A Thorny Path — Complete by Georg Ebers (i can read with my eyes shut .txt) 📕

At this, Caesar looked at him suspiciously, and said in stern tones:

“But you have now the opportunity of trying the fine flavor of vengeance. If I were timid—since the Egyptian acted only as my instrument—I should have cause to protect myself against you.”

“By no means,” said the painter, with an engaging smile, “it lies in your power to do me the greatest benefit. Do it, Caesar! It would be a joy to me to show that, though I have been reckless beyond measure, I am nevertheless a grateful man.”

“Grateful?” repeated Caracalla, with a cruel laugh. Then he rose slowly, and looked keenly at Alexander, exclaiming:

“I should almost like to try you.”

“And I will answer for it that you will never regret it!” Melissa put in. “Greatly as he has erred, he is worthy of your clemency.”

“Is he?” said Caesar, looking down at her kindly. “What Roxana’s soul affirms by those rosy lips I can not but believe.”

Then again he paused, studying Alexander with a searching eye, and added:

“You think me strong; but you will change that opinion—which I value—if I forgive you like a poor-spirited girl. You are in my power. You risked your life. If I give it you, I must have a gift in return, that I may not be cheated.”

“Set my father free, and he will do whatever you may require of him,” Melissa broke out. But Caracalla stopped her, saying: “No one makes conditions with Caesar. Stand back, girl.”

Melissa hung her head and obeyed; but she stood watching the eager discussion between these two dissimilar men, at first with anxiety and then with surprise.

Alexander seemed to resist Caesar’s demands; but presently the despot must have proposed something which pleased the artist, for Melissa heard the low, musical laugh which had often cheered her in moments of sadness. Then the conversation was more serious, and Caracalla said, so loud that Melissa could hear him:

“Do not forget to whom you speak. If my word is not enough, you can go back to prison.” Then again she trembled for her brother; but some soft word of his mollified the fury of the terrible man, who was never the same for two minutes together. The lion, too, which lay unchained by his master’s seat, gave her a fright now and then; for if Caesar raised his voice in anger, he growled and stood up.

How fearful were this beast and his lord! Rather would she spend her whole life on a ship’s deck, tossed to and fro by the surges, than share this man’s fate. And yet there was in him something which attracted her; nay, and it nettled her that he should forget her presence.

At last Alexander humbly asked Caracalla whether he might not tell Melissa to what he had pledged his word.

“That shall be my business,” replied Caesar. “You think that a mere girl is a better witness than none at all. Perhaps you are right. Then let it be understood: whatever you may have to report to me, my wrath shall not turn against you. This fellow—why should you not be told, child?—is going into the town to collect all the jests and witty epigrams which have been uttered in my honor.”

“Alexander!” cried Melissa, clasping her hands and turning pale with horror. But Caracalla laughed to himself, and went on cheerfully:

“Yes, it is dangerous work, no doubt; and for that reason I pledged my word as Caesar not to require him to pay for the sins of others. On the contrary, he is free, if the posy he culls for me is sufficient.”

“Ay,” said Alexander, on whom his sister’s white face and warning looks were having effect. “But you made me another promise on which I lay great stress. You will not compel me to tell you, nor try to discover through any other man, who may have spoken or written any particular satire.”

“Enough!” said Caracalla, impatiently; but Alexander was not to be checked. He went on vehemently: “I have not forgotten that you said conditions were not to be made with Caesar; but, in spite of my impotence, I maintain the right of returning to my prison and there awaiting my doom, unless you once more assure me, in this girl’s presence, that you will neither inquire as to the names of the authors of any gibes I may happen to have heard, nor compel me by any means whatever to give up the names of the writers of epigrams. Why should I not satisfy your curiosity and your relish of a sharp jest? But rather than do the smallest thing which might savor of treachery—ten times rather the axe or the gallows!”

And Caracalla replied with a dark frown, loudly and briefly:

“I promise.”

“And if your rage is too much for you?” wailed Melissa, raising her hands in entreaty; but the despot replied, sternly:

“There is no passion which can betray Caesar into perjury.”

At this moment Philostratus came in again, with Epagathos, who announced the praetorian prefect. Melissa, encouraged by the presence of her kind protector, went on:

“But, great Caesar, you will release my father and my other brother?”

“Perhaps,” replied Caracalla. “First we will see how this one carries out his task.”

“You will be satisfied, my lord,” said the young man, looking quite happy again, for he was delighted at the prospect of saying audacious things to the face of the tyrant whom all were bent on flattering, and holding up the mirror to him without, as he firmly believed, bringing any danger on himself or others.

He bowed to go. Melissa did the same, saying, as airily as though she were free to come and go here:

“Accept my thanks, great Caesar. Oh, how fervently will I pray for you all my life, if only you show mercy to my father and brothers!”

“That means that you are leaving me?” asked Caracalla.

“How can it be otherwise?” said Melissa, timidly. “I am but a girl, and the men whom you expect—”

“But when they are gone?” Caesar insisted.

“Even then you can not want me,” she murmured.

“You mean,” said Caracalla, bitterly, “that you are afraid to come back. You mean that you would rather keep out of the way of the man you prayed for, so long as he is well. And if the pain which first aroused your sympathy attacks him again, even then will you leave the irascible sovereign to himself or the care of the gods?”

“Not so, not so,” said Melissa, humbly, looking into his eyes with an expression that pierced him to the heart, so that he added, with gentle entreaty:

“Then show that you are she whom I believe you to be. I do not compel you. Go whither you will, stay away even if I send for you; but”—and here