A silence, complete and strained, followed his words. Ramua flushed.
Baba hid her face on Zor's back; and even Beltani looked uncomfortable.
Charmides, puzzled, and wholly ignorant of any reason for the silence, instantly feared some embarrassing mistake in his language, and quickly repeated the question in different words, wishing to remedy any possible impropriety that might have crept into his former speech. Ramua now looked at him imploringly; but Baba, turning to her mother, said, in a low voice:
"Let us tell him. Then Bazuzu will no longer have to wait till so late.
Now he loses his sleep."
Beltani considered for a moment or two.
"Let us trust him. He will be silent," said Baba again.
"No! No, indeed!" cried Ramua, unhappily.
Baba regarded her sister with the slightest hint of scorn. "Will you always deceive him?" she said, bitterly.
Then Charmides, not a little disturbed by these unpleasantly suggestive words, looked at Ramua to find her lips quivering and her eyes ominously bright.
"Tell me of this thing! Let me hear, that I may know all!" he demanded, stumbling more than usual, in his new-born anxiety.
Then Beltani, perceiving that matters were being made to look worse than they actually were, took the affair into her own hands, and proceeded to answer at great length, with the assistance of many gestures and much tautology, Charmides' unfortunate question.
The tenement of Ut, in which Beltani and her family dwelt, was, as of course Charmides knew, separated from the palace and the extensive gardens of Lord Ribata Bit-Shumukin only by the canal of the New Year, and by two or three hundred feet of waste ground on the other side of the stream. And in these gardens behind the palatial residence, bloomed, all the year round, flowers of every kind known to Babylonia and the West, in such countless numbers that a hundred blossoms taken daily from the wilderness of fragrance, could never be missed. Moreover, neither my Lord Ribata nor any member of his household, ever, so far as Beltani knew, appeared in these grounds. Therefore, if, every night, black Bazuzu went, unseen and unheard, into the gardens, and very carefully selected enough flowers for Ramua's basket next morning, could either the gods or Ribata be very angry? Nay, indeed, had not my lord himself on more than one occasion actually purchased a rose of his own from the flower-girl on the steps of the temple of Istar? And was not this a sign from heaven that the great gods winked at the whole proceeding? Ramua might weep if she would. She had countenanced the arrangement for two years, and it was not exactly honest to be smitten now with repentance.
Beltani finished her explanation a little defiantly and looked up, not without apprehension, to find Charmides' face filled with relief, and as cheerful as possible. Ramua refused to look at him, though he was smiling at her broadly; and it was only when he said, "Let us together go and seek thy flowers for to-night," that she flashed at him a look of happy acquiescence.
Charmides' eyes grew brighter yet. Evidently that fateful garden was going to prove a little paradise for him. He had a quick and delicious vision of himself and of her shut far away from everything sordid and unbeautiful, wandering together through fragrant, flowery paths in the moonlight, whispering words meant only for the stars and for themselves.
Moreover, this was a dream that might be repeated many times; for, while Ramua must sell flowers for her livelihood, and Bazuzu deserved a night of unbroken rest, it--
Here this pleasing reverie came to a halting finish. Charmides suddenly felt that Baba's mournful, owl-like eyes were reading his thoughts as he would have read a Greek tablet. Beltani, too, was by no means blind; and she, at any rate, had not the slightest intention of permitting Ramua and the hare-brained Greek to go alone together into Ribata's garden.
The good woman's mind was of a purely Babylonish turn, and the ideas attendant on a fine sense of honor had never occurred to her. Charmides, therefore, was not of high enough birth, nor possessed of sufficient wealth, to admit of any dangerous philandering. This fact Beltani made known to him in terms as terse and to the point as only she was capable of using. It was nothing that Charmides should clench his fists and grow purple with rage at the insult; or that Ramua was ready to dissolve in tears of shame. To these things the good housewife closed her eyes pleasantly. What did they signify? She was mistress of the situation, and, as such, the feelings of others had no effect on her.
The sunset hour was over at last, and the small household descended from the roof and entered their rooms, where the regular incantation was made and the prayers to Marduk and to Sin were said. Then Beltani and her daughters passed into the inner room, and Charmides was left alone for the night with Bazuzu.
In spite of his ill-humor, the Greek could not lay him down for the night without his address to his patron, Father Apollo. Bazuzu watched him as he knelt, his face turned towards the west, and saw his fretful expression gradually soften to one of reverence and love as the melodious words left his lips. Charmides did not guess how often and how closely Bazuzu followed his devotions, nor realize that, in the heart of the deformed black man, a very deep affection for himself had been growing throughout the summer. His prayers finished, he gave Bazuzu good-night and a smile, as he lay back upon his pallet. But sleep was not very ready to his eyes. Now that the explanation had been made, now that Ramua's tearful face was no longer pleading with him, the matter of the flowers took on rather a different aspect in his mind. In the year 539 B.C. the Greek notions of justice were strict and well defined, and the laws were enforced far more stringently than in later times. The word theft was a synonym for dishonor. And Charmides was thoroughly imbued with the traditions of his race. Therefore, now that he had begun to consider the affair impartially, it had not a pleasant look. Twist it as he would, he could not but see that Ribata was being wronged, and that--much worse!--the maiden who was dearer to him than anything else in the world, had been for two years an open party to this wrong. To be sure, Beltani was the originator of the scheme, and Beltani was the girl's mother. Implicit obedience to one's parents was also another law of Greek social life. Was Ramua, after all, so much to blame? Then, as Charmides thought of his own mother, her honor, her goodness, her sympathy, there came to him the wish that he might be to Ramua all that and more than his own mother had been to him. He determined that Ribata should some day be made aware of this whole matter, and should be repaid for his loss by Charmides himself, who would have the right to do so when Ramua was his wife.
This thought came to him together with the first touch of drowsiness; and so comforting was the idea, and so heavy were his eyelids, that, five minutes later, the Greek was dead to the world. Thus he did not know when Bazuzu, basket in hand, slipped quietly away into the night.
It was much earlier than the slave had been accustomed to depart; but, now that Charmides knew the household secret, Beltani's slave might as of old choose his hour of departure on the unlawful errand.
It was very dark to-night as he crept down the alley to the bank of the canal. The moon had passed the full, and its red rim had just peered over the horizon, as the slave, having crossed the little bridge over the stream and traversed the intervening distance between it and the garden, stood before the high hedge and the concealed opening in the wall through which he was accustomed to enter Ribata's domain.
Bazuzu could have come to this place blindfolded and have entered with perfect accuracy. Now, for the thousandth time, he crawled in on his hands and knees, drew the basket after him, straightened up, and, looking neither to the right nor to the left, hurried over to the long bed of flaming red lilies, now in their prime, and, in consequence, Ramua's chief stock in trade till the paler flowers of early autumn should come into bloom. Here, with by no means ungentle fingers, the black man began to pluck the shapely flowers, selecting them with such care that no one, casually overlooking the bed, could have perceived how many had been taken. Bazuzu was in no hurry. Perhaps, once here, he enjoyed being in the garden. Any one might, indeed, have enjoyed it, for the place was rarely beautiful. The newly risen moon, showing now above the shadowy, distant towers of the various temples, flooded the dreamy recesses of tropical verdure with a soft, bluish light that drew forth perfumes from every blossom, and caused the new-fallen dew in the flower-cups to glisten like opals. Occasionally Bazuzu paused in his work, and lifted up his head to look about him in the luxuriant stillness. Dimly he realized that even sleep rested and refreshed him no more than this. He did not now regret that Ramua and Charmides had not been allowed to come here together. To what raptures of love their souls would have been drawn by the beauty of this scene, the black man did not know. In the midst of his small, untutored ecstasy, he passed from the lilies to a clump of rose-trees that overhung a pond where lotus-blossoms floated. It was here, while bending over the perfect specimens of the fair flower of Persia, that his quick ear caught the sound of steps--footsteps--coming measuredly towards him.
Bazuzu's heart gave a throb of terror as he looked up the path leading to the palace. Yes, it was true. Two figures--men--were approaching.
Clasping the basket close to his breast, Bazuzu knelt and drew himself as far back as possible in the shadow of the rose thicket. He was no more than hidden when the men passed him, so closely that the rich mantle of one of them dragged over the slave's hand. Down to the hedge and then back by the same beaten path, always slowly, always earnestly conversing together, moved the twain; and as they passed him again, Bazuzu had recovered himself sufficiently to recognize both. One was Ribata himself, lord of the house, whom Bazuzu knew, as a matter of course, to be Beltani's landlord. The other was a figure familiar to every one in Babylon: Bel-Shar-Uzzur, governor of the city and heir-apparent to the throne. It was he who talked most. Bazuzu watched him interestedly, for it was no small thing to sit listening to the conversation of royal princes. Hitherto, when he had chanced to see the prince, or when he had heard others tell of seeing him, Belshazzar had worn an air of over-confident and joyous pride, of haughtiness, even, for which he was none too well loved by his people. Perhaps now it was only the whiteness of the moonlight that changed him so; but to-night there was neither pride nor joy in that imperious face. A great pallor was on him and his look was troubled. From the fragments of speech that he caught, the slave could not determine what difficulty Belshazzar might be in. He spoke often of temples and of priests, and there was some one whom he never called by name, but spoke of as "she," or sometimes, extravagantly, as "Belit"--"goddess."
In his interest in the scene before him, Bazuzu gradually forgot the danger of his position. A dozen times the two lords had brushed him as they passed, but never chanced to see the shadowy figure huddled at their very feet. Presently, however, in his eagerness to catch the end of a sentence, Bazuzu crept an inch or two forward, and did not draw back when the two turned towards him once more from the end of the path.
They drew near, and Belshazzar's eyes were fixed on the ground. Ribata was speaking, when, three feet from the thicket, Belshazzar suddenly seized his comrade's arm and stopped short.
"Dost thou, fearing danger, keep about thee concealed guards, Bit-Shumukin?" he cried, roughly.
"What sayest thou, Belshazzar?"
For answer, the prince strode forward, stooped, seized Bazuzu by the collar, and dragged him to his feet.
There was a silence. The slave, cold with fear, stood open-mouthed, his eyes wildly rolling, the basket still clasped tightly in his arms.
Ribata, who had grown white with astonishment and anger, stood staring at him. Belshazzar, lips compressed and brows drawn together, moved aside.
"Are you of my house, knave? And for whom art thou here? Speak! Answer me!" And Ribata stamped upon the ground.
Bazuzu, remembering, even in his terror, the helplessness of Ramua, answered, shiveringly: "Yea, of thy house, O lord!"
"He lies, Bit-Shumukin," interrupted the prince, sharply. "His collar is of leather. Those of thy house--"
"Yes, yes!" cried Ribata, still more angrily. "Speak the truth, thou villain, or--there is death in my garden. Who art thou?"
With thickening tongue and reluctant heart, Bazuzu made reply: "I am the slave of the Lady Beltani."
"And who is the Lady Beltani?"
"She dwells across the canal, in the tenement Ut of my lord."
"Ho! _Lady_ Beltani! A dweller in Ut! And why, then, art thou here and not in thy lady's own spacious gardens?"
Bazuzu helplessly held out his flower-basket.
Ribata seized it by the handle, and examined it and its contents. "These flowers--they go to beautify, no doubt, the person of the Lady Beltani?"
"My lord, they are sold by the Lady Ramua, her daughter, who sitteth daily on the steps of the platform at the temple of Istar, that she may obtain bread-money for her mother. My lord knoweth well that the dwellers in the tenement of Ut know not gold."
"Ah! Ramua, the flower-seller, is thy mistress' daughter?" demanded Belshazzar, stepping forward a little.
Bazuzu inclined his head.
"Then, Bit-Shumukin, unless the knave lies again, the gods favor thee well. Have her brought to thee, the Lady Ramua. She is as fair a maid as any in Babylon; and as she has sold thy flowers--let her now pay for them."
Ribata turned to his friend with interest in his face. "Do you laugh at me, Bit-Shamash, or is this thing so?"
"It is so, Ribata. Send only for the maid, and see if Bel is not kindly disposed to thee."
"Send for her here? Now? Nay--the knave no doubt lies."
"By my father's throne, I think he does not! The maiden Ramua is known to me. Have I not passed her daily for months, sitting on the temple steps? Have I not oftentimes worn a handful of flowers bought from her for a _se_, to win a smile from her maiden lips? Br-r! Ribata! Thou hast the blood of Oannes[9] in thy veins. Send for her to be brought before thee. She will teach thee the beauty of Sin's bright beams better than I. Buy her, Ribata, and keep her for thine own. 'Tis those that cannot be bought that make men miserable. Send for this maiden, I tell thee.
Brother, I go home."
Finishing this rather cynical advice, Belshazzar turned on his heel and started for the palace. Bit-Shumukin, catching him by the arm, tried all his eloquence to make his friend remain. The prince was obdurate, in his light, self-willed way, and finally concluded the argument by saying:
"Now I will send a slave to thee from the court-yard, who shall go with this man to bring the lady to thee from her dwelling. Quarrel not with thy fate, O son of ingratitude! May Marduk bless the meeting!"
And thereupon Belshazzar departed and went his way, leaving Ribata alone with the still trembling slave. By this time Bazuzu was utterly wretched, bitterly angry with himself for speaking Ramua's name, vaguely hating Belshazzar for his mockery, thoroughly apprehensive of the power of the man who stood at his elbow tentatively regarding him.
Fortunately, Belshazzar lost no time in carrying out his own suggestion, and presently a slave of Ribata's household appeared, coming rapidly down the path from the mansion. Reaching the spot where his master stood, he inclined himself profoundly, and waited his lord's will. After a little hesitation Bit-Shumukin, seeing nothing else to be done, said, in a tone of quiet command: