“Wait till the city rises. If the day pass over without a riot, I know nothing. The treasure is all on board, is it not?”
“Yes, and the galleys ready. I have been working like a horse at them all the morning, as you would let me do nothing else. And Goderic will not be back from the palace, you say, till nightfall!”
“If we are attacked first, we are to throw up a fire signal to him, and he is to come off hither with what Goths he can muster. If the palace is attacked first, he is to give us the signal, and we are to pack up and row round thither. And in the meanwhile he is to make that hound of a Greek prefect as drunk as he can.”
“The Greek will see him under the table. He has drugs, I know, as all these Roman rascals have, to sober him when he likes; and then he sets to work and drinks again. Send off old Smid, and let him beat the armourer if he can.”
“A very good thought!” said Wulf, and came out instantly for the purpose of putting it in practice.
Pelagia had just time to retreat into an adjoining doorway: but she had heard enough; and as Wulf passed, she sprang to him and caught him by the arm.
“Oh, come in hither! Speak to me one moment; for mercy’s sake speak to me!” and she drew him, half against his will, into the chamber, and throwing herself at his feet, broke out into a childlike wail.
Wulf stood silent, utterly discomfited by this unexpected submission, where he had expected petulant and artful resistance. He almost felt guilty and ashamed, as he looked down into that beautiful imploring face, convulsed with simple sorrow, as of a child for a broken toy. … At last she spoke.
“Oh, what have I done—what have I done? Why must you take him from me? What have I done but love him, honour him, worship him? I know you love him; and I love you for it.—I do indeed! But you—what is your love to mine? Oh, I would die for him—be torn in pieces for him—now, this moment! …”
Wulf was silent.
“What have I done but love him? What could I wish but to make him happy? I was rich enough, praised, and petted; … and then he came, … glorious as he is, like a god among men—among apes rather—and I worshipped him: was I wrong in that? I gave up all for him: was I wrong in that? I gave him myself: what could I do more? He condescended to like me—he the hero! Could I help submitting? I loved him: could I help loving him? Did I wrong him in that? Cruel, cruel Wulf! …”
Wulf was forced to be stern, or he would have melted at once.
“And what was your love worth to him? What has it done for him? It has made him a sot, an idler, a laughingstock to these Greek dogs, when he might have been their conqueror, their king. Foolish woman, who cannot see that your love has been his bane, his ruin! He, who ought by now to have been sitting upon the throne of the Ptolemies, the lord of all south of the Mediterranean—as he shall be still!”
Pelagia looked tip at him wide-eyed, as if her mind was taking in slowly some vast new thought, under the weight of which it reeled already. Then she rose slowly.
“And he might be Emperor of Africa.”
“And he shall be; but not—”
“Not with me!” she almost shrieked. “No! not with wretched, ignorant, polluted me! I see—oh God, I see it all! And this is why you want him to marry her—her—”
She could not utter the dreaded name.
Wulf could not trust himself to speak; but he bowed his head in acquiescence.
“Yes—I will go—up into the desert—with Philammon—and you shall never hear of me again. And I will be a nun, and pray for him, that he may be a great king, and conquer all the world. You will tell him why I went away, will you not? Yes, I will go—now, at once—”
She turned away hurriedly, as if to act upon her promise, and then she sprang again to Wulf with a sudden shudder.
“I cannot, Wulf!—I cannot leave him! I shall go mad if I do! Do not be angry;—I will promise anything—take any oath you like, if you will only let me stay here. Only as a slave—as anything—if I may but look at him sometimes. No—not even that—but to be under the same roof with him, only—Oh, let me be but a slave in the kitchen! I will make over all I have to him—to you—to anyone! And you shall tell him that I am gone—dead, if you will.—Only let me stay! And I will wear rags, and grind in the mill. … Even that will be delicious, to know that he is eating the bread which I have made! And if I ever dare speak to him—even to come near hint—let the steward hang me up by the wrists, and whip me, like the slave which I deserve to be! … And then shall I soon grow old and ugly with grief, and—there will be no more danger then, dear Wulf, will there, from this accursed face of mine? Only promise me that, and—There he is calling you! Don’t let him come in and see me!—I cannot bear it! Go to him, quick, and tell him all.—No, don’t tell him yet. …”
And she sank down again on the floor, as Wulf went out murmuring to himself—
“Poor child! poor child! well for thee this clay if thou wert dead, and at the bottom of Hela!”
And Pelagia heard what he said.
Gradually, amid sobs and tears, and stormy confusion of impossible hopes and projects, those words took root in her mind, and spread, till they filled her whole heart and brain.
“Well for me if I were dead?”
And she rose slowly.
“Well for me if
