“Oh, he is all right at heart; never fear him. But what was the promise?”
“I will not tell till it is claimed. I will not be the man to shame my own nation and the blood of the gods. But if that drunken Prefect recollects it—why let him recollect it. And what is more, the monk-boy who was here tonight—”
“Ah, what a well-grown lad that is wasted!”
“More than suspects—and if his story is true, I more than suspect too—that Pelagia is his sister.”
“His sister! But what of that?”
“He wants, of course, to carry her off and make a nun of her.”
“You would not let him do such a thing to the poor child?”
“If folks get in my way, Smid, they must go down. So much the worse for them: but old Wulf was never turned back yet by man or beast, and he will not be now.”
“After all, it will serve the hussy right. But Amalric?”
“Out of sight, out of mind.”
“But they say the Prefect means to marry the girl.”
“He? That scented ape? She would not be such a wretch.”
“But he does intend; and she intends too. It is the talk of the whole town. We should have to put him out of the way first.”
“Why not? Easy enough, and a good riddance for Alexandria. Yet if we made away with him we should be forced to take the city too; and I doubt whether we have hands enough for that.”
“The guards might join us. I will go down to the barracks and try them, if you choose, tomorrow. I am a boon-companion with a good many of them already. But after all, Prince Wulf—of course you are always right; we all know that—but what’s the use of marrying this Hypatia to the Amal?”
“Use?” said Wulf, smiting down his goblet on the pavement. “Use? you purblind old hamster-rat, who think of nothing but filling your own cheek-pouches!—to give him a wife worthy of a hero, as he is, in spite of all—a wife who will make him sober instead of drunk, wise instead of a fool, daring instead of a sluggard—a wife who can command the rich people for us, and give us a hold here, which if once we get, let us see who will break it! Why, with those two ruling in Alexandria, we might be masters of Africa in three months. We’d send to Spain for the Wendels, to move on Carthage; we’d send up the Adriatic for the Longbeards to land in Pentapolis; we’d sweep the whole coast without losing a man, now it is drained of troops by that fool Heraclian’s Roman expedition; make the Wendels and Longbeards shake hands here in Alexandria; draw lots for their shares of the coast, and then—”
“And then what?”
“Why, when we had settled Africa, I would call out a crew of picked heroes, and sail away south for Asgard—I’d try that Red Sea this time—and see Odin face to face, or die searching for him.”
“Oh!” groaned Smid. “And I suppose you would expect me to come too, instead of letting me stop halfway, and settle there among the dragons and elephants. Well, well, wise men are like moorlands—ride as far as you will on the sound ground, you are sure to come upon a soft place at last. However, I will go down to the guards tomorrow, if my head don’t ache.”
“And I will see the boy about Pelagia. Drink to our plot!”
And the two old iron-heads drank on, till the stars paled out and the eastward shadows of the cloister vanished in the blaze of dawn.
XIX
Jews Against Christians
The little porter, after having carried Arsenius’s message to Miriam, had run back in search of Philammon and his foster-father; and not finding them, had spent the evening in such frantic rushings to and fro, as produced great doubts of his sanity among the people of the quarter. At last hunger sent him home to supper; at which meal he tried to find vent for his excited feelings in his favourite employment of beating his wife. Whereon Miriam’s two Syrian slave-girls, attracted by her screams, came to the rescue, threw a pail of water over him, and turned him out of doors. He, nothing discomfited, likened himself smilingly to Socrates conquered by Xantippe; and, philosophically yielding to circumstances, hopped about like a tame magpie for a couple of hours at the entrance of the alley, pouring forth a stream of light raillery on the passersby, which several times endangered his personal safety; till at last Philammon, hurrying breathlessly home, rushed into his arms.
“Hush! Hither with me! Your star still prospers. She calls for you.”
“Who?”
“Miriam herself. Be secret as the grave. You she will see and speak with. The message of Arsenius she rejected in language which it is unnecessary for philosophic lips to repeat. Come; but give her good words—as are fit to an enchantress who can stay the stars in their courses, and command the spirits of the third heaven.”
Philammon hurried home with Eudaimon. Little cared he now for Hypatia’s warning against Miriam. … Was he not in search of a sister?
“So, you wretch, you are back again!” cried one of the girls, as they knocked at the outer door of Miriam’s apartments. “What do you mean by bringing young men here at this time of night?”
“Better go down, and beg pardon of that poor wife of yours. She has been weeping and praying for you to her crucifix all the evening, you ungrateful little ape!”
“Female superstitions—but I forgive her. Peace, barbarian women! I bring this youthful philosopher hither by your mistress’s own appointment.”
“He must wait, then, in the anteroom. There is a gentleman with my mistress at present.”
So Philammon waited in a dark, dingy anteroom, luxuriously furnished with faded tapestry, and divans which lined the walls; and fretted and fidgeted, while the two girls watched him over their embroidery out of the corners of their eyes, and agreed
