Serapis — Complete by Georg Ebers (red seas under red skies TXT) 📕

year—she saw, shuddered, considered—and suddenly thought of an expedient which seemed to promise an issue from the difficulty. It was nothing new and a favorite trick among the Egyptians; she had seen is turned to account by a lame tailor at whose house her father had lodged, when he had to go out to his customers and leave his young negress wife alone at home. Dada was lying barefoot on the deck: Herse would hide her shoes.

She hastily acted on this idea, locking up not only Dada’s sandals, but also Agne’s and her own, in the trunk they had saved; a glance at the slave’s feet assured her that hers could be of no use.

“Not if fire were to break out,” thought she, “would my Dada be seen in the streets with those preposterous things on her pretty little feet.”

When this was done Herse breathed more freely, and as she took leave of her niece, feeling perhaps that she owed her some little reparation, she said in an unusually kind tone:

“Good bye, child. Try to amuse yourself while I am gone. There is plenty to look at here, and the others will soon be back again. If the city is fairly quiet this evening we will all go out together, to Canopus, to eat oysters. Good bye till we meet again, my pet!” She kissed the child, who looked up at her in astonishment, for her adopted mother was not usually lavish of such endearments.

Before long Dada was alone, cooling herself with her new fan and eating sweetmeats; but she could not cease thinking of the shameful treachery planned by old Damia, and while she rejoiced to reflect that she had not fallen into the net, and had seen through the plot, her wrath against the wicked old woman and Gorgo—whom she could not help including—burnt within her. Meanwhile she looked about her, expecting to see Marcus, or perhaps the young officer. Finding it impossible to think any evil of the young Christian, and having already trusted him so far, her fancy dwelt on him with particular pleasure; but she was curious, too, about the prefect, the early love of the proud merchant’s daughter.

Time went on; the sun was high in the heavens, she was tired of staring, wondering and thinking, and, yawning wearily, she began to consider whether she would make herself comfortable for a nap, or go down stairs and fill up the time by dressing herself up in her new garments. However, before she could do either, the slave returned from her errand to the house, and a few moments after she espied the young officer crossing the ship-yard towards the lake; she sat up, set the crescent straight that she wore in her hair, and waved her fan in a graceful greeting.

The cavalry prefect, who knew that, of old, the barge was often used by Porphyrius’ guests, though he did not happen to have heard who were its present occupants—bowed, with military politeness and precision, to the pretty girl lounging on the deck. Dada returned the greeting; but this seemed likely to be the end of their acquaintance, for the soldier walked on without turning round. He looked handsomer even than he had seemed the day before; his hair was freshly oiled and curled, his scale-armor gleamed as brightly, and his crimson tunic was as new and rich as if he were going at once to guard the Imperial throne. The merchant’s daughter had good taste, but her friend looked no less haughty than herself. Dada longed to make his acquaintance and find out whether he really had no eyes for any one but Gorgo. To discover that it was not so, little as she cared about him personally, would have given her infinite satisfaction, and she decided that she must put him to the test. But there was no time to lose, so, as it would hardly do to call after him, she obeyed a sudden impulse, flung overboard the handsome fan which had been in her possession but one day, and gave a little cry in which alarm and regret were most skilfully and naturally expressed.

This had the wished-for effect. The officer turned round, his eyes met hers, and Dada leaned far over the boat’s side pointing to the water and exclaiming:

“It is in the water—it has fallen into the lake!—my fan!”

The officer again bowed slightly; then he walked from the path down to the water’s edge, while Dada went on more quietly:

“There, close there! Oh, if only you would!...

“I am so fond of the fan, it is so pretty. Do you see, it is quite obliging? it is floating towards you!” Constantine had soon secured the fan, and shook it to dry it as he went across the plank to the vessel. Dada joyfully received it, stroked the feathers smooth, and warmly thanked its preserver, while he assured her that he only wished he could have rendered her some greater service. He was then about to retire with a bow no less distant than before, but he found himself unexpectedly detained by the Egyptian slave who, placing herself in his way, kissed the hem of his tunic and exclaimed:

“What joy for my lord your father and the lady your mother, and for poor Sachepris! My lord Constantine at home again!”

“Yes, at home at last,” said the soldier in a deep pleasant voice. “Your old mistress is still hale and hearty? That is well. I am on my way to the others.”

“They know that you have come,” replied the slave. “Glad, they are all glad. They asked if my lord Constantine forgot old friends.”

“Never, not one!”

“How long now since my lord Constantine went away—two, three years, and just the same. Only a cut over the eyes—may the hand wither that gave the blow!”

Dada had already observed a broad scar which marked the soldier’s brow as high up as she could see it for the helmet, and she broke in:

“How can you men like to slash and kill each other? Just think, if that cut had been only a finger’s breadth lower—you would have lost your eyes, and oh! it is better to be dead than blind. When all the world is bright not to be able to see it; what must that be! The whole earth in darkness so that you see nothing—no one; neither the sky, nor the lake, nor the boat, nor even me.”

“That would indeed be a pity,” said the prefect with a laugh and a shrug.

“A pity!” exclaimed Dada. “As if it were nothing at all! I should find something else to say than that. It gives me a shudder only to think of being blind. How dreadfully dull life can be with one’s eyes open! so what must it be when they are of no use and one cannot even look about one. Do you know that you have done me not one service only, but two at once?”

“I?” said the officer.

“Yes, you. But the second is not yet complete. Sit down awhile, I beg—there is a seat. You know it is a fatal omen if a visitor does not sit down before he leaves.—That is well.—And now, may I ask you: do you take off your helmet when you go into battle? No.—Then how could a swordcut hurt your forehead?”

“In a hand to hand scuffle,” said the young man, “everything gets out of place. One man knocked my helmet off and another gave me this cut in