Mardonius used also to narrate the life of Socrates; and when he came to the "Apology," delivered by the philosopher before his death to the people of Athens, the old master would rise, and triumphantly declaim the speech from memory, a calm irony lighting his face. These were less the phrases of a man accused, than the ringing tones of a judge addressing the people.
"Socrates does not ask for pardon. All the power, all the laws of a government are absolutely nothing beside the liberty of the soul of man. Yes! the Athenians can kill a man without taking from him the freedom and the happiness of his immortal soul." And when this barbarian, this ex-slave from the banks of the Borysthenes, pronounced the word "liberty" it seemed to Julian that the word contained such superhuman power that beside it even the Homeric pictures lost lustre. Fixing on his master his great wide, haunting eyes, the lad shook with enthusiasm.
The cold touch of a hand at his ear drew Julian from his dreams. The lesson of the catechist was finished. On his knees he recited the prayer of thanksgiving; then escaping from Eutropius he ran to his room, took down a book, and hastened to a solitary nook in the garden to read at ease the Symposium of Plato, the pagan, a book forbidden above all others. On the stairs Julian met the monk, who was departing—
"Wait, my dear boy! What book is your Majesty carrying?"
Julian stared at him and tranquilly tendered the volume. On the parchment binding Eutropius read the title, written in great capitals, "The Epistles of St. Paul the Apostle," and gave back the book unopened.
"That's all right! Remember that I have to answer for your soul to God and to the sublime Emperor. Don't read heretical books, especially none of those frivolous philosophers whom I have to-day condemned."
It was the habitual trick of the boy to wrap dangerous books in innocent bindings. Julian from his infancy had learnt dissimulation, and even took pleasure in deceiving others, especially Eutropius. He dissembled and lied needlessly and habitually, prompted by deep-seated anger and revenge. To Mardonius alone his behaviour was always open and gracious.
Intrigues, scandals, gossipings, suspicions continually arose at Macellum among the numberless idle servants. The whole pack of varletry, in the hope of Court favour, subjected the two disgraced young princes to espionage by night and day. Long as Julian could remember, death was an hourly expectation. Little by little he had accustomed himself to perpetual fear, being quite aware that neither in the house nor garden could he take a step or make a gesture unperceived by a thousand intent but invisible eyes. Hearing and understanding much of the toils about him, the boy was forced to feign ignorance. At one time it was the conversation between Eutropius and a spy sent by the Emperor Constantius, in which the monk named Julian and Gallus "the imperial scourges"; at another time, in the gallery under the kitchen windows, it was the meditation of a cook, furious at some insolence on the part of Gallus. She was saying to the washer-up of the dishes, "God save my soul, Priscilla, but what I can't make out is, why they haven't strangled them before!"
To-day, when Julian, after his lesson in theology, went out of the house and perceived the greenness of the trees, he breathed more freely. The two peaks of Mount Argæus, covered with snow, sparkled against blue sky. The neighbourhood of glaciers made the air refreshingly cool; garden alleys stretched hither and thither into the distance; glistening dark-green foliage of oaks formed thick vaultings; here and there a ray filtered through the branches of plane-trees. Only one side of the garden was not walled in, for in that direction lay a chasm. At the foot of the plateau on which the castle stood, a dead plain stretched as far as Anti-Taurus, and from this plain fierce heat rose in mist, while in the garden fresh streams were running and little waterfalls tinkling through thickets of oleanders.
A century before the date of which we are speaking Macellum had been the favourite domain and pleasure-house of the luxurious and half-mad Ariarathes, king of Cappadocia.