There was not a sound amid the silence but the dripping from the oars.
The night was muffled, wide and immense. It was as though the moon, up above, had inundated the sky, even as the flood the sacred land below. It was as though the flood of moonshine were drenching the sacred sky also with a calm, unrippled sea, but a sea of light. The night was like a noiseless, silvery day; the night was like a shadow of the day. In that inundation of the light of heaven the stars paled, innumerous, like a silvery powder sprinkled by the moonshine. There lay the lake of Butos, wide and mystic and gleaming. Island emerged after island. Palms stood in clusters, stately, motionless and delicate. A shrine appeared and vanished as the dream-barge glided down a bend of the canal. Country-mansions stood peacefully linked together. There were taller dykes and patches of golden, shadowy wheat. Sheaves of corn looked like the images of gods, reverence-compelling, ranged in order beside one another, against the wall of a barn. A peculiar scent was wafted by, a fresh aroma as of always moist flowers.
The outline of a village came into view. And hamlet joined itself to hamlet, with shrines and mansions in between. Suddenly, farther up, in the sea of glory, in the sea of light, huge needles rose on high from the ground, with quivering lines, and became lost in the midst of light.
Thrasyllus standing by Cora on the forecastle pointed:
“The obelisks of Sais.”
She turned, with a start, and was silent. The barge that afternoon had left Naucratis along the canals which seam the Saitic nome, or province. They were now nearing the capital, Sais, the capital of all Lower Egypt. They already saw the Anubis Avenue. And suddenly, at a bend, between very tall reeds blossoming with tassels and bowing before the barge, Thrasyllus pointed:
“The temple of Isis-Neith.”
There were sphinxes: they seemed to lift their basalt heads in prayer to the moon and the sky. Lamps and lights twinkled like stars. The thalamegus hove to; orders rang out; the sailors moored the vessel.
“The temple of Isis-Neith,” Thrasyllus repeated to Lucius, who approached with Catullus and Caleb.
They were all arrayed in long, white-linen robes. Cora also was similarly clad, in a long, white, close fitting linen robe. She wore a wreath of wheatears and lotus-flowers at her temples. For it was the Night of the Glowing Lights, the Feast of the Burning Lamps.
“Nemu-Pha is waiting for me in the temple,” said Thrasyllus. “I wrote to him and he has consented to receive me. He is the high-priest of Isis; and tonight he receives those who come to consult him. I thought, Lucius, of going alone. Nemu-Pha is one of the holiest prophets in Egypt. One word from him can perhaps enable me to guess much. But, if you accompany me, with only a single thought in your sick brain, you would break the mystic thread which might be woven between the high-priest’s spirit and mine. Let me go alone. I have no other care than your happiness … even though we are not agreed on the form which it should take.
“Go, Thrasyllus,” said Lucius.
“I don’t think that I shall go on shore,” said Uncle Catullus. “The Night of the Glowing Lights and the Feast of the Burning Lamps leave me cold. It is colourless and cheerless; it will be a spectral orgy. I am too old and fat, Lucius, for spectral orgies. Go on shore alone and amuse yourself as you may.”
Lucius assembled his slaves, male and female. They were all in long, white robes, the women wreathed with ears of wheat and lotus-flowers.
“You are all free tonight,” said Lucius. “You have a night of liberty. Until sunrise you belong to yourselves. Go your ways and do whatever you please.”
Rufus handed each a small sum of money. The slaves bowed low and disappeared, between the palms, in the direction of the moonlit, twinkling city.
Only a guard of sailors kept watch on the barge. Uncle Catullus retired to his cabin. Tarrar also did not wish to go on shore and remained to sleep at his master’s threshold. The Feast of Isis made many shudder who were not accustomed from their youth to its shivery mysticism.
Thrasyllus had gone. Lucius also went on shore. He saw Cora hesitating under the palm-trees while the other women slaves had already gone gaily to enjoy their night of liberty:
“Why don’t you join your companions, Cora?” asked Lucius.
“My lord,” Cora replied, “if you permit me, I would rather stay here.”
“You are free tonight.”
“What should I do with liberty, my lord?”
“You can do what you please, go to the temple and see the veiled Isis … and enjoy yourself as and with whom you choose.”
She cast down her eyes and blushed.
“There is a general holiday tonight,” continued Lucius, “for slaves male and female.”
She folded her hands as though in prayer:
“My lord,” she begged, “suffer me to remain here, near the barge. I am afraid of liberty and of the big city.”
“Do as you please,” said Lucius.
He went on alone. Loneliness sent a shiver through him because of this strange night which was like day. A white melancholy emanated from his soul. He felt aimless. He would have preferred to accompany Thrasyllus. He would not have minded going to bed. He had almost invited Cora to accompany him to Sais, but did not think it suited to his dignity.
He went alone, in his white raiment, in the bountiful moonlight. How strange the night was, all white and trembling. He approached the town. There was nothing but the monotonous rattling of the sistra carried by the long-robed pilgrims who walked in procession to the temple. All the houses along the road were lit with the lamps burning at the doors and windows, vessels full of
