"I will avoid him, then," thought the Phnician, calmly, and thereupon, with a distant salutation, he started forward once more to the upward path. To his further surprise this act brought Charmides hastily to his side.
"Where is thy flock, O rhapsode?" inquired Kabir, lightly, in the manner of Phalaris.
"In care of Sardeis. I was seeking you."
"And your purpose? What may I do?"
"N--nothing. I thought you might desire, perhaps, to see the city. Shall I conduct you to the agora? Would you like to see our temples?--and the statues?--and the new pediment that Eumenides is making for the basilica?"
"Very much. I was, indeed, just about to go alone up to the city,"
replied Kabir, courteously. But while the youth began abruptly to ascend the path in front of him, Kabir was wondering, in rather a puzzled way, what could be the reason for the young Greek's sudden solicitude for his amusement, and for the want of interest in what should have been his first object of inquiry--the galley's rescue from the rocks.
The two of them passed in silence through the well-kept street that led to the agora from the west, and had almost reached the height of the acropolis before a further word was spoken between them. Kabir's curiosity was turning to amusement, and he was inclined to put the shepherd down as half-witted, when the boy turned on him and burst out, as if driven to the speech:
"Kabir, tell me, was that that you were saying last night--about the goddess of Babylon--true or not? Is there such a being, or is she but an invention of your mind? I conjure you, if you have pity, tell me the truth!"
As he spoke, Charmides, from being very pale, had flushed crimson, and his young eyes burned with unquenchable fire. A sudden, unique revelation was borne in upon the Phnician, and he willingly passed over the blunt suggestion in the shepherd's question, in the pleasure of finding what was, to him, an entirely novel bent of mind. While they proceeded, then, on their way to the market-place, Kabir replied to the substance of Charmides' new queries.
"I told you the truth last evening, shepherd; as much truth, indeed, as I knew. I myself have never been in Babylon, and therefore have not, with mine own eyes, seen the goddess. But others, my friends, on returning to Tyre from the great city, have been able to talk of nothing but Istar, this living divinity. Yet it is many months since I was at home. By now she may have returned to the skies, from which, they say, she came. But that there was once such a being on earth I know; else I and all men of the East are gone suddenly demented."
"But her face--how do you imagine it? Her form--is it like a woman's?
Tell me, Kabir! Tell me more of her!"
"How can I, never having looked upon her? How shall I imagine what no man, seeing, knows?"
"Surely you know of the music that surrounds her. Whence does it appear to come? Is it the sound of lyre or flute; or perhaps of many instruments together? Perhaps some hint of its melody is--"
"Shepherd, shepherd! Have I not told you that I know nothing of it? Said I not last night that that music drove mad those that listened? Lyres!
Flutes! How could I know? How should I guess?"
"It is unbearable, this yearning. I am kept from sleep. I cannot eat. I am haunted by a face that I cannot see, lines that will not rise out of the chaos in which they lie. And no man will tell me what he knows. No man--no man."
The shepherd muttered these words to himself so incoherently that Kabir could scarcely distinguish one from another. Suddenly, however, Charmides lifted his head and looked at the Phnician with a deep sadness in his eyes. "Kabir!" he exclaimed, softly, "I am possessed!"
"Truly, I think you are!" growled the trader to himself. But with Charmides he abruptly changed the subject of conversation, and said, in a very different tone, with a phlegmatic smile: "It is my turn for questioning now. We are here in the agora, and you have told me as yet nothing of the temples, which are, so far as I can judge, most worthy of their gods."
Charmides restrained a sigh of impatience, but his disappointment showed plainly in his face. However, his native courtesy and his training in hospitality did not desert him, and for the next hour he devoted himself to his task so successfully that Kabir was well pleased with him. The boy's effort to keep his mind fixed upon immediate matters did not escape the Phnician, who, before the morning was over, conceived a very different idea of the shepherd's character. On the whole, the last half of the morning was much more enjoyable to him than the first.
At this time, in the spring of the five hundred and thirty-ninth year before the birth of Christ, the Hyblean city was in the height of its prosperity as an independent Doric colony; and its citizens had taken a generous and a reverent pride in the adornment of their acropolis and of the opposite hill, both of which were wreathed with temples which, in conception and erection, will never be surpassed. Kabir looked appreciatively at the agora, surrounded as it was with the fluted columns of the sanctuaries of Demeter, Apollo, and Zeus, and the somewhat too square basilica. The market-place teemed with life. A sacrifice and prayer to Father Zeus was in progress, and white-robed priests passed to and fro among the youths and maids of the open school, the slaves who came for water from the central fountain, or the venders of grains, fruit, and flowers that accosted one at every step. Passing out of the agora, after a considerable time spent in viewing its pleasant gayety, the stranger and his shepherd guide went back to examine the stone fort which rendered this eminence utterly impregnable upon its north side; and then they followed the high stone wall southward along the edge of the cliff till they reached the southeastern gate of Hystaspes. Through this Charmides passed rapidly, and led the way along well-paved streets down into the valley of the Hypsas River, which separated the acropolis from the east hill. Crossing the little bridge on foot, the two began their second ascent up the eminence where stood Charmides' home, near which were three other temples--one to Hecate, one to Hera, and the third, half finished, dedicated to the patron god of the city, Apollo, and destined to be the largest temple of them all and the third largest in the Greek world.
The walk had proved long, and the last part of the way was difficult.
Kabir was glad enough to sit and rest in the portico of Hera's shrine, looking out over the brow of the hill down to the rocky harbor where the galley still obstinately stuck. Charmides had ceased to talk, and his companion asked no more questions about the city. It was in perfect amicability, yet in perfect silence, that the two finished their short walk to Theron's house. The young Greek had fallen into a reverie from which it would have been difficult to rouse him; and he moved with his eyes fixed sometimes in the clouds, more often on the ground, while his mouth drooped and his expression grew more and more grave. Kabir glanced occasionally at his companion, needing no interpreter to determine the subject of his thoughts, but himself far more interested in the question as to whether there would be meat, or merely bread, cheese, wine, and fruit at the noon meal to which they were going.
As it turned out, there was mutton, well spitted, and done to a turn, a double portion of which was easily obtainable, for Phalaris did not come up from the harbor, and Charmides sat staring absently into space, while Theron, Heraia, and their guest ate and discussed the events of the morning. The galley, it appeared, had been moved a little, but was not yet completely out of the clutches of the rocks. It was hoped, however, that by nightfall she would, by the combined strength of the oars and the small boats, be got off and safely beached in a spot where the carpenters could begin work upon her crushed sides and torn bottom.
"It will be a matter of fifteen days, however, before she can continue her voyage. There is far more to be done upon her than we thought at first. Meantime, O Kabir, our dwelling is yours."
"May the gods duly requite your hospitality, good friends!" returned Kabir, as the four of them rose from the table.
After the meal Kabir went down into the harbor with his host, and Charmides sought the fields with his flock, not returning till an hour after sunset. The family was seated at supper when he appeared. His unusual tardiness elicited a remark or two from his father; but Heraia, reading the weariness in his eyes, forbore to question him. It required forbearance, indeed, for she found something in the shepherd's face that had not been there before; and on the meaning of it she speculated in vain.
In spite of the fact that he had eaten little at noon, and that his afternoon had been unusually long, Charmides took nothing to-night.
Kabir watched him discreetly, interested in his state, the cause of which he alone so much as suspected. Phalaris was weary after his long day at the oars, and showed his displeasure with his brother for making no inquiry as to the galley's progress by utterly ignoring Charmides after the first word of greeting. The rather uncomfortable meal at an end, Heraia ventured a customary request.
"Come, Charmides, get thy lyre or flute, and play to us. The sheep have been hearing thee all afternoon. Give us, also, music to-night."
None of the others echoed the request. Theron rarely encouraged either son in his chosen profession, though he was as interested in their success as they themselves. Phalaris still sulked, unnoticed; and the Phnician was too anxious for an opportunity of judging his new protege's ability to risk protest by undue urging. He was fortunate in choosing the passive course. At his mother's request, Charmides rose at once and brought out his well-strung lyre. Seating himself in a corner of the open door-way, and looking out upon the night, he struck two or three thin, minor chords. Then, in a voice whose limpid tenor Kabir had never heard equalled, he sang. It was a melody well known to all Greeks, but transposed from the major to the minor key. The words were Charmides' own--of exquisite simplicity--twenty lines on the grief and weariness of a lost Pleiad. It rose gradually to a plaintive climax, and ended in a tired pianissimo. There was no applause. None of his audience and neither of the slaves cared to break silence as the shepherd rose and returned the instrument to its place. Kabir thirsted for more; and presently Theron, with a little effort, asked, softly:
"Why do you stop?"
"Father, I am tired. Grant me permission to go to my bed."
"Permission need not be asked. Get thee away, and the gods send you dreamless sleep."
Half an hour later Phalaris and the Phnician followed the shepherd's example, and Theron and his wife also sought a willing rest. The athlete made quick work of preparing for the night, and, almost upon the instant of his lying down, fell fast asleep. Kabir was slower. He had disrobed as promptly as his companion, but he did not immediately lay him down.
As on the previous evening, the window was open, and the moonlight streamed over Charmides' bed. Kabir stole across the room to look out upon the night, moving noiselessly, that he might not disturb the shepherd, who, since the others entered the room, had lain motionless.
The Phnician, standing over him, brought his eyes slowly from the moon to the fair face below him, and gave a quick, unfeigned start to find Charmides' eyes wide open, staring up at him. Neither of them spoke.
Kabir, in unaccountable confusion, quickly returned to his own couch and lay down upon it, far wider awake than he had been ten minutes before.
Now ensued a period of silence and of uneasiness. The shepherd, his form flooded with silver light, lay immovable, eyes still unclosed, hands clenched, brain on fire, listening mechanically to the regular breathing of Phalaris, and waiting eagerly, anxiously, tensely, for the same sound from the couch of the Phnician. His nerves, too highly strung, twitched and pulled. His body gradually grew numb. And still, while he waited, ears pricked, eyes brilliant, Kabir refused to sleep. The moon rode in mid-heavens before the sign came. At last the faint snores sounded like muffled drum-taps, one--two--three--four--five. A long sigh escaped Charmides' lips. For one blessed instant his muscles relaxed. Then he rose swiftly, drew on his day tunic, threw about him the chlamys that Phalaris had worn, and slipped noiselessly from the room. For a moment after his disappearance everything remained quiet behind him. Then, suddenly, Kabir's snores ceased, and he sat cautiously up. Yes, Charmides was really gone. The Phnician rose and passed over to the door. The living-room was empty and the outer door open to the night.
Throwing on as much clothing as he needed in the mild air, the trader hurried outside and looked about him, first towards the sea, then along the path to the city. Upon this, walking swiftly, and already far on his moonlit way, went the shepherd. Kabir, with a kind of wonderment at his own curiosity, started at a half-run to follow.
Evidently Charmides was bound for a definite spot. He moved straight along through the rank grass, gorse, and wild onion that here took the place of near-growing daisies and sweet alyssum, and, looking neither to the right nor left, passed along the path to the acropolis.
The shepherd was acting on what was hardly an impulse. His strange action had been irresistibly impelled by some force emanating from his own mind, and yet _not_ of himself. He wished to be upon consecrated ground, in the precincts of a temple, where, it seemed to him, the burning thirst of his imagination might be quenched. In obedience to his guiding voice, he left behind him the temples of the hill on which he lived, and made his way towards the abode of his patron god of the Silver Bow, who had for years been worshipped on the acropolis, and whose immense temple on the other hill was still unfinished. Charmides had brought with him his lyre, again obeying the impulse, though without any idea of how he was to use it. He accomplished most of his journey, indeed, without thought of any kind; and not till the last, sharp ascent up the acropolis road was begun did it occur to him that, at this hour of the night, he might not pass the guard at the gate. The thought, when it came, scarcely troubled him. He would go at least as far as he could.
He passed rapidly up the steep slope, Kabir following noiselessly; and, as they drew near the gate of Dawn, the southeastern opening in the defending wall, Charmides saw a strange thing. The guard, one of a long-trained company for whom discovered slumber at his post meant death, sat squat upon the ground, his helmeted head bowed between his knees, sunk in a deep sleep. The passage into the agora was open.
Charmides and the other passed into the empty square, finally pausing before the portico of the temple of Apollo.
A scene of supernal beauty confronted them. The great market-place, filled from dawn to dusk with murmurous life of the city, was robed by night in ineffable stillness. All around, the white columns rose in shadowy beauty to their high architraves; while the ground below was barred with fluted shadows. The warm, perfume-laden air was heavy with the essence of spring. Below, on the sides of the hill, the city lay asleep; and the only sound that broke the universal silence was the distant, musical swish of the rising tide.
In the midst of this Charmides stood, half panting, his overwrought mind in a state of blankness. Then, still passively obeying his guiding impulse, he ascended the two steps that led into the portico of the temple of Apollo, and, after hesitating for a moment, entered the open door-way. By the light of the two sacred torches that burned throughout the night by the altar of the god, the youth made his way to the high-walled fane, within which was the celebrated statue of the Patron of Selinous. Here, in the dim, bluish light, with the cool stillness above and around him, and the divine presence very near, the shepherd fell upon one knee and bowed his head in a prayer, the words of which rose to his lips without any effort of thought on his part, and were more beautiful than any that he had ever heard spoken by priest or poet.
When he had finished he did not rise. It seemed to him that, if he but dared to lift his eyes, he should see the Lord of the Silver Bow above him, in all his blinding radiance. Charmides' head swam. A cloud of faintest incense enveloped him. His parted lips drank in air that affected him like rare old wine. A fine intoxication stole upon all his senses. He waited, breathlessly, for that which he knew at last was to come. Yet in the beginning of the miracle his heart for a long moment ceased to beat, and he swayed forward till he lay prone upon the marble pavement.
A sound, a long note, thin and bright and finely drawn as silver wire, was quivering down from the dusk of the uppermost vault. On it spun, and on, over the head of the listener, whose every nerve quivered beneath the spell of its vibration. Time had ceased for him, and he did not know whether it was a moment or an hour before the single note became two, then three, and gradually many more, which mingled and melted together in a stream of delicious harmony, so strange, so marvellous, that the shepherd strained ears and brain in an agony lest he should fail to catch a single tone. But the low aeolian chimes grew fainter after a little while; and then, at the pianissimo, there entered into their midst something that no man of earth had as yet dreamed of--a mighty organ note, that rose and swelled through the moving air in a peal of such majesty that Charmides, trembling with his temerity, rose to his feet and looked up. Nothing unusual was to be seen in the temple room.
Half-way down, between the frescoed columns, burned the two torches before the empty altar. Yes, and there, in the shadow of the wall, stood Kabir, the Phnician, watching quietly the movements of the shepherd.
Charmides perceived him, but failed to wonder at his presence. It was natural that any one should wish to be here to-night. Yet how could any living man stand unmoved in the midst of such a glory of sound as whirled about him now? The lyre music rose anew to a great fortissimo, high above the deeply resonant chords of the sky-organ. Flutes and trumpets, and the minor notes of myriad plaintive flageolets, and a high-pealing chime of silver-throated bells joined in swinging harmony, finally resolving into such a paean of praise that Charmides was carried back to the memories of many a former dream. Shaking the dripping sweat from his forehead, he stepped forward a pace or two, and, lifting his lyre, joined its tones and those of his pygmy voice to the mighty orchestra. Though he was unaware of it, he had never sung like this before. The inspiration of his surroundings was upon him. His voice rang forth, clear as a trumpet-call. Strange and beautiful words poured from his lips; words that he had always known, yet uttered now for the first time. He was drawn far from life. He was on the threshold of another world, into which he could see dimly. There, before him, poised in ether, shining ever more distinctly through the rosy cloud that enveloped her, was the statue-like, veil-swathed form of a woman. Tall, lithe, round was the shape that he beheld--the body of a woman of earth, and yet more, and less, than that. Neither feature nor flesh could he perceive through the radiance that surrounded and emanated from her. He knew, in his heart, that this was a goddess, she whom his soul sought.
"Ishtar! Ishtar! Ishtar ka Babilu!"
Once, twice, thrice he cried her name, in descending minor thirds, while all the bells of heaven pealed round them both.
"Ishtar of Babilu, I come to seek your city! Where you are, there I shall find you. Great Apollo, Lord of the Silver Bow, son of Latona and of Father Zeus, hear me and heed my words: I will seek the living goddess where she dwells in the land of the rising sun. To her I will proffer my homage ere the year be gone. If I fulfil not this vow, made here within thy holy temple, take thou my body for the dogs to feed upon, and let my spirit cross the river into the darkest cavern of Hades. Lord Son of Latona, hear my vow!"
With the last words Charmides sank again upon his knees, his face still uplifted to the spot whence his vision had faded into blackness. The celestial music ceased. The passionate ecstasy was gone. Weak and exhausted in body and mind, the shepherd rose, trembling, and began to move towards the entrance of the temple. The light from the sinking moon streamed white through the open door. Presently, from the shadows behind him, Kabir glided gently up to the youth, who was groping blindly forward.
"I heard the vow," said the Phnician, almost in a whisper. "Will you, then, sail with us when we depart again in our galley, to Tyre, on your way into Babylon of the East?"
For a moment Charmides stared at the man in wonderment. He was coming back to life. Then he nodded slowly, and with dry lips answered: