When this had been done, and the pinnace was moving gently with the current, his voice rose again. “Before we spread our sails and take oars for Alexandria, let us acknowledge Him who has answered our prayers.” And so under the bright moonlight, floating gently down the restful ancient river, with no sound on the air but his own majestic voice, the high priest, as if primate of all religions, gave thanks, in few and fitting words and with uplifted hands, for the success of their enterprise to Him “who executeth judgment for the oppressed, who giveth food to the hungry, and who looseth the prisoners.”
Now up, men, with the sails! Now, ye oarsmen with light hearts and strong arms, ply joyfully the oars homeward! Aleph, sitting at the feet of Seti and Rachel, is duly questioned and tells modestly his story; and he in return soon comes to know all that we know about the measures taken for his rescue—also about the situation of Cimon, in regard to whom his concern seemed to have been greater than for himself. For the most part Seti told the story. And he told it well. Rachel certainly had no reason to complain that justice was not done to the part she had taken in the matter. And she saw more eloquent speaking in the two luminaries that occasionally beamed up into hers than she had ever seen in moon and stars—or even the sun.
But toiling men must have rest and sleep. So, after the lapse of an hour or so, during which good progress had been made, the boatmen moored again under the screen of another leafy grove that overhung the river and laid themselves down wherever they best could. Seti and Rachel retired below. As for Aleph, he had had enough of inactivity. The sense and delight of freedom once more were strong within him. He leaped ashore; and walked about in the grove, and sometimes on the highway from Alexandria which in general followed the banks of the river, and which the Romans, according to their wont, kept in the best condition. While on this thoroughfare he heard the sound of wheels and the tramp of furiously driven horses coming from the north. He stepped into the grove. The noise rapidly grew, and soon became mixed with the voices of men in angry dispute. As the voices came still nearer—could it be?—Aleph thought he recognized the voice of Draco. Then appeared a chariot drawn by two foaming horses, with four men seated in it. When nearly abreast of him the horses suddenly stopped.
“We will go no farther,” exclaimed the voice of Draco, “till this matter is settled. We mean that he shall die; and we also mean to be paid well for what we have done for you. We must have enough to pay us for the loss of our situations, and to keep us in Rome, or wherever we choose to go, for the rest of our lives. We want the talents down—all of them. We are not a-going to trust you for a yearly stipend, which may and may not be paid; we must have everything in our own power. You did not promise so much? But you promised to pay us liberally; and the pay must be what we call liberal. Cannot get so many talents? You can at least steal them from your father, or from the treasury of the province—we do not care which. We do not care how you come by the money if so be that we get it.”
In the course of the violent altercation that followed Aleph recognized three other voices—that of the equestrian trainer, that of Antis, and that of Sextus Flaccus who seemed in a half drunken state. He also gathered that Sextus had been berating the trainers for their defeat by Aleph until the passionate men had been provoked beyond measure, lost all self-control, and were ready to do almost anything to gratify their resentment. Sextus was too much in wine to see his danger; kept on abusing them roundly; and even went so far as to threaten that he would pay them little or nothing for their services. This had brought matters to a crisis.
“Now,” said Draco at last, with an oath as horrible as a pagan or an atheist could swear, “let us have done with this. Tell us, Sextus Flaccus, what you will do—yes or no. Will you promise by the soul of your mother, the only oath you are likely to keep, that within five days, by hook or by crook, you will pay over to us the money we demand? If not, you drunken fool, we will strangle you on the spot and throw your body into the river. It will be said that you fell into the river in a drunken fit. And everybody will believe the story—even your own father. Swear, I say, or die, die. We can help ourselves at the castle to more than you are likely to give us, if it be true, as we hear, that your father hides his treasures there; and then we will take to the desert and have everybody for a prey. Come!”
Nothing came from Sextus but a new volley of provoking epithets and threats.
The two trainers grasped him. A struggle followed. “Drive on a little farther to a better spot,” cried Draco to Antis.
The horses sprang forward under the lash and soon disappeared. But Aleph could hear the noise of scuffle, muffled calls for help, half suffocated cries of terror. He ran after the chariot as fast as possible: at length descried it standing by the roadside empty. At the same time he heard a loud splash and saw three men run up from the river bank, leap into the chariot, and drive off at a furious pace. It was vain to pursue—perhaps he might rescue the victim. So he rushed to the bank which the men had just left; and leaned over the water, holding by a friendly sapling that bent over the stream. At first he could see nothing, coming as he did from the bright moonlight; but in a moment he saw a hand just sinking beneath the water—saw also a crocodile close by in the act of turning over to seize his prey. Quick as thought he struck at the monster with his staff, and then, plunging his arm deep in the water, caught the fingers of Sextus just as they were passing out of reach, and drew the body to the bank. It was apparently lifeless. The proper way of treating such a body is no discovery of modern times. Aleph was not ignorant of it, promptly used it, and found signs that life was not extinct, though flickering in its socket. He took up the body and hastened to return to the pinnace. He found it all alive with anxiety at his disappearance—especially after the sounds of strife and rushing wheels had faintly come to them. Seti and Rachel met him, as he stepped on board with his burden, with a joyful welcome and inquiring looks.
“Sextus Flaccus, nearly or quite murdered by his comrades—first throttled, and then drowned!”