matter. Ah! that's the best plan. Little traitress, my fingers itch at
thee: and to leave only a bowl of water, too! Had it been wine, it
would have been some comfort.'
While Sosia, thus entrapped, was lamenting his fate, and revolving his
schemes to repossess himself of Nydia, the blind girl, with that
singular precision and dexterous rapidity of motion, which, we have
before observed, was peculiar to her, had passed lightly along the
peristyle, threaded the opposite passage that led into the garden, and,
with a beating heart, was about to proceed towards the gate, when she
suddenly heard the sound of approaching steps, and distinguished the
dreaded voice of Arbaces himself. She paused for a moment in doubt and
terror; then suddenly it flashed across her recollection that there was
another passage which was little used except for the admission of the
fair partakers of the Egyptian's secret revels, and which wound along
the basement of that massive fabric towards a door which also
communicated with the garden. By good fortune it might be open. At
that thought, she hastily retraced her steps, descended the narrow
stairs at the right, and was soon at the entrance of the passage. Alas!
the door at the entrance was closed and secured. While she was yet
assuring herself that it was indeed locked, she heard behind her the
voice of Calenus, and, a moment after, that of Arbaces in low reply.
She could not stay there; they were probably passing to that very door.
She sprang onward, and felt herself in unknown ground. The air grew
damp and chill; this reassured her. She thought she might be among the
cellars of the luxurious mansion, or, at least, in some rude spot not
likely to be visited by its haughty lord, when again her quick ear
caught steps and the sound of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her
arms, which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and massive
form. With a tact, doubled in acuteness by her fear, she escaped these
perils, and continued her way, the air growing more and more damp as she
proceeded; yet, still, as she ever and anon paused for breath, she heard
the advancing steps and the indistinct murmur of voices. At length she
was abruptly stopped by a wall that seemed the limit of her path. Was
there no spot in which she could hide? No aperture? no cavity? There
was none! She stopped, and wrung her hands in despair; then again,
nerved as the voices neared upon her, she hurried on by the side of the
wall; and coming suddenly against one of the sharp buttresses that here
and there jutted boldly forth, she fell to the ground. Though much
bruised, her senses did not leave her; she uttered no cry; nay, she
hailed the accident that had led her to something like a screen; and
creeping close up to the angle formed by the buttress, so that on one
side at least she was sheltered from view, she gathered her slight and
small form into its smallest compass, and breathlessly awaited her fate.
Meanwhile Arbaces and the priest were taking their way to that secret
chamber whose stores were so vaunted by the Egyptian. They were in a
vast subterranean atrium, or hall; the low roof was supported by short,
thick pillars of an architecture far remote from the Grecian graces of
that luxuriant period. The single and pale lamp, which Arbaces bore,
shed but an imperfect ray over the bare and rugged walls, in which the
huge stones, without cement, were fitted curiously and uncouthly into
each other. The disturbed reptiles glared dully on the intruders, and
then crept into the shadow of the walls.
Calenus shivered as he looked around and breathed the damp, unwholesome
air.
'Yet,' said Arbaces, with a smile, perceiving his shudder, 'it is these
rude abodes that furnish the luxuries of the halls above. They are like
the laborers of the world--we despise their ruggedness, yet they feed
the very pride that disdains them.'
'And whither goes yon dim gallery to the left asked Calenus; 'in this
depth of gloom it seems without limit, as if winding into Hades.'
'On the contrary, it does but conduct to the upper rooms,' answered
Arbaces, carelessly: 'it is to the right that we steer to our bourn.'
The hall, like many in the more habitable regions of Pompeii, branched
off at the extremity into two wings or passages; the length of which,
not really great, was to the eye considerably exaggerated by the sudden
gloom against which the lamp so faintly struggled. To the right of
these alae, the two comrades now directed their steps.
'The gay Glaucus will be lodged to-morrow in apartments not much drier,
and far less spacious than this,' said Calenus, as they passed by the
very spot where, completely wrapped in the shadow of the broad,
projecting buttress, cowered the Thessalian.
'Ay, but then he will have dry room, and ample enough, in the arena on
the following day. And to think,' continued Arbaces, slowly, and very
deliberately--'to think that a word of thine could save him, and consign
Arbaces to his doom!'
'That word shall never be spoken,' said Calenus.
'Right, my Calenus! it never shall,' returned Arbaces, familiarly
leaning his arm on the priest's shoulder: 'and now, halt--we are at the
door.'
The light trembled against a small door deep set in the wall, and
guarded strongly by many plates and bindings of iron, that intersected
the rough and dark wood. From his girdle Arbaces now drew a small ring,
holding three or four short but strong keys. Oh, how beat the griping
heart of Calenus, as he heard the rusty wards growl, as if resenting the
admission to the treasures they guarded!
'Enter, my friend,' said Arbaces, 'while I hold the lamp on high, that
thou mayst glut thine eyes on the yellow heaps.'
The impatient Calenus did not wait to be twice invited; he hastened
towards the aperture.
Scarce had he crossed the threshold, when the strong hand of Arbaces
plunged him forwards.
'The word shall never be spoken!' said the Egyptian, with a loud
exultant laugh, and closed the door upon the priest.
Calenus had been precipitated down several steps, but not feeling at the
moment the pain of his fall, he sprung up again to the door, and beating
at it fiercely with his clenched fist, he cried aloud in what seemed
more a beast's howl than a human voice, so keen was his agony and
despair: 'Oh, release me, release me, and I will ask no gold!'
The words but imperfectly penetrated the massive door, and Arbaces again
laughed. Then, stamping his foot violently, rejoined, perhaps to give
vent to his long-stifled passions:
'All the gold of Dalmatia,' cried he, 'will not buy thee a crust of
bread. Starve, wretch! thy dying groans will never wake even the echo of
these vast halls; nor will the air ever reveal, as thou gnawest, in thy
desperate famine, thy flesh from thy bones, that so perishes the man who
threatened, and could have undone, Arbaces! Farewell!'
'Oh, pity--mercy! Inhuman villain; was it for this...'
The rest of the sentence was lost to the ear of Arbaces as he passed
backward along the dim hall. A toad, plump and bloated, lay unmoving
before his path; the rays of the lamp fell upon its unshaped hideousness
and red upward eye. Arbaces turned aside that he might not harm it.
'Thou art loathsome and obscene,' he muttered, 'but thou canst not
injure me; therefore thou art safe in my path.'
The cries of Calenus, dulled and choked by the barrier that confined
him, yet faintly reached the ear of the Egyptian. He paused and
listened intently.
'This is unfortunate,' thought he; 'for I cannot sail till that voice is
dumb for ever. My stores and treasures lie, not in yon dungeon it is
true, but in the opposite wing. My slaves, as they move them, must not
hear his voice. But what fear of that? In three days, if he still
survive, his accents, by my father's beard, must be weak enough,
then!--no, they could not pierce even through his tomb. By Isis, it is
cold!--I long for a deep draught of the spiced Falernian.'
With that the remorseless Egyptian drew his gown closer round him, and
resought the upper air.
Chapter XIV
NYDIA ACCOSTS CALENUS.
WHAT words of terror, yet of hope, had Nydia overheard! The next day
Glaucus was to be condemned; yet there lived one who could save him, and
adjudge Arbaces to his doom, and that one breathed within a few steps of
her hiding-place! She caught his cries and shrieks--his
imprecations--his prayers, though they fell choked and muffled on her
ear. He was imprisoned, but she knew the secret of his cell: could she
but escape--could she but seek the praetor he might yet in time be given
to light, and preserve the Athenian. Her emotions almost stifled her;
her brain reeled--she felt her sense give way--but by a violent effort
she mastered herself,--and, after listening intently for several
minutes, till she was convinced that Arbaces had left the space to
solitude and herself, she crept on as her ear guided her to the very
door that had closed upon Calenus. Here she more distinctly caught his
accents of terror and despair. Thrice she attempted to speak, and
thrice her voice failed to penetrate the folds of the heavy door. At
length finding the lock, she applied her lips to its small aperture, and
the prisoner distinctly heard a soft tone breathe his name.
His blood curdled--his hair stood on end. That awful solitude, what
mysterious and preternatural being could penetrate! 'Who's there?' he
cried, in new alarm; 'what spectre--what dread larva, calls upon the
lost Calenus?'
'Priest,' replied the Thessalian, 'unknown to Arbaces, I have been, by
the permission of the gods, a witness to his perfidy. If I myself can
escape from these walls, I may save thee. But let thy voice reach my
ear through this narrow passage, and answer what I ask.'
'Ah, blessed spirit,' said the priest, exultingly, and obeying the
suggestion of Nydia, 'save me, and I will sell the very cups on the
altar to pay thy kindness.'
'I want not thy gold--I want thy secret. Did I hear aright? Canst thou
save the Athenian Glaucus from the charge against his life?'
'I can--I can!--therefore (may the Furies blast the foul Egyptian!) hath
Arbaces snared me thus, and left me to starve and rot!'
'They accuse the Athenian of murder: canst thou disprove the
accusation?'
'Only free me, and the proudest head of Pompeii is not more safe than
his. I saw the deed done--I saw Arbaces strike the blow; I can convict
the true murderer and acquit the innocent man. But if I perish, he dies
also. Dost thou interest thyself for him? Oh, blessed stranger, in my
heart is the urn which condemns or frees him!'
'And thou wilt give full evidence of what thou knowest?'
'Will!--Oh! were hell at my feet--yes! Revenge on the false
Egyptian!--revenge!--revenge! revenge!'
As through his ground teeth Calenus shrieked forth those last words,
Nydia felt that in his worst passions was her certainty of his justice
to the Athenian. Her heart beat: was it to be her proud destiny to
preserve her idolized--her adored? Enough,' said she, 'the powers that
conducted me hither will carry me through all. Yes, I feel that I shall
deliver thee. Wait in patience and hope.'
'But be cautious, be prudent, sweet stranger. Attempt not to appeal to
Arbaces--he is marble. Seek the praetor--say what thou knowest--obtain
his writ of search; bring soldiers, and smiths of cunning--these locks
are wondrous strong! Time flies--I may starve--starve! if you are not
quick! Go--go! Yet stay--it is horrible to be alone!--the air is like a
charnel--and the scorpions--ha! and the pale larvae; oh! stay, stay!'
'Nay,' said Nydia, terrified by the terror of the priest, and anxious to
confer with herself--'nay, for thy sake, I must depart. Take hope for
thy companion--farewell!'
So saying, she glided away, and felt with extended arms along the
pillared space until she had gained the farther end of the hall and the
mouth of the passage that led to the upper air. But there she paused;
she felt that it would be more safe to wait awhile, until the night was
so far blended with the morning that the whole house would be buried in
sleep, and so that she might quit it unobserved. She, therefore, once
more laid herself down, and counted the weary moments. In her sanguine
heart, joy was the predominant emotion. Glaucus was in deadly
peril--but she should save him!
Chapter XV
ARBACES AND IONE. NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN. WILL SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THE
ATHENIAN?
WHEN Arbaces had warmed his veins by large draughts of that spiced and
perfumed wine so valued by the luxurious, he felt more than usually
elated and exultant of heart. There is a pride in triumphant ingenuity,
not less felt, perhaps, though its object be guilty. Our vain human
nature hugs itself in the consciousness of superior craft and
self-obtained success--afterwards comes the horrible reaction of
remorse.
But remorse was not a feeling which Arbaces was likely ever to
experience for the fate of the base Calenus. He swept from his
remembrance the thought of the priest's agonies and lingering death: he
felt only that a great danger was passed, and a possible foe silenced;
all left to him now would be to account to the priesthood for the
disappearance of Calenus; and this he imagined it would not be difficult
to do. Calenus had often been employed by him in various religious
missions to the neighboring cities. On some such errand he could now
assert that he had been sent, with offerings to the shrines of Isis at
Herculaneum and Neapolis, placatory of the goddess for the recent murder
of her priest Apaecides. When Calenus had expired, his body might be
thrown, previous to the Egyptian's departure from Pompeii, into the deep
