Hypatia by Charles Kingsley (good books to read for young adults txt) 📕

down again chuckling to himself—

‘There—that is something like a warrior’s song. That makes the old blood spin along again! But this debauching furnace of a climate! no man can keep his muscle, or his courage, or his money, or anything else in it. May the gods curse the day when first I saw it!’

Philammon said nothing, but sat utterly aghast at an outbreak so unlike Wulf’s usual caustic reserve and stately self-restraint, and shuddering at the thought that it might be an instance of that daemoniac possession to which these barbarians were supposed by Christians and by Neo-Platonists to be peculiarly subject. But the horror was not yet at its height; for in another minute the doors of the women’s court flew open, and, attracted by Wulf’s shout, out poured the whole Bacchanalian crew, with Orestes, crowned with flowers, and led by the Amal and Pelagia, reeling in the midst, wine-cup in hand.

‘There is my philosopher, my preserver, my patron saint!’ hiccupped he. ‘Bring him to my arms, that I may encircle his lovely neck with pearls of India, and barbaric gold!’

‘For God’s sake let me escape!’ whispered he to Wulf, as the rout rushed upon him. Wulf opened the door in an instant, and he dashed through it. As he wen, the old man held out his hand—

‘Come and see me again, boy!—Me only. The old warrior will not hurt you!’

There was a kindly tone in the voice, a kindly light in the eye, which made Philammon promise to obey. He glanced one look back through the gateway as he fled, and just saw a wild whirl of Goths and girls, spinning madly round the court in the world-old Teutonic waltz; while, high above their heads, in the uplifted arms of the mighty Amal, was tossing the beautiful figure of Pelagia, tearing the garland from her floating hair to pelt the dancers with its roses. And that might be his sister! He hid his face and fled, and the gate shut out the revellers from his eyes; and it is high time that it should shut them out from ours also.

Some four hours more had passed. The revellers were sleeping off their wine, and the moon shining bright and cold across the court, when Wulf came out, carrying a heavy jar of wine, followed by Smid, a goblet in each hand.

‘Here, comrade, out into the middle, to catch a breath of night-air. Are all the fools asleep?’

‘Every mother’s son of them. Ah! this is refreshing after that room. What a pity it is that all men are not born with heads like ours!’

‘Very sad indeed,’ said Wulf, filling his goblet.

‘What a quantity of pleasure they lose in this life! There they are, snoring like hogs. Now, you and I are good to finish this jar, at least.’

‘And another after it, if our talk is not over by that time.’

‘Why, are you going to hold a council of war?’

‘That is as you take it. Now, look here, Smid. Whomsoever I cannot trust, I suppose I may trust you, eh?’

‘Well!’ quoth Smid surlily, putting down his goblet, ‘that is a strange question to ask of a man who has marched, and hungered, and plundered, and conquered, and been well beaten by your side for five-and-twenty years, through all lands between the Wesel and Alexandria!’

‘I am growing old, I suppose, and so I suspect every one. But hearken to me, for between wine and ill-temper out it must come. You saw that Alruna-woman?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well?’

‘Well?’

‘Why, did not you think she would make a wife for any man?’

‘Well?’

‘And why not for our Amal?’

‘That’s his concern as well as hers, and hers as well as ours.’

‘She? Ought she not to think herself only too much honoured by marrying a son of Odin? Is she going to be more dainty than Placidia?’

‘What was good enough for an emperor’s daughter must be good enough for her.’

‘Good enough? And Adolf only a Balt, while Amalric is a full- blooded Amal—Odin’s son by both sides?’

‘I don’t know whether she would understand that.’

‘Then we would make her. Why not carry her off, and marry her to the Amal whether she chose or not? She would be well content enough with him in a week, I will warrant.’

‘But there is Pelagia in the way.’

‘Put her out of the way, then.’

‘Impossible.’

‘It was this morning; a week hence it may not be. I heard a promise made to-night which will do it, if there be the spirit of a Goth left in the poor besotted lad whom we know of.’

‘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 to-night—’

‘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’ to-morrow. 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 to-morrow, 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.

CHAPTER 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 passers- by, 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 ante-room. There is a gentleman with my mistress at present.’

So Philammon waited in a dark, dingy ante-room, 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 that he was a very stupid person for showing no inclination to return their languishing glances.

In the meanwhile, Miriam, within, was listening, with a smile of grim delight, to a swarthy and weather-beaten young Jew.

‘I knew, mother in Israel, that all depended on my pace; and night and day I rode from Ostia toward Tarentum: but the messenger of the uncircumcised was better mounted than I; I therefore bribed a certain slave to lame his horse, and passed him by a whole stage on the second day. Nevertheless, by night the Philistine had caught me up again, the evil angels helping him; and my soul was mad within me.’

‘And what then, Jonadab Bar-Zebudah?’

‘I bethought me of Ehud, and of Joab also, when