CHIOS THE GREEK
Day after day passed in festive manner until half the Month of Joy had sped, still Chios had not heard from the wise man. Where was he? Had he forgotten his promise? Was it all a dream? or was it, as he thought, a visitation from heaven, one of the gods on earth? Neither. He was confident he had met a human being, a man more powerful than any he had ever met before. There was but one other spirit like him, and that one dwelt in the form of a woman, and her name was Saronia.
To Chios both spirits appeared of the highest order, showing different phases, both giants in their faiths; one he loved, the other he somewhat feared, for he knew not what that strange man would tell to him, and Chios was like a ship on the stormy seas, tossed to and fro without sail or rudder to guide him. So he said, 'I will go to the Temple; there is worship at this hour.' As he moved slowly onwards Saronia passed him. Their eyes met, but she dared not speak.
The Greek felt all the old love revive the moment he beheld the beautiful girl. Moreover, he thought he read on her face the blush of a hidden love. What should he do? To go now to the Temple where she had entered would be useless, for his thoughts, his mind, his whole soul had gone out again to her, and he could worship no other deity, even were damnation the penalty. He would return to his studio, to his work on his great picture—the picture of his love, of the one being who haunted his life, of Saronia as High Priestess of Diana.
Oh, if he could speak to her; could draw near and drink deeply of those mysterious eyes! Even that might pacify him. How could it be done? He had influence in the city; he would use it. Could he not obtain entrance to the Sacred Grove?—for there he knew she nightly went to pay her vows on the altar of the Infernal Goddess. Yes, his mind was fully made up. He would find the hour she frequented the place, would hazard his life to speak with her, and if but one sentence came from those lips he would be satisfied, even if those words were the curse of Hecate.
On the way to the studio, and just as he was about to enter the gateway, he saw a woman leaning against a pillar. She addressed him, asking for alms. He replied:
'What dost thou here, woman? Why not take part in this day of joy?'
She said:
'My heart cannot feel joy. It is dead; it is incapable of throbbing to the pleasure of the world or the joy of religion.'
'Why?'
'Because I am an outcast; my sins are so great that I dare not pray. I am past feeling, and would die.'
'Art thou in such a state?'
'Yea, and worse: I am let alone by the gods and man.'
'Thou art, then, a wandering star?'
'Yes, thou sayest truly, for I shall soon shoot into the darkness of the unknown and be for ever lost.'
'Hast thou no occupation?'
'None.'
'Canst thou do anything to earn an honest livelihood?'
'I am skilled in magic, having learnt it in my youth; but the art is so common in Ephesus that my gains are very small.'
'Come, now, canst thou read my fate for a piece of gold?'
'I know thee.'
'Who am I?'
'He whom they call Chios the Greek, the Ephesian artist, and——'
'Go on, woman, do not fear!'
'The lover of Saronia.'
'Thou art mad.'
'No. Would that I had been born such!'
'How dost thou know my name?'
'Know thy name! I inquired for it after thou didst take away the slave girl Saronia, when she leant against the pillar outside the great theatre, waiting the bidding of her haughty mistress Nika. My curse rest on Nika!'
'Silence! Curse her not.'
'Say on, Chios: what dost thou want of me?'
'Nothing.'
'Then pass thy way and leave me as thou didst find me, unless thou, too, would whip me like a cur for resting against thy piece of marble.'
'Nay, woman; I will not go until I help thee. Here is a golden piece—another and another. Take them all; I have more. Go thou and get food, and hope on. Thou art earth's side of the great threshold, and may yet do well with the remnant of thy life.'
'No, no; I know the faith. Thou art wrong. The cursed of Hecate are doomed!'
'Listen, woman! Thou knowest Saronia?'
'Ah! ah! Thou canst not leave that name. I knew I was right. Thou lovest her?'
'Silence, I tell thee again! Thou art more profane than I imagined. Think you I am perilous enough to venture the curse of hell by daring to love a priestess of Hecate?'
'Yes. Thou art of the mould to dare anything for love. Not only to risk the curse of hell, but to wear it as thou wearest that ribbon around thy neck, the ribbon which suspends the silver shrine Saronia placed upon thy breast when thou didst slumber as the dead.'
'Witch as thou art, how dost thou know of this?'
'Magic does not aid me in this case. I saw her do it.'
'Saw Saronia—do—it?'
'Yes, I saw her.'
'Thou liest; it is thy dreadful sorcery!'
'Nay, nay, not so. I saw her enter thy gateway to escape a band of drunken ruffians. I stood by this very pillar where I often stand. I knew Saronia, and followed to protect, if needs be, and hid behind the myrtle-trees until she entered. Then I gazed within, saw her bend over thy sleeping form and put her sweet face close to thine, saw her take the trinket from her bosom, kiss it, and place it on thy breast. Then again did she stoop over, and drank in one long draught of thy breath—thy life, as if to mingle soul with soul.'
'Hast thou spoken of this to any other?'
'No.'
'Darest thou?'
'I will not.'
'And why so true?'
'Because if ever the fire is lit again within this wreck it will be she who will kindle the first spark.'
'How thinkest thou so?'
'It was I who befriended her, pointing the way when she fled from the house of Venusta. Besides, I met her before that, near the great theatre; there I read her fate, and told her her star was rising full of splendour. Besides, I love her as much as I can, and have begged of her to think of this poor hag when she cometh into great power—and she shall! Yes, she shall rise higher and higher, for the great spirit of the goddess leads her. Hear what Endora says: "Saronia's star is still in the ascendant. She has been priestess of spirits before this earth-life, and she shall rise to be queen of the priestesses here—first amongst women who serve the great goddess at the shrine of Artemis."'
'Art thou sure?'
'I know it.'
'By what?'
'By my power, which never fails. Would Chios know further?'
'No; but, stay, dost thou think Saronia is past loving other than the goddess?'
'I tell thee she loves Chios, and thou knowest it as well as I. She cannot rend the chain which binds ye twain together. The position is perilous in the extreme. Thou knowest she is bound to chastity, and wouldst thou try to break her sacred vows?'
'No; Heaven stay the thought! This I swear; but—can I trust thee?'
'Yes, Chios, thou art safe. Thy spirit comes towards me, but it cannot blend with mine, and for want of this thou mayest mistrust the need of perfect sympathy. But thou art good; I am dark and foul as Tartarus! Evil and good cannot make one unbroken circle of harmony. Nevertheless, trust me, Chios—trust me.'
'Very well, I will. At what hour does Saronia visit the Sacred Grove of Hecate to offer sacrifice?'
'This very night at midnight.'
'Are there means of access to that grove?'
'Yes, for those who dare, but few would.'
'Which is the way?'
'Go thou to the wood outside the Temple, pass a furlong to the north; there is a low wall which thou canst easily vault. Once within the sacred enclosure, push on westward another furlong, and thou wilt see the Hecatesium, the little temple shaded with gigantic pines and cypress-trees. Yellow iris stud the ground, and crimson and white oleander grow between. Heed not the mighty thunderings proceeding from the temple, or the livid, glare-like lightning's flash springing forth between the pillars of the portico—on swiftly by it, lest thy heart faileth and thou diest. Having passed this temple, take the winding road at its rear. This will bring thee to where three roads meet, and there thou wilt see, by the light of the waning moon and the flickering stars, an altar, and, rising above it, the three-figured statue of the Triple Goddess. She, as Hecate, holding in her hands the keys of hell and of death, facing the pit in which the altar is reared for to-night's incantations and sacrifice. Secrete thyself before midnight behind the base of one of the tall trees. Thou wilt not have long to wait ere the light of a torch will stream upon the dark green foliage and a woman's form will appear, and, later, as she approaches, dark tresses waving in the breeze, and, if light enough, two eyes like stars of night, o'ershadowed by eyebrows like cloudlets of gloom. Those are the eyes of Saronia, the priestess of Hecate. Darest thou to be there and speak to her? I think not. Weigh well thy intentions, Chios, before setting out on such an awful journey. Let me entreat thee, good man; let me beg of thee—forswear this enterprise!'
'Farewell, Endora—that is thy name, is it not?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Farewell, Endora—farewell. Keep the secret, as thou hast said.'
'I will, and perchance some power may save thee from the vengeance of earth and hell.'