Part 24 (1/2)

”Ay,” she answered. ”Slaves, who shall die in bondage.”

She led Eldris from the room across a small and ill-paved court to another door.

”You will find her here,” she said, and pushed Eldris gently across the threshold.

The room was lighted by many lamps, some of pottery of the cheapest sort, others of wrought bronze, and was filled with a strange and subtle perfume. There was a confusion of furniture, and the walls were hung with curtains, which gave the place a bizarre and Eastern look. So much Eldris took in with her first step forward. Then she saw a figure seated upon a mattress on the floor, a fat and shapeless figure, bunched in many garments. Atop of the fat figure was a fat face, with thin hair whose natural gray showed through its ruddy dye, with flabby painted cheeks, and heavy-lidded eyes darkened beneath with antimony. A Greek might have called it the face of a Greek, and looked again to make sure; a Roman might have called it the face of a Roman. In it one seemed to catch a hint, mysterious and elusive, of all ages and all nations. Once it had been a fine face; even, in a time long past, it had been touched with beauty. Now it was at once a relic and a monument. The substance was the same, but trans.m.u.ted into coa.r.s.er mould. Where had been soft blue tracings were red and angry veins; where had been gracious roundness was gross fles.h.i.+ness. Only the brow, G.o.d-made, the only feature which may be neither made nor marred by human means, remained the same, broad and white, and smooth as marble.

The woman sat perfectly motionless, looking at nothing. On her fat hands, which rested on her knees, were rings set with blazing stones; on every finger a ring, and on every ring a slender chain which led back over the hand to a heavy wristlet of gold in which a great ruby burned.

Her garments were held by fibulae of iron and bone, cheaply made; around her neck were many strings of beads, some of carved jet, some of silver, some of colored gla.s.s. In her grotesqueness and impa.s.sivity she might have posed as a graven G.o.ddess of some unholy rite. In the sight of her, also, was something so unexpected that Eldris stopped and stared.

”Will you close that door?” said the woman. Her voice was low-pitched and clear and very sweet, with no hint of coa.r.s.eness in its modulations.

Coming from such a bulk it was surprising--more, it was startling.

Eldris obeyed, taken wholly aback. ”Now come hither.”

Eldris came.

The woman's heavy-lidded eyes settled on her as a vulture settles on its prey, devouring her, line by line, feature by feature, until, to her surprise and discomfort, Eldris felt herself flus.h.i.+ng as though she had been under the eyes of a man.

”Whence come you?” said the soft voice; so commonplace a question and so casually asked, that Eldris was nearly betrayed into indiscretion. She caught herself and said instead:

”From Londinium.”

”And you are--” The woman looked her over again. ”Perhaps a dancer, or maybe a mime, running away because your master misused you?”

”A dancer--yes, that is it,” said Eldris, catching at the invention.

”And my master misused me, and I ran away. Now I seek the wine-shop--”

The woman laughed, a silvery tinkle of mirth.

”Child, spare your conscience!” she said lightly. ”See, let me tell you how it lies with you. Whence come you? From a great house to the southward, where one Hito rules with a rod of fear. What are you? A slave, my dear, and a runaway, with your life, in consequence, forfeit and lying this moment in my hand. Some one helped you to get away, and bade you wait for him at the wine-shop of this master Nicodemus, for whom you clamor. How dare you put me and mine in jeopardy, girl, by thrusting yourself upon us? Know you not the penalty visited on those who harbor fugitive slaves?”

Eldris started back from her, gray and pinched with fear. How did the woman know? Who had told her? Eldris could not guess; knew nothing but that her life indeed lay in the fat jewelled hands resting on the woman's knees.

But the latter's tone changed. Perhaps there was in her something of the feline; the instinct of the cat to gambol with its prey. She laughed again.

”Nay, child!” she said gently. ”I did but sport with thee. And I am sorry, poor hunted rabbit. Never fear, my girl--Chloris has yet to turn distress from her door. How do I know these things? Why, that is easily answered, since all night long in sleep your tongue went over this and that--such a babble as was never heard. The tongue by day may lie, but the tongue by night speaks truth. My women who waited on you did piece its fragments, and came with the whole and told me. Now I have this to say: Stay in this house, and you shall be safer than in your father's.

When search is made for you, be sure the searchers will come hither, and that is the best thing that could be. You will not be the first girl who has sought shelter with Chloris. And I dare take the risk of keeping you, because I am so very sure that you will not be found. If the house be searched, no one of your description would be found herein--and you yourself might tell the stationarii so without fear. Stay with me, and you shall have food and shelter and protection from the law.”

”And I--what wouldst have of me in return?” asked Eldris slowly.

”Naught but what you would give willingly,” said Chloris. ”Mark you this, girl: Chloris forces no man nor woman to do her bidding. If one wishes to enter here, she may enter; if one wishes to leave, she may leave. I can but repeat what I have said. Come to me and you shall be safe--I'll lay my life on that. If you will not, well, go your way; you shall not be betrayed by me or mine.”

”If you would but let me be servant to you!” Eldris begged. ”I am friendless and weary, and I dread to face the world again, for there is no rest nor safety for me at all. I would work in scullery or in kitchen, and serve you loyally and gladly; more than this I will not do.

Once I fled to escape shame; shall I then seek that from which I fled?”

”So be it, then,” said Chloris. ”I shall not compel you, for that is not the way of Chloris. You have told so much while no sense was in you that you might now straighten out the tale. I see your doubts; you do not know me, yet you have your opinion. That is right, child; better for one's own peace of mind to trust too little than too much. But you need fear nothing. I, too, was friendless once, and weary once, and found no rest nor safety. That was long and long ago; but sometimes I think of it, even these days. So, if you will, tell your tale; and if you will not, keep it. But remember, I have said that your secret shall not be betrayed by me or mine. Many things I have come to hold lightly, but my promise is not one of them.”

”I will tell,” said Eldris. It was an impulse, born of she knew not what emotion. So she told, taking a fellow-mortal on trust for sake of the faith that was in her; and again the heavy-lidded eyes fastened on her, never wavering from her face as she told her tale.