"My scarred eunuch hath a story? I have thought so since Pilate made thee mine."
"Yea, a story. Would that my lips might tell into the ear of the noble
Claudia the story of the scar thy late-bought slave doth bear."
"There is yet time before Pilate cometh. Tell on."
CHAPTER IX
SWEET IS THE SCAR
"Where the blue Aegean washes the shores of sunny Thrace," the eunuch began, with a far-away look in his eye. "Yea, in the land of Sparticus, that bravest of all fighters for the freedom of mankind, there lived my people and there lived I save when to gain knowledge I attended the schools of Greece. Fields had my people where the vine hung purple as the sky at midnight and grain did we garner golden as the belly of the tiger hide beside our hearthstones. Rich was my father's house in fields, and rich were his sons in wine and stores and flocks. Golden were my arms with cunningly wrought bracelets and around my neck hung gems from far lands.
"But richer than purple wine, or golden bands, or jewels, was the look of her whom I loved. White were the arms she hung around my neck, as milk and ivory. Pink like the first flush of the morning were the cheeks my lips pressed. Dark was her hair and soft like smoke in the evening, and her eyes shone like stars on the bosom of the sea. Blue as the summer sky were the veins that lay like tender lace over her virgin bosom. Her breath was fragrant like flowers behind damp stones and sweet was her voice as the music of waves when rainbow foam kisses rainbow foam and is lost in one embrace. And she was mine; and I was hers and a cot at the foot of a violet hill was ours.
"The sun shone. The breezes blew. The flowers bloomed. The clusters hung purple. The grain stood golden. And then—aye, then came Rome—Rome the scourge! Rome the curse! Rome the wolf! With fire, sword, rapine, murder—came Rome! When the invading army crossed the bounds we took refuge in a walled city. Soon we were surrounded by a forest of glittering spears. I was an archer on the wall, and we showered the brutes that hid under the bristling steel. But their shields made a phalanx which did toss back our arrows as a bull tosses stubble. Against the wall did they hurl mighty stones which did come with fierce fury, and with a great beam did they batter our walls as a ram doth batter a thin hedge. For days did we withstand. I fought with mad fierceness, for she whom I loved cheered me from beneath the wall.
"Then did the enemy without the city throw balls of burning pitch. Our men did fight the fire until their hands were blistered, yet came those balls of fire. And when flames were consuming us, the gates of the city were broken and the hand of Rome did have us in its power. With many of my fellows was I taken away and made fast to a great tree near by the tent where a Roman chieftain did collect spoil. Of the lithe of limb who were taken captive, some were to be made gladiators, but the fierce screams of others of my countrymen, mingled with Roman curses, told of a more ignominious fate than the arena. For this was I marked. Fierce was the passion of my bosom that my heritage of the gods should be sacrificed on the bloody edge of a Roman knife. While yet I stood chained did my eye catch a sight that did freeze my boiling blood fast in my veins, steep my breath in curses and turn my vision to mad blackness, for into the tent of the Roman chief I saw her carried whom I loved—she who was mine.
"I tore at the chain until blood did ooze from my flesh. Aye, and the gods did see my plight. My weapons had the hand of Rome taken save a knife hid in my tunic. Shortly was I to be taken to the chief to be robbed of my armlets. Then did all the gods show me favor, for as I went into the tent the chief was called out. Save for the time an eye doth twinkle was he called out. Yet I rushed behind the curtains which did hide the maiden. Swift were my words as the falcon flies and gleaming was my blade in my hand ere the words did pass my lips. And swift as light falls, bared she her bosom, and here, on the spot where we had dreamed a little head would lie which should be ours, I drove the keen blade in deep—deep drove I the blade, kissing her lips. And she did laugh—laugh like a happy child and press her lips to mine. I drew the dagger dripping red from the heart of my Thracian love and stuck it to my bosom bidding her strike it hard. But the stroke fell short. Even as the first blood met the blade was I struck low by the sword of Rome which lay open my face. Aye, seest thou? Seest thou the face of thy slave? And when he beheld blood bubbling from my face and pumping from my breast, did the Roman chieftain laugh.