THE RHIPSIMIANS

«Would you want her daughter only as a gift for others, or for yourself as well? I know how much you love divine pleasures, Jupiter!»

«She interests me. I should like to see her and to try her; I think she is beautiful, and she might be a second wife to me. If I am disappointed in her, then I will either sell her or rid myself of her; let her run farther, wherever her eyes may lead her.»

«That is to say, you wish to tell me that with a living spouse, you want another? I shall not permit another to occupy our marriage bed! There is I — and no one else!»

«Do you know anything more of this girl? Is she truly as beautiful as they say? How does she look?»

«Yes,» Prisca smiled, naturally enough. «She is very graceful, and your men would surely have broken their necks staring at her — and you, by the by, as well!» Prisca dissolved in loud laughter, unsettling the pain-weary Diocletian. «She has splendid, lustrous, long hair; I think it is not a matter of olive oil — she has good ancestral roots, and the beauty was passed down by inheritance. You know, I spend most of my time with her mother; she helps me with my womanly ailment. As for the daughter, I have seen her only a couple of times — beautiful, I can say nothing else.»

«So I was lied to, that she has a hideous face and legs?»

«An absolute lie. I will leave you alone; perhaps by morning you will change your mind and leave your new passion in peace, Jupiter. I still give you more of my love than you think — and besides, one cannot force anyone to love. I speak to you as a woman.»

«At this moment, I need her parents; only from them can I obtain her likeness, Prisca. Only parents can describe their child! When they tell me in detail how she looks and where she might hide, the search will be simplified. Right now, they seek her like a needle in the Nile, and I doubt they will find her.»

Prisca left her husband, leaving him alone with his thoughts: he pictured how they would bring her to him — the extraordinary beauty with a character as sharp as Eastern spices.

— —

The morning coolness, with the scent of roses, filled Rhipsimia’s room, as though the two had conspired to delay her first awakening within the monastery walls.

«Sister, wake — it is time for prayer,» Mania touched Rhipsimia’s shoulder. «You may sleep a little later. Come now; it is not fitting to grieve the Mother on the first day of your obedience. Let us go quickly!»

Rhipsimia awoke with uncommon lightness and swiftness; not a trace of the long road’s weariness remained in her legs; the troubled dreams and visions no longer pursued her, and she was happy for it — all the most terrible things lay behind her. Mania seized Rhipsimia’s hand, and the girls ran to the morning prayer — only a few minutes remained before it began.

The abbess glanced at Rhipsimia and smiled; the girl, in turn, bowed, smiling in answer. The prayer began. The maidens bowed their heads, repeating after the abbess — quietly, barely audibly, Rhipsimia prayed too. She had never heard how people address Christ, yet something within prompted her how to speak the prayer aright. The hall was drowned in the purest silence; only a bird, strayed among the downy boughs, tried to interrupt the maidens. Through the enormous, heavy windows, a sunbeam stole, playing upon the white marble floor and reflecting upon the painted walls. Here, grace and humility wafted abroad; it seemed that time itself had stopped, that nothing could trouble the old monastery that had seen so many a fate. At the end of the prayer, Rhipsimia approached the abbess; she wished to tell her of her fears and the visions that haunted her, yet the abbess already sensed with her heart that the guest of the monastery was ill at ease.

«Does a weight of despair or anguish lie upon your soul, my child?» she addressed the girl. «Does something torment you? What gnaws at you?»

«I must tell you something, Mother. I am very afraid for the life of my parents, for my own life, and now for the life of the sisters as well. I am surely being sought by the Emperor Diocletian, for refusing to pose for his painters, for refusing to belong to him. When I was alone in the insula — my parents being absent on account of their endless duties — men knocked at the door: men with a beastly lust for flesh in their eyes; I was terrified. They came, supposedly by order of the emperor, to paint my likeness, for Diocletian had heard of my beauty and wished to assure himself of the truth of the rumours. But I deceived his men, I deceived him, and now I fear that his wrath will destroy everything in its path.»

«So long as you are within the walls of the Monastery of St. Paul, you are under God’s protection and in the care of us all. Fear nothing. Here, you will always be at peace; strangers do not come to us, for the monastery stands far from the Roman world. It is a miracle that God showed you the road into the mountains and that you met us.»

«And I should also like to ask you, Mother, to give me work — to bring some use to the abode and to thank you for your great heart, for the kindness with which you enfold me as though in a warm down cloak. A miracle has been wrought upon me: I wandered long and by a hard road, having lost all hope, but you saved me from the wild beast called despondency.»

«Toward what does your soul incline? Is there a labour that grants you joy?» the abbess asked with care. «A person is happy herself, and useful to others, when she is occupied with a beloved and interesting task. If you, my child, labour — no matter whether you have chosen a light craft or a heavy one — and you perform your work with ardour, with desire, with full devotion, you will be happy, and happy shall I be, and the maidens, and all the people around!»

«Yes, Mother, there is a task, and it brings harmony into my life. I told my sister earlier that I love flowers very much — caring for them is the best reward for me!» Rhipsimia exclaimed. «When I was very little, my nanny told me that flowers are the children of nature, and one must look after them, give them pure water to drink, speak with them, shelter them from the cold, and in no way cause them pain, nor wound them, nor cut them. To my sorrow, the image of my nanny has faded from my memory, but those words I remember to this day. There is a second task, too, which brings me joy: the plaiting of beads. First, one must gather the most beautiful stones, then join them with special threads. And thereafter — the nimbleness of the fingers and the fantasy of the craftswoman. When my parents were absent from home and I had to while away the days and nights alone, I kept my hands busy with work — small, yet pleasant and, I think, useful. I remember how once a woman came to my mother, a very wealthy woman; she saw the beads in my hands — the work was not yet finished, but it greatly delighted her, and she asked to buy the ornament from me!»

«Your labour brought you not only spiritual good, but material as well. The plaiting of beads may become a crust of bread for you in a dark hour, is that not so, my child?»

«It is so, Mother.»

«Then you may do the work which, in your opinion, will bring benefit to all of us. God be with you; He will bless you in good and useful deeds. The main thing is — do not lay your talent away in an old chest with unneeded things,» the abbess traced an invisible cross in the air with her fingers.

«Mother, what does it mean — ’do not lay your talent away in a chest’?»

«There is no doubt that a person is beautiful and useful when she does not squander her life in idleness and sloth, but is occupied with a good work. Yet what is labour? Simply to do as one is bidden? Then that is slavery. Only a bondsman will do something by order, while a free person will do it at the call of the heart. Then there is talent. That which you do well and with delight. That which is in you from birth — that is God’s gift. For instance, God gave you the talent to plait beads, and in this you have no equal; another sister inspiredly paints the walls of our monastery, and a mere wave of her hand suffices, and the images of the saints appear before us as if alive; yet another novice makes wondrous vessels of clay that adorn our refectory table… I will be grateful to you for your help to the monastery, and I will be a hundredfold more grateful if you share your talent with the sisters, if you teach them this fine and painstaking art; and we shall teach you all that may be of interest to you. Yes, my child — who knows? Perhaps you will teach us to create beauty, and it will help us in difficult hours. Who knows… Who knows…»

The abbess dismissed the maidens and remained alone in the vast prayer hall.

CHAPTER V. THE FATHER’S HOUSE

Agapia flew about the insula like a bird with a wounded wing; she cried out, cursed everything under the sun, smashed dishes, hurled cups at her feet — the walls shuddered from the mother’s wrath. No one had ever dared to touch her child, and her beloved daughter had proved, for the umpteenth time, that she would not give herself up to just anyone without a fight.

«Did you see? How is this to be understood? This is your fault!» Agapia cried into the consul’s face. «Our child has taken to flight! Where are we to seek her now? Whose doing is it that our only child has fled her own father’s house?»

«Only do not shift blame from a sick head to a sound one, Agapia. What fault is mine? How was I to know that Rhipsimia would wish to flee? I think there must have been a reason for it.»

«But it is all because you kept bringing strange men to her! You led them in as though to a theatre — to look and to show off and boast! The heart chooses love, not you or I!»

«I was seeking her — of what do you accuse me? It is hard for me, too, to know that she is not here! Perhaps a love fever took hold of her, and she fled from an unrequited…»

The argument of Rhipsimia’s parents was cut short by the pounding of horses’ hooves: approaching the house of the consul and the prefect’s personal physician were the emperor’s warriors from the elite Praetorian Guard. The riders’ faces were hidden by massive helmets that reached down to their collarbones, shielding the carotid artery; in their hands, sharp swords glittered.

«Consul Gordian!» cried the chief of the men who had come. «In the name of Diocletian, open at once! We know you are within!»

«Go to Pluto!» a woman’s voice rang out from the house. «What do you want here?»

«The Emperor commanded us to deliver you to him! Either you open now, or we shall be forced to use force against the consul and his wife!»

«Agapia, I beg you — do not show your temper. Open to them; they will do nothing to you or to me. So long as we hold high ranks, nothing threatens us!» the consul addressed his wife, yet notes of alarm sounded in his voice. «Open to them, or it will be worse.»

Agapia made for the door, but at once was thrown back by a mighty blow — the door had been kicked in by one of the soldiers. The Praetorians did not care for long talk; unlike diplomats, their dialogues ended in the application of force and a demonstration of their superiority by means of the verbal oppression of their adversary. «To trample into the dirt» — that was what pleased Diocletian himself, and his army.

«He who bade me go to Pluto shall now pay him a visit himself!» The warrior seized Agapia by the hair and dragged her toward the exit. «Follow me, Consul!»

Before seating Agapia upon a horse, he threw the woman to the ground, striking her a few times with the iron toe of his sandal. Agapia found the strength to rise, but she felt everything darkening before her eyes from the blow.

«Where is your daughter?»

«I hope that soon we shall change roles, you filthy dolt! And you will be eating the earth, with an iron toe for a chaser!»

Agapia’s face was drenched in blood. Nothing remained for the consul but to watch the beating of the woman he loved. He who most resisted the state’s power became its enemy, and any manifestation of disaffection toward the emperor was punished by Roman law, and very cruelly. Agapia was known as an indomitable and wilful woman, and for that no less respected; she defended her house in every way from strangers, and later, when they had left her insula and it seemed victory was hers — she would weep loudly and long, shuddering at every sound.

«Strong for all, and weak for myself» — so she would say to her daughter, guarding her peace. But against Diocletian, it was impossible to stand — he was interested only in Rhipsimia and her place of dwelling.

«It is well that you fled, daughter,» flew from the lips of the beaten mother.

«I am inclined to believe your daughter will come to a bad end,» began the eldest of the imperial messengers. «She deceived the men sent by the emperor himself; she said she was not your daughter! I doubt she will manage to hide from the hand of justice.»

«Your business is to watch the road!» Agapia hissed through clenched teeth. «Can you grant me a gift? Spare me from your empty babble.»

«And your business, you dolt, is to bear heirs and spin wool — and to keep silent; better still — to tell your daughter what is good and what is evil. But plainly, the role of wife and mother has come to you but poorly. Do you wish to wash in blood again, or will you sit quietly this time?»

— —

Diocletian was beside himself with joy and anticipated victory: he would become the possessor of the most precious thing a maiden had, and so long as Rhipsimia’s parents were under his control, she would be dependent upon him.

At last, the consul and his wife stood before the great emperor: Rhipsimia’s father was thoroughly weary, while her mother stood with head proudly raised and shoulders squared, like a warrior woman ready to charge into the attack. The silence was broken by Diocletian:

«You are very beautiful, Agapia. Now I understand why your daughter gives men no peace. Were it not that I have a wife, and you a husband — I would take you for myself.» Diocletian gave a smirk, showing his sharp white teeth. «I see upon your white skin the traces of your temper. I am very sorry that you were beaten; but you were not beaten without cause, is that not so?»

«I do not know where my daughter is! What do you want from her?»

One of those who had brought Rhipsimia’s parents to the emperor, seizing the moment, struck the woman across the legs, and she fell to her knees. The warrior added menacingly:

«One may not address the Roman sovereign in a disrespectful tone, nor prove one’s rightness without his leave.»

«Do you wish to know why you were dragged here, such busy and important personages?» Diocletian asked with feigned politeness. «I hold your husband in deep respect; he has done a very great deal for Rome. I respect you, Agapia, for helping not only the prefect to stand firmly on his feet, but also my wife in her womanly affairs. You would continue to receive my grace, had it not been for your daughter. I wished to make her happy, to take her as a wife and give her a carefree life — was this not what you desired for your child? But your daughter turned out to be a traitress. Any other would have had her beheaded in an instant — but not I. I will give her a chance. To give her a chance, Consul — what do you think?»

«I beg you — my child was, in all likelihood, frightened by the men who came to our insula: fear paralysed her reason, and she made an error — she resorted to deceit. I beg you to believe me, for I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth.»

«What to do with you — that is another question. To punish you for errors in upbringing? You taught the child to lie — and what is more, to Jupiter himself! The highest god is now simply obliged to chastise you! Yet so be it; today my mood is most satisfied. Sit, and tell me everything of your daughter. For disobedience to the emperor, or for falsehood, I shall be compelled to execute you — publicly or in secret — the choice is yours.»

«Our daughter is very beautiful. To our misfortune, my wife and I cannot describe her; it is needful that the Emperor see her with his own eyes. We were so long absent from our house that we did not notice how our child had managed to turn from a curious little girl into a sumptuous young woman.»

«Has the Emperor ever seen the dawn over the sea, when the smooth, turquoise canvas of water is now pale, now rich, bright, entrancing, and nothing can disturb its peace — neither the cry of gulls, nor the sleepy splash of a fish, nor the steps of a wanderer on the damp, yellow sand?» Agapia smiled and talked tirelessly of seascapes, trying to charm Diocletian, to divert his thoughts from her daughter.

The Emperor sensed that from these people he would not obtain, by kindness, the likeness of the girl, nor where she might be — they themselves did not know, and even if they did know, they would not confess it. He seized a stool in his hands and, with all his might, smashed it against the floor — the splinters flew in all directions, grazing the hands of the consul and his wife. Several of Diocletian’s men rushed to him in that same second, but with a gesture he stopped them. The guards froze like stone statues.

«Inflict thirty blows upon the consul’s back — on the ribs, the nape of the neck — and one blow upon his lips. The consul’s wife may serve as a comfort to any warriors who desire a woman’s caress and body — let them use her body as much as they wish, and when she grows wearisome, they may deprive her of life by any convenient means,» the cruel ruler of Rome knew that there was nothing more humiliating and terrible for a man than violence against his woman.

«Stop! I beg you to release my wife — her guilt is in nothing, save perhaps a sharp tongue that she cannot keep behind her teeth. If you wish to find our daughter, then seek among the thin and slender girls with eyes the colour of the desert — in the morning, Rhipsimia’s eyes are yellowish, transparent, like sweet honey from the first grasses and flowers, yet by evening they grow dark as night.»

«One of the painters I sent to your house managed to discern a few features of your beauty’s face, but I wish to know more details.»

«Tell him nothing, I beg you!» Agapia cried between her sobs. «They will seize her and force her to belong to him! Say nothing; enough! Stop!» the poor, despairing woman pleaded, but her husband seemed not to hear her and continued to speak with the Emperor.

«Had she been seen in Hellas, a war would have begun because of her — because of beautiful women, not only men suffer, but whole states.»

«Gordian, I repeat: you are a respected man, faithfully serving the Roman state, and notwithstanding the old events that clouded your reputation, you have managed to justify your name, to keep your face before the people. Permit me to remind you of the stolen ring: do not let history repeat itself. Do not, this time, allow yourself to stumble a second time, for the procurator will no longer save you from instant death, even if you are innocent. Continue your account, and your wife — I release.»

Diocletian ordered Agapia released, but she did not hurry to leave the emperor’s domain; on the contrary, she slowed her step and, turning, spoke:

«You will understand my pain, should something befall your child — then you will find no place for yourself, neither on earth nor under the earth! She fled Rome because she does not love you, and does not wish to be your concubine! You are not dear to her! Not dear, and not loved! Now my child, on account of your lust, is forced to wander the world! From this day, I cease the treatment of Prisca, and I wish to see neither you nor your beasts in my house ever again!»

«Let her go. Do not touch her. She has already received her due,» the Emperor addressed the senior warrior.

Diocletian followed Agapia with an indifferent gaze, but within him, Vesuvius seethed. The most terrible thing was that not a single woman had ever dared to speak such words to his face — and what was more, truthful ones.

The Emperor remained alone with the consul, and all that concerned the beautiful maiden became known to the Roman dictator from the lips of her own father.

«Well then, Gordian — you and your wife are fully absolved and free. You may continue to do as you did before. I shall not trouble you. Live your own life — yet be ready for the blows of fate. This is not the last.»

Consul Gordian left the Emperor without feeling the ground beneath his feet; his eyes seemed covered with a film; a trembling ran through his body. He hung his head, like a spineless slave who has received the rod across his neck; his legs refused, yet continued to walk. Tears streamed from his sorrowful eyes, and he had no power to stop them. The most precious thing he possessed was his wife and his daughter, and today, through his own fault, he had lost them both.

«Fool! Fool! Fool!» he lamented. «How vile you are! What baseness! To give your daughter up to the Emperor to save your own life? Why, that is the height of selfishness and cynicism! But I had no choice! He would have killed me and my wife both! What was I to do? What?» the consul suddenly cried out at the top of his voice. Passers-by turned around, staring wide-eyed at the consul as though he were a madman.

— —

Rhipsimia’s father could find no place for himself: in every minute of his sleep, he died, and in the morning he awoke again from his own voice — shattered and frayed. It seemed his face was no longer of this world, so sombre had it grown, with deep furrows; grey hairs had in an instant transformed him into an old man. He peered into Agapia’s eyes as into a mirror, and pain stabbed his heart with a thousand needles — the most beautiful of women, whom he loved and who had never been able to love him, was withered by time and by grief. Had it been in his power, he would have thrown himself at the feet of his wife and daughter, and, kissing them, would have begged forgiveness.

Did he seek his daughter?

When Agapia showed him their daughter’s farewell words, he was beside himself with fury: a handful of earth, a stone, dust, a leaf — the consul examined every patch of Rome; he gave coins to vagabonds, so long as they would recall whether they had seen a solitary girl walking alone.

«Where can I find you, my heavenly strength? Gods, why are you silent?»

But the gods did not answer.

— —

Diocletian wandered in the shade of eucalyptus trees, wrapped in a white toga. The Emperor loved this colour, which set off his porcelain face. The sultry day wearied him, and the ruler of Rome decided to hide from the hot air among the trees; there, a pleasant coolness and shadow reigned. The sunlight did not penetrate here.

«Have you time, Jupiter?» Maximian’s voice was lost among the branches.

«I have everything! Power, coins, strength, nerves — and even time. Only when I ride to war, or take pleasure in a woman, have I little of it; but when I stroll alone in the garden or along the fir alley — I have much. What has happened, Hercules — do you wish to take it from me?» the Emperor laughed.

«I have come with tidings, Jupiter, and they will bring you little joy. Our search is senseless! Do you know how many beautiful girls there are in Rome, in Tibur, in Pompeii, and even in Tusculum? You could count and count and never finish! We are searching for a void, my friend!»

«Well, perhaps you are searching for a void — but I managed to speak with the girl’s parents and to learn a good deal. Rhipsimia: slender, with brown eyes, slightly yellowish, like sand, and a narrow waist — her father told me that the beauty’s figure can be encircled with two hands. Ah yes, I almost forgot! The hair! Glossy and neatly arranged — she parts it into two and curls it in the form of serpents. Her hair is long, dark, close to an earthy hue.»

«It seems to me, faithful friend, that we shall have a great feast! With the array of your reforms, Rome has simply blossomed! And the glimmer of light in the search for your love — that is truly a colossal success! Let us unite these great victories into a single celebration!» Maximian guffawed at the top of his voice with feigned mirth, and then Diocletian caught up his unnatural laughter.