“Valerian’s daughter? In danger. Are not all things that are Valerian’s in danger? I, a poor freedwoman, I too shall perish, as will you, Valeria.... But it is these daughters. Ai! Ai! The daughters of women!”
They made on. In the dimness the flower-seller, coming against some obstruction, stumbled and was brought to the ground. Valeria stooping helped her rise. The touch drew each to each. They stood for a moment under the stars, clinging close, each to each.
“How,” asked Valeria, “is thy daughter in danger?”
“Was spawned an intelligencer, a spy! He swelled and lives to hunt out all who have blood the colour of Valerian’s! Some neighbour told him.... Went a word to the wolf-dogs, ‘Iras the dancer has blood the very colour! Perhaps in secret Valerian cherishes her, and will be hurt by her hurt, as by the vestal’s—’”
“What does woman’s moaning do?... They took my girl, saying that she was to dance at Cæsar’s feast.—O Hecate, hear me! We thought it only a palace feast with men and women and toying and dallying! I kissed her and laughed when she went. That was yesterday. No, it was the day before yesterday. Yesterday it was that I heard through Priscus of ruin and death, blooming for all that ever were called Valerian’s—blooming so for the dancer Iras!”
“O Flavia, thy woe!—O the flowers of this garden!”
“Then I went with Priscus whom I had nursed of a fever and who is a Christian and has a brother who serves a knight that is of Cæsar’s band. So by littles we learned—but that brought it to this very sunset.... So I heard that she was taken to that villa where devil’s ill is done. Cæsar is there, and men of Cæsar’s bosom!”
They had come to cypress trees by a huge and marble tomb. Lais’s limbs failed her, she sank upon the earth and stretched her arms along it. Valeria, standing, regarded the huge shadow of the night. Her lips moved. “Women against men—crowned men.... Helpless—helpless! Where they will ravin, they will ravin. Where are our arms, where are our minds, where are our souls?... And some they make courtesans, and some they make vestals. And the one they feed upon, and they cry for more women for food. And the other must be pure, and if she breaks their law—once, once—they slay her, making for her a terrible death! And each way they themselves are lawless and cruel. And where is any advocate, and any god?”
Lais rose from the earth—they went on together—they had miles to go. Hurrying all they might, lurking in shadows of tombs while other night-farers went by, the night was late when they came to the grove that was Cæsar’s, and the wall that enclosed a vast garden, and the long gleam, far from the road, showing that country-house, lighted still, revelling still!