The monk kissed his superior’s hand and withdrew. Cyril turned to Arsenius, betrayed for once into geniality by his delight, and smiting his thigh—
“We have beaten the heathen for once, eh?” And then, in the usual artificial tone of an ecclesiastic—“And what would my father recommend in furtherance of the advantage so mercifully thrown into our hand?”
Arsenius was silent.
“I,” went on Cyril, “should be inclined to announce the news this very night, in my sermon.”
Arsenius shook his head.
“Why not? why not?” asked Cyril impatiently.
“Better to keep it secret till others tell it. Reserved knowledge is always reserved strength; and if the man, as I hope he does not, intends evil to the Church, let him commit himself before you use your knowledge against him. True, you may have a scruple of conscience as to the lawfulness of allowing a sin which you might prevent. To me it seems that the sin lies in the will rather than in the deed, and that sometimes—I only say sometimes—it may be a means of saving the sinner to allow his root of iniquity to bear fruit, and fill him with his own devices.”
“Dangerous doctrine, my father.”
“Like all sound doctrine—a savour of life or of death, according as it is received. I have not said it to the multitude, but to a discerning brother. And even politically speaking—let him commit himself, if he be really plotting rebellion, and then speak, and smite his Babel tower.”
“You think, then, that he does not know of Heraclian’s defeat already?”
“If he does, he will keep it secret from the people; and our chances of turning them suddenly will be nearly the same.”
“Good. After all, the existence of the Catholic Church in Alexandria depends on this struggle, and it is well to be wary. Be it so. It is well for me that I have you for an adviser.”
And thus Cyril, usually the most impatient and intractable of plotters, gave in, as wise men should, to a wiser man than himself, and made up his mind to keep the secret, and to command the monk to keep it also.
Philammon, after a sleepless night, and a welcome visit to the public baths, which the Roman tyranny, wiser in its generation than modern liberty, provided so liberally for its victims, set forth to the Prefect’s palace, and gave his message; but Orestes, who had been of late astonishing the Alexandrian public by an unwonted display of alacrity, was already in the adjoining Basilica. Thither the youth was conducted by an apparitor, and led up the centre of the enormous hall, gorgeous with frescoes and coloured marbles, and surrounded by aisles and galleries, in which the inferior magistrates were hearing causes, and doing such justice as the complicated technicalities of Roman law chose to mete out. Through a crowd of anxious loungers the youth passed to the apse of the upper end, in which the Prefect’s throne stood empty, and then turned into aside chamber, where he found himself alone with the secretary, a portly Chaldee eunuch, with a sleek pale face, small pig’s eyes, and an enormous turban. The man of pen and paper took the letter, opened it with solemn deliberation, and then, springing to his feet, darted out of the room in most undignified haste, leaving Philammon to wait and wonder. In half an hour he returned, his little eyes growing big with some great idea.
“Youth! your star is in the ascendant; you are the fortunate bearer of fortunate news! His Excellency himself commands your presence.” And the two went out.
In another chamber, the door of which was guarded by armed men, Orestes was walking up and down in high excitement, looking somewhat the worse for the events of the past night, and making occasional appeals to a gold goblet which stood on the table.
“Ha! No other than my preserver himself! Boy, I will make your fortune. Miriam says that you wish to enter my service.”
Philammon, not knowing what to say, thought the best answer would be to bow as low as he could.
“Ah, ha! Graceful, but not quite according to etiquette. You will soon teach him, eh, Secretary? Now to business. Hand me the notes to sign and seal. To the Prefect of the Stationaries—”
“Here, your Excellency.”
“To the Prefect of the Corn Market—how many wheat-ships have you ordered to be unladen?”
“Two, your Excellency.”
“Well, that will be largess enough for the time being. To the Defender of the Plebs—the devil break his neck!”
“He may be trusted, most noble; he is bitterly jealous of Cyril’s influence. And moreover, he owes my insignificance much money.”
“Good! Now the notes to the Gaol-masters, about the gladiators.”
“Here, your Excellency.”
“To Hypatia. No. I will honour my bride elect with my own illustrious presence. As I live, here is a morning’s work for a man with a racking headache!”
“Your Excellency has the strength of seven. May you live forever!”
And really, Orestes’s power of getting through business, when he chose, was surprising enough. A cold head and a colder heart make many things easy.
But Philammon’s whole soul was fixed on those words. “His bride elect!”. … Was it that Miriam’s hints of the day before had raised some selfish vision, or was it pity and horror at such a fate for her—for his idol?—But he passed five minutes in a dream, from which he was awakened by the sound of another and still dearer name.
“And now, for Pelagia. We can but try.”
“Your Excellency might offend the Goth.”
“Curse the Goth! He shall have his choice of all the beauties in Alexandria, and be count of Pentapolis if he likes. But a spectacle I must have; and no one but Pelagia can dance Venus Anadyomene.”
Philammon’s blood rushed to his heart, and then back again to his brow, as he reeled with horror and shame.
“The people will be mad with joy to see her on the stage once more. Little they thought, the brutes, how I was plotting for their
