Sónnica. Vicente Blasco Ibanez
his right hand into the sleeve of his sagum, and, drawing a knife, stab the legionary in the thick neck he had been staring at with the fixity of a wild beast while the fallen man mocked at Carthage.
The tavern shook with the strain of the combat. The other Roman seeing his companion down, hurled himself at the Celtiberian with raised sword, but quick as a flash he received a thrust in the face and was blinded by a stream of blood.
The agility of the man was astounding. His movements had the elasticity of the panther; blows seemed to rebound from his body without doing him harm. Around him fell a shower of jars, of broken amphoræ, of swords hurled through the air; but with extended arm, and knife held before him, he made a spring toward the door and disappeared.
"After him! After him!" clamored the Romans, starting in pursuit.
Attracted by the brutal joy of a man hunt, all who were sober enough to retain mastery of their legs followed him out of the hostelry. The horde of men, fired by the sight of blood, sprang over the bodies of the dying Roman and the drunken sailors who lay snoring near him. The Greek saw them break up into groups, running in all directions after the Celtiberian, who had disappeared a few steps distant from the hostelry as if dissolved into the shadow of the night.
The port thrilled with the ardor of the chase. Lights flashed along the wharves and through the village streets; the lupanars and taverns were subjected to a brutal overhauling by the Romans who were mad with fury; a fresh fight started at the door of every hut; blood was about to flow anew, when the Greek, fearing to become involved in a riot, fled to the temple. Bacchis had not returned, and the Greek climbed up the steps and stretched out on the portico, a broad terrace paved with blue marble, over which the fluted columns supporting the pediment flung oblique bars of shadow.
When Actæon awoke he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Birds were singing in the olive trees, and he heard voices near. As he arose he was surprised to see that day had dawned, for it seemed but a few minutes had passed since he fell asleep.
A woman, a patrician, stood not far away, smiling upon him. She was robed in a flowing white linen mantle which fell to her feet in graceful folds like the drapery of statues. A few curls of blonde hair fell over her forehead. Her lips were painted red, and her black eyes, velvety, and with a silky caress in their gaze, were surrounded by blue circles suggesting a night of fatigue. Moving her arms beneath her mantle, hidden ornaments jingled with silvery tones, and the toe of her sandal, peeping from beneath the border of her garment, shone like a jewelled star.
She was followed by two slender Celtiberian slaves, their brown, swelling breasts almost bare, their limbs wrapped in multicolored cloth. One carried a pair of white doves, the other bore on her head a basket of roses.
Actæon recognized Polyanthus, the Saguntine pilot, and also the perfumed young gallant who had been on the wharf with another horseman when the ship came in, standing near the handsome patrician.
The Greek arose, amazed at the beautiful apparition smiling upon him.
"Athenian," she said in Greek of the purest accent, "I am Sónnica, the mistress of the ship which brought you hither. Polyanthus is my freedman and he has done well in giving you passage, for he is aware of my interest in your people. Who are you?"
"I am Actæon, and I ask the gods to shower blessings upon you for your kindness. May Venus guard your beauty while you live."
"Are you a navigator? Are you engaged in commerce? Are you traveling about the world giving lessons in rhetoric and poetry?"
"I am a soldier, as were all my ancestors. My grandfather died in Italy covering with his body the great Pyrrhus who wept for him as for a brother. My father was a captain of mercenaries in the service of Carthage, and was cruelly assassinated in the war called 'inexorable.'"
He was silent a moment as if overcome by this recollection. His voice choked, but presently he added: "I fought until recently under the orders of Cleomenes, the last Lacedæmonian. I was one of his companions, and when the hero suffered defeat I accompanied him to Alexandria, afterward traveling over the world because I could not endure the inactivity of exile. I have also been a merchant in Rhodes, a fisherman on the Bosphorus, a farmer in Egypt, and a satirical poet in Athens."
The handsome Sónnica approached him smiling. He was an Athenian possessed of all the qualities so loved by her; one of those adventurers accustomed to rapid changes of fortune, rounders of the world, who frequently chronicle their achievements when they have reached old age.
"And why have you come hither?"
"I have come by chance. Your pilot offered to bring me to Zacynthus, and I came. I felt stifled in New Carthage. I might have enlisted in Hannibal's army; it would have been sufficient perhaps to have revealed my origin to meet with welcome. The Greeks are paid great prices in every army. But a war is in progress here also, and I prefer to go against the Turdetani, to serve a city which I do not know, but which has never done me any harm."
"And did you sleep here last night? Could you not find a bed in any of the inns?"
"What I could not find was an obolus in my pouch. If I appeased my hunger, it was due to the charity of a forlorn harlot who shared her meagre supper with me. I am poor, and I was faint for food. Do not pity me, Sónnica. Do not look upon me with eyes of compassion. I have given banquets which lasted from sunset until dawn. In Rhodes, at the hour of the songs, we used to throw the metal plates out of the windows to the slaves. The life of a man should be thus, like Homer's heroes, a king in one place and a beggar in another."
Polyanthus looked upon the adventurer with interest, and the elegant Lachares, who had at first opposed Sónnica when she wished to awaken so ill-dressed a Greek, approached him, recognizing Athenian refinement beneath his humble exterior, thinking to make a friend of him in the hope of receiving lessons to his advantage.
"Come to my villa at sunset to-day," said Sónnica. "You shall dine with us. Anyone can guide you to my house. One of my ships has brought you to this land, and I wish you to find hospitality beneath my roof. Farewell, Athenian. I also am from Athens, and seeing you I imagine that the golden lance of Pallas on the height by the Parthenon still shines before my eyes."
Bidding the Athenian farewell with a smile, Sónnica turned toward the temple, followed by the slaves.
Actæon overhead the conversation of Lachares and Polyanthus outside the temple. They had spent the night before at Sónnica's house. They had left the table at dawn. Lachares still wore his banquet crown, but the roses were withered and falling to pieces. When Sónnica heard of the arrival of the dancing girls from Gades, whom she had so impatiently awaited to present at her suppers, she took a fancy to see Polyanthus and his ship, and she wished to make a sacrifice to Aphrodite in passing, as she did whenever she went to the port. She had come in her great litter, accompanied by Lachares and the two slaves, proposing to sleep on the way back, for she generally stayed in bed until well past the hour of noon.
The pilot withdrew and went toward his ship to disembark the troop of dancers, and Actæon walked with Lachares to the entrance of the open temple.
The interior was simple and beautiful. A great square space remained roofless to allow the light to enter, and the sun's rays descending through this opening gave the changing bluish green of sea-water to the azure columns with their capitals representing shells, dolphins, and cupids grasping the oar. At the lower end in a soft penumbra, laden with the perfumes of the sacrifices, stood the goddess, white, arrogant, and proud in her nudity as when she first emerged from the waves before the astonished eyes of men.
The altar was near the door. Before it stood the priest in a full linen mantle, held to his head by a crown of flowers, receiving the offerings to the goddess from the hands of Sónnica herself.
Coming out upon the peristyle she swept with a loving glance the expanse of whitecapped sea, the port glistening like a triple mirror, the immense green valley, and the distant city, gilded by the first rays of the morning sun.
"How beautiful! Look at our city, Actæon! Greece is not more exquisite."
At the foot of the great stone steps was her palanquin,