinding shelter beside a rock which he could also grasp. Phalarismanaged to reach his side and share his protection, and there the two ofthem stood, waiting.
A period of delay and general commotion on the deck of the galleyensued. Three men in the centre of the company of sailors were engagedin some altercation, in which all the rest seemed far more interestedthan in making an escape from the vessel, which, apparently, was in noimmediate danger of breaking up. Presently, however, to Phalaris'immense relief, for the useless battling with breakers was becoming toomuch, alike for his strength and for his patience, one of the men fromthe galley was seen to throw a rope over the vessel's side, make it fastupon the bulwark, and begin to lower himself, hand over hand, down tothe water. At the rope's end he stopped, hung there for a moment,waiting for a wave to go by, and then slipped lightly in. Like allPhoenicians he was a good swimmer. Phalaris knew, from the manner inwhich he threw himself forward, that there was little danger of his notreaching the shore. Yet when, presently, a wave dashed violently overhim, Charmides gave a little cry at seeing the man hurled helplesslyforward, and then roll over and over in the grasp of the sea. Phalarisshouted above the clamor of winds and waters:
"Watch, Charmides, to seize him!"
As the writhing body swirled towards them, both Greeks, leaning forward,caught and held it fast. The man was not drowned nor even unconscious.Accustomed to living more or less in the sea, he had swallowed butlittle water, and, being set upright again, with his feet touchingbottom, he stood still for a moment, said something in Phoenician to hisrescuers, and proceeded towards the shore, where most of the young men,less patient and less expert than Theron's sons, now stood.
Phalaris and Charmides, however, perceiving that they were likely to beof real use where they were, held their position; and, exhilarated bythe excitement and pleasure of the first rescue, they caught andassisted, one by one, nearly the whole crew of the galley. Phalaris,indeed, was amazed at the way in which his brother bore himself. Therhapsode worked as vigorously as the athlete, showed no fear at theonslaught of the waves, and was almost as successful as the other atcatching and holding the distressed swimmers as they came by. At lengththere remained upon the galley only the three men that had first beenengaged in the discussion. Of these, two presently disappeared fromsight in the hold of the ship, leaving one alone by the bulwark. As thisperson, the length of whose tunic showed him to be no common sailor,finally climbed over the ship's side and began to lower himselfleisurely to the water, Phalaris turned to look upon his brother.Charmides' form was dimly outlined in the gathering darkness, and hisfeatures were indistinguishable. A lightning flash, however, presentlyrevealed the face, pale and drawn with exhaustion. Phalaris perceived itsympathetically.
"For this one man we will wait. Then, if there are not to be two drownedGreeks, we must make our way ashore," he said, hoarsely, and Charmidesnodded assent.
The last man, for all his easy bearing, proved to be a far less expertswimmer than his predecessors. He had not accomplished more than asingle, uncertain stroke when a wave caught him, rolled over his head,and buried him completely from the straining vision of his would-berescuer. He was under water for what seemed to Charmides an eternity;and when, finally, by the light of a flash of lightning, the body wasseen to reappear from the foam of a
broken wave, it tossed there,lifeless, making no effort at resistance. Charmides rushed through thewater to the drowning man's side, and, before reaching him, foundhimself out of his depth. As he sent a despairing shout to Phalaris, thesupposed unconscious one addressed him, shouting above the surroundingroar, in Phoenician:
"Save yourself, youth! I shall float--" The sentence was interrupted bya rush of water, which threw Charmides forward, and once more buried thelight, limp body of this unusual person.
Acting upon the excellent advice of the floater, the Greek made hisdifficult way to the shore, arriving on the beach at the same time withPhalaris, and a moment later than the stranger, who had been washed upunhurt and apparently not much disturbed by his contest with the waves.
The two brothers, reaching dry land again, found but few of theirfriends left on the sand. As the wet and half-drowned sailors arrived,one by one, on the shore, they had been approached by the native Greeks,and, the relations between Carthage and Selinous being as yet of themost amicable nature, hospitably taken up to the city, where warmth,food, and rest were to be had. Among the group of three or four thatremained when the last Phoenician was washed up by the waves, was one whohastened to Charmides, as he stood dizzily on the sand looking back intothe sea that was in such a furious commotion.
"Charmides, you have been foolhardy enough. Such work is well forPhalaris, perhaps, but--"
"Father, it seems to me that for many months Charmides has beendeceiving us. By nature he is an excellent athlete--better than I."
Charmides shook his head and replied, faintly: "Let us go home. There isno more to do."
"But there remain still two men on the galley."
"For them," put in the stranger, speaking in awkward Greek, "you neednot fear. They are still below with the slaves, but they will easilyreach the shore, if, indeed, they wish to do so. I think they willrather remain where they are to-night."
"The galley does not appear to be breaking up."
"No. Her bottom did not strike. She is only wedged fast between tworocks."
In the little pause which followed, Theron peered through the darknessin an attempt to distinguish the features of the stranger. Night hadclosed in, however, in intense blackness, and before Charmides had timeto put in a second, shivering appeal, his father said:
"Come then, my sons, we will start homeward. Your mother must be waitingour return. And you, O stranger, if you will accept of shelter and foodat our hands, such as we have, in the name of Apollo, are yours."
The man from the galley accepted, without hesitation, the profferedhospitality. Then Theron bade good-night to those with whom he had beentalking, and the stranger followed in the footsteps of the young men,who were hastening along the sand that skirted the cliff and thence raninto a wider beach that terminated the valley between the two hills.
It was twenty minutes of difficult walking even in daylight to reach theabode of Theron from the acropolis; and to-night, amid the heavydarkness, and in their exhausted condition, both Charmides and hisbrother were completely spent before the friendly light of their homebecame visible in front of them. The house was well built, of stonecovered with the usual stucco, brightly colored without and prettilyfrescoed within. The rooms above ground numbered only four; whilebeneath the living-room, reached by a flight of stone steps, was acellar stored with a goodly number of amphorae filled with wine ofvaried make and excellence--most of it from vines that covered themuch-disputed Egestan plain; some, of more celebrated vintage, sent upfrom Syracuse.
Theron's wife, Heraia, and Doris, the pretty slave, their day's spinningand embroidery ended, were busy preparing the evening meal. Heraia wasnot a little anxious over the absence of her husband and her two sonsthrough the whole of the storm, and she was particularly uneasy aboutCharmides, whom she loved more with the tenderness felt for a daughterthan for a son. Some time since she had despatched Sardeis, the maleslave, to the sheep-run, to see if the rhapsode's flock had been safelyhoused, and if there were any signs of the shepherd's return. And thematron had herself gone many times to the door and looked forth into theoft-illumined darkness in the hope that the storm was abating. A stew ofgoat's flesh steamed fragrantly in the kettle by the fire, and Doriskneaded cakes of ground corn that were to be laid before the fireimmediately upon Theron's return. Heraia was setting the table withplates and drinking-cups, when suddenly Phalaris threw open the door.His appearance was not reassuring. Doris gave a faint shriek, and Heraiacried, in great anxiety:
"Thy father--and Charmides--where are they? You are half fainting,Phalaris! Come in. What has happened?"
"The others are with me, just behind, bringing up a Phoenician from thegalley that went on the rocks below the acropolis. Here they are."
The other three at that moment appeared out of the darkness beyond thedoor-way. Theron and the stranger in front, Charmides lagging weakly inthe rear. Heraia sighed with relief at beholding them, wet, bedraggled,and spent as they were. Phalaris, and the stranger, about whose legs thelong, soaked tunic flapped uncomfortably, and Charmides, whose wet skinwas of the color and texture of polished ivory, were all three shiveringwith cold. Theron, then, as the only unspent one of the party, criedout, vigorously:
"Heraia, there must be wine, food, and dry garments for us all,especially for this Phoenician, who, driven from his ship by wind, wave,and rock, seeks shelter at our hands, and is for the night our honoredguest. He--"
"--proffers thanks to you and to the protecting gods for rescue from thewaters and reception into your home," put in the stranger, gracefully,if with some languor.
Heraia merely smiled her welcome as her eyes flashed once over hisswarthy face; and then, as one long accustomed to such demands upon herresources, she took command of the situation. From a carven chest on oneside of the room she brought dry raiment for them all, despatching herboys first to their room with it while she stopped the Phoenician for amoment with an apology.
"I have no vestment to offer that can equal yours in texture and color,"she said, regretfully, gazing with admiring eyes on the long, yellowtunic, with its deep borders of the wonderful Tyrian purple which noamount of sea-water could dim and no sun of the tropics fade to a palerhue. "But at least it shall be carefully dried and stretched smooth uponthe frame. Now if you will but follow Charmides"--she pointed to adoor-way leading to the next room--"wine shall be carried to you whileyou dress, and food will be ready before you are. Go then at once."
Smiling to himself at her woman's tongue, the Phoenician very willinglyobeyed her behest, and joined the two young men in their room. Here thethree of them rubbed one another back into a glow of warmth, whileTheron, in another chamber, doffed his rain-soaked vestment for a gaylybordered tunic, and pretty Doris, in the living-room, still knelt beforethe fire over her well-kneaded cakes.
Half an hour later the family and their guest, all much refreshed by thecombination of wine and warmth, seated themselves on stools round thetable, where various dishes were set forth about a big jar of mellowwine. Doris, upon whose graceful figure Phalaris' eyes were oftenseen to rest, while the stranger glanced at her once or twice incontemplative admiration, poured wine as it was wanted into thewrought-metal cups, and took care that no one lacked for food. PresentlyTheron, perceiving that his guest's spirits were rising under the genialinfluence of the Syracusan product, began to question him concerning hisvoyage.
The Greeks, out of courtesy, spoke in the Phoenician tongue, which, owingto their proximity to the easterly Phoenician settlements, and theirconstant trading intercourse with the Carthaginians, they spoke withsome fluency. The stranger, with equal politeness and with moredifficulty, made his replies in the language of his hosts.
"Your race, indeed, are daring travellers. It is said that the Phoenicianbiremes have been known to pass the pillars of Hercules beyond thesetting sun. Tell us, have you ever looked upon that outer stream ofwater that flows round the plain of earth?"
Kabir laughed. "The sea that lies beyond the Herculean pillars is
notpart of the stream that surrounds the earth. I have but now come fromfar beyond those little mountains. We left Tyre seven months ago, at thebeginning of the rainy season, touching at Carthage and her colonies onthe coast of Hispania. Then we passed the pillars, and sailed away tothat far, cold country of savages where we go for a kind of dye-plantwith which the natives stain their bodies blue, and for a bright metalwhich they dig from the earth, but which is not found in the East. Thesavages there are gentle enough with us. They like our warm, woollencloth, and our weapons, and brass-work, and our jewelry. This time, whenwe had finished our trading on their shores, we took one of them onboard with us to guide us up the northern sea to the cold land ofBoreas. Across this frozen country, through forests and over hills,among fierce native tribes, we Phoenicians have made a road which leadsus farther north, to the shores of an inner sea in whose waters are tobe found marvellous gems of a bright yellow color, sometimes clear asglass, again thick, like unpolished gold. These we gather and carry homewith us, to be cut into ornaments for our princes and their wives, andfor our temple-fanes. They sell them to us for our cloth, these dwellersby the sea. Then we return, by the way we came, to our ship. This is thethird time that I, master-trader of the _Fish of Tyre_, have, by thefavor of Baal and Melkart, accomplished the journey."
The exceptionally modest recital ended in a burst of genuine wondermentand admiration from the auditors. Finally, when the requisite questionsand compliments had been passed, Phalaris observed, curiously:
"The sailors of your galley--they have travelled very far. Are theywell-disciplined men?"
Kabir nodded. "They are as good at sails and ropes and as fearless indistant seas as they were at ease in the water to-day. You saw them?"
Phalaris gave a chuckle. "If you, master-trader, are as good at making abargain as you are at floating, then indeed must the savages of theNorth be rueful after your departure. But your rowers--the slaves--theyalso are trustworthy and patient?"
Kabir's pale face suddenly flushed. "The dogs! By the hand of Moloch, ifI had had my way, every man of them would lie with a slit nose to-night!It was they that wrecked our galley to-day. For a month we have been onthe verge of an outbreak from them. They have complained forever abouteverything--their food, their places, their chains, the length of thevoyage, too little rest. Latterly it has been a risk each night when weloosened their bonds to let them sleep. And this afternoon, long beforethe storm, their insolence had become unbearable. For three hours theirmaster, Sydyk, and Eshmun and I stood whipping them to their work. Thewind was on us while we were still below, and Taker, Eshmun's cousin,fool that he was, forbore to have the sail drawn. It was not till wewere facing the full gale and those panic-stricken dogs pulling likemadmen to keep us off the rocks, that Eshmun went up to see what couldbe done. At the moment when he reached the deck the sail was blown intoshreds, and we were spun round as if Scylla herself had caught us.Hearing a great clamor above them, and feeling the ship suddenly reelunder their oars, every slave in the hold fell forward on his face,shrieking out prayers to Baal and giving no heed to the bloody lashesthat we still whirled over their heads. Both Sydyk and I foresaw thatthing which shortly happened; and at the moment when the galley wasfirst thrown between the rocks, we reached the upper air, finding Eshmunready to descend once more that he might unchain the slaves, who wouldotherwise drown during the night at their posts. Sydyk, however, vowedthat not one of them should live, in consequence of their rebelliousfolly. When the dispute between them was thus begun, I, unwisely,interposed, advising speedy escape for ourselves, letting the animalsbelow live or perish as they would. They might certainly survive tillmorning, since by now we could plainly perceive that the galley couldnot sink, wedged as she was in the rocks. So the discussion continued,and was in no way concluded between the two of them when you saw meleave the vessel and start for shore. I can float, but I cannot swim aswell as most children, and I needed what strength was mine to get me toland. Besides this, I was most wet, most chilled, and fagged enough withthe unpleasant events of the afternoon. Therefore let us drink anotherlibation to the gods, who led me to-night under the shadow of yourkindly roof."
This short explanation of the trouble on the galley over which thecitizens of Selinous had so wondered that afternoon, was listened towith great interest, and received various comments. Phalaris stronglysympathized with Kabir's disgust with the slaves. Theron expressed moretemperate ideas; and Heraia gently voiced her pity for the unfortunatewretches. Charmides, who was entirely of his mother's mind, remainedsilent. When the discussion had lost its vigor, he rose from the table,and, moving rather aimlessly to the door, opened it to look out.
"It will soon be too warm, mother, for your fire," he said. "The cloudshave parted, and the great night-star hangs in the heavens."
The chance remark brought silence to the little party, and they satabsently watching the shepherd who had halted in the door-way, his whiteprofile silhouetted against the outer blackness. Kabir, especially,gazed on him in growing admiration.
"By Hercules!" he observed, softly, to Phalaris, "thy brother's formwould make a fitting Tammuz for the great Istar of Babylon!"
Charmides chanced to catch the last words of this sentence, and heslowly turned his head. "Istar of Babylon," he asked. "Who is she?"
The Phoenician regarded him intently. "They call you a rhapsode," hesaid.
Charmides nodded.
"And you have not heard of the living goddess?"
"The living goddess!" came from three mouths at once.
"Listen then. It is a fitting subject for the lyre."