Zal and Rustum seized Perpetua, who, knowing herself powerless, offered no vain resistance, and drew her through the curtained space behind the statue of Venus, and thence to a more distant room, in which they left her in darkness and alone.
The darkness was full of strange perfumes—full of strange sounds. To a child of the mountains, bred in the perfect mountain air, the heavy odors of the House of Pleasure were nauseating, almost insupportable. Below in the garden a woman’s voice sang softly in Sicilian the song of the “Two-and-Twenty Subtle Caresses.” Women listened to it and laughed, for the only sounds that floated up were the sounds of women’s voices. Perpetua put her hands over her ears and shuddered. She had come to womanhood sanely, sweetly, innocent, not ignorant, and she knew that the world of the valley was not the world of the hill. But it hurt her to the heart that any world could make such use of women, and she knew the fate that was meant to wait for her in the hateful place. But she knew no fear, not even the fear of death. She prayed once and no more; she was not one to weary Heaven with vain repetition. Then she waited in patience for the moment when she should hear again the footsteps outside the fastened door.
IX
THE LILY OF SICILY
As soon as Perpetua was withdrawn, Lycabetta turned to Lysidice. “Entreat the King to enter,” she commanded. To her surprise Lysidice made no move, but stood staring at Lycabetta with bright eyes of wonder.
“Why do you linger?” Lycabetta shrilled at her minion. The slight child answered, timidly:
“Daughter of the gods, I am amazed.”
Lycabetta frowned.