RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
Blue Book, November 1946, with "The Eye of the Sun"
This series about the Sphinx Emerald constitutes, as has been said, a veritable Outline of History—or perhaps "Highlights of History" would be more accurate. For this reason the greatest event in all history could not be left out. Here, then, we see the Holy Family during the exile in Egypt.
IN the time when Cnaeus Gabinius ruled Egypt as Prefect for Augustus, you might have noticed an old man with white hair and tattered garments, who drove a skinny donkey along the trail. This was in Lower Egypt, some twelve miles from the fortress of Babylon on the Nile. Not on the river itself, but on the great canal which connected the Nile with the sea—part of the great maze of channels and canals cutting up the lower country. One could float down by boat to Alexandria and the Bitter Lakes from almost anywhere here.
The old wanderer came to a strange spot, where sandy mounds, half-buried buildings and statues denoted a former city of the Egyptians, its ruins spreading for miles around. A miserable little native huddle of huts stood by the water, but this offered no asylum for a weary old man.
Something else, luckily, caught his eye. Ahead showed two obelisks of fine Aswan granite topped with copper caps. Near them was a sycamore of light tender green; by its gnarled surface roots a spring showed. Beside this stood the tent of some vagrants, an ass staked out close by.
With a grunt of relief the old man, feeble and barely able to totter along, turned to this spring. His animal carried empty water-skins and a packet of food, nothing else. They had evidently come in by the Syrian Desert trail. The old man himself carried a jewel that was one of the world's great gems, but no one would have suspected it. Upon nearing the spring he saw a woman and her baby sitting under the tree. Her husband, a bearded man who wore Jewish dress, was making repairs to a saddle.
At the scent of water, the skinny donkey quickened pace. The old man stumbled, caught at the animal, and fell. He tried to rise and could not, merely clawing the sand in futile effort. The Jew came hastening to his side and helped him gain his feet. A kindly fellow, this Jew, with cheerful smile.
"Here y'are, Father," he said encouragingly. "Come over to the shade and rest. I'll bring you water. Had a bit too much sun, haven't you?"
To one who had come through the burning desert afoot, water meant life; but shade answered a terrible heart-craving. The old man sank down beside the mother and child, and his eyes closed; he was weak and pallid and spent. The Jew brought a gourd with water; and his wife, a young and extremely pretty woman, held it to the old man's lips. He swallowed, and after a little sat up and looked around.
"May the gods give you blessings for your kindness," he said.
"The gods?" The Jew spoke in surprise. "Then you are not a Hebrew?"
"No, my friend. I am a Greek, Rhodon by name. Thirty years ago, when Queen Cleopatra died and the Romans took Egypt, I lived not far from here. I know this place well—one of the famous ancient cities of the world."
The Jew laughed shortly. "This heap of sand, a city? You jest. Those Egyptians in the huts yonder are barbarous, uncivil folk."
The old man lifted a shriveled hand to point at the closer obelisk.
"That was erected twenty-five hundred years ago by the Pharaoh Usertsen I, to mark this great city of Heliopolis, the center of sun-worship. It was the city where Joseph lived; in your scriptures it is named On. And today the Bedawin call this spring Ain el Shams—the Eye of the Sun."
THE three fell into general talk. The Jew was named Yusef and
his wife Miriam; they were simple, kindly folk, and greatly
admired this learned old Greek who had lived so long in their own
country. He had been at Jerusalem for many years, a scribe,
supporting himself by reading and writing and teaching. Neither
he nor they had any good words for King Herod, who was a mere
Roman puppet.
Old Rhodon took a great fancy to the child, a bright-eyed, laughing babe of some months. The infant played with his finger, and he smiled.
"A fine boy," he said. "I could show him something that would make him chuckle! But a fine boy—that doesn't mean a fine man!"
"Why not, good sir?" demanded the mother challengingly.
"I was thinking of another fine boy, whom I knew long ago," said Rhodon. "He became a man—and died abruptly. Perhaps the gods were jealous."
"So you've lived among us for thirty years, and still don't believe in one god?" she asked.
Rhodon smiled at her, then waved his hand around.
"Look, woman: Before the memory of man, this was the most ancient and holy city in Egypt—the city of the sun. Now it is a few hovels, a spring, and ruins; but it is still the city of the sun, and ever will be. Strange," he went on musingly, "about that name—the Eye of the Sun! In so many countries, in so many tongues, a spring is called an eye! The association of well and eye and sun is found among many peoples. Well, Yusef, what do you mean to do here in Egypt?"
"Oh. I suppose to reach a city and go to work," said the bearded man. "I'm a carpenter, and there's always work for a man who can use tools, so I'm not worrying. And you—I suppose you'll be carrying a scribe's ink-pot?"
"No," replied Rhodon calmly. "I'm finished. I came back here to die, and I think I'm about at the end."
They looked at him in astonishment and awe. He shook his head.
"No use blinking it," he went on. "I remember what a wise man once said to me long ago, about death: It is one of those things we cannot explain, which work for good in a way we cannot see. True words, my friends. Nothing sad about it, when you come to my age; rather, it's a relief. I doubt if I'll last out the night."
"Well, just now you're exhausted," said Miriam kindly. "We've cheese and dates and other things to eat; share them with us, and take a corner of our tent for tonight. In the morning you may feel better."
Rhodon thanked them. "You are kind people. This is a beautiful child. I've never seen a finer baby. By Hathor, there's something in his eyes like intelligence! A rare thing. Most babies are like puppies."
"Shame! No such thing!" Miriam cried indignantly; then they all fell to laughing together, and the baby chortled and cooed, and Rhodon took him into his arms. The afternoon waned; and the old man, looking out across the ruins, spoke of the former city here.
"In ancient days it was the city of all learning. It inspired the King Akhnaton to form a new worship of one god alone, the sun. It sheltered your olden hero Yusef or Joseph, and gave him a wife. It is the immortal City of the Sun, as that obelisk of Usertsen still proclaims. I could have no better place in which to depart and go into the dark future—"
His voice died away and he plucked at his girdle, then looked down at the boy and smiled again. But the boy began to cry; his mother took him and disappeared within the tent, saying it was time to nurse him. Yusef came and sat with the old man, chewing at a stem of grass.
"You have learning, wisdom," he said reflectively. "You know your way around, I don't. I'm just a common fellow from a small town. Now that we're getting into Egypt, I'm worried. There's a Roman garrison just ahead, upriver a few miles. Will these Romans ask us for any papers?"
Rhodon grunted. "They will. Anyone coming from Syria had better have a passport. You have one, surely?"
"Well, no. To tell the truth, we started out in a hurry. Oh, there's nothing wrong with us!" added Yusef quickly. "Only, I had some reason to fear Herod's men."
Rhodon pondered this. "Then you're out of luck, my friend. These damned Romans are all for red tape and so forth. Let's see, now—I'll get my passport."
He fumbled under his rags, produced a wallet, and from it took a folded bit of papyrus which he opened. The passport or travel permit was fairly written in Latin, the blank was filled in with his own name and description, and it was duly sealed.
"I got this at Jericho, from the Roman soldier in charge," said he, and laughed softly. "Yes, I can manage—I am not a scribe for nothing! Get me a small reed so I can cut a pen. I'll erase this writing and fill it in with your own names—no one will question it—do it fast, before the sun sinks! Hurry! Get some ink at the village yonder. Here's money. Quickly!"
From the wallet he dumped some gold and silver, thrusting the coins at Yusef. Then he fell to work with his knife, scraping off the writing delicately and afterward rubbing smooth the papyrus with his knife-haft. When Yusef came back with reed and ink, he went at the writing and finished it before the sunset gold was gone.
"It will do," he said, examining the job with satisfaction. "I did not name the infant—no matter. He might be the Messias of Israel, for all the Romans know or care. There—now you are prepared, my friend. And I am very tired. Here, wait! This is for the boy. Let him have it to play with—leave me to sleep in the sand. I like it."
Yusef took the papyrus and something wrapped in a bit of cloth. He helped old Rhodon to scoop out sand and get comfortable, gave him another drink, and threw a coat over him.
THEY found him lying there in the morning, dead.
Yusef got men from the hamlet to dig a grave, paying them with coins from Rhodon's wallet, and the old man was laid to rest near the obelisk. The gift left for the baby boy proved to be a lump of green glass with a peculiar object inside it whose shape conveyed nothing to the Israelite or his wife—a pretty toy which the boy fondled. They had no conception that it could be anything but glass, of course...
That same afternoon a party came riding on horses downstream from the old fortress of Babylon, a few miles south, where a legion was now encamped. There was a tax-gatherer who wanted a report from the hamlet here; there were half a dozen Roman soldiers, guards; with them rode Decimus Rufus, a wealthy young Roman sight-seer touring Egypt, and his friend Aulus Gellius, who was making the grand tour with him.
Rufus was a hard-eyed, handsome fellow with yellow hair and a hearty laugh; Gellius, son of the immensely wealthy contractor who had helped Augustus turn Rome into a city of marble, was a careful genius with an agile brain and dark nimble eyes, always planning some great enterprise on which to employ his father's money. They had been up the Nile as far as the cataracts. Rufus loved the country; Gellius found it boring.
Finding that the tax-gatherer was in for a lengthy session at the hamlet, they went with the decurion or sergeant to see the obelisks and spring and the nomads camped there. Both of them spoke Greek and the Aramaic usually employed by Jews.
At their approach Miriam and the baby, who had been sitting under the sycamore, whipped out of sight into the tent. Yusef went on repairing the saddle. The three dismounted; and the decurion, as a matter of routine, asked Yusef if he had a permit to travel about.
Yusef showed his papyrus.
"Oh! A Jew, eh?" The decurion nodded. "Right. Everything in order, my friend. So you've come from Syria! A long road afoot."
"There are longer," said Yusef, and they chatted of Roman roads.
RUFUS drank from the spring, saw something green lying under
the sycamore, and picked it up. Surprise leaped into his eyes,
and he beckoned Gellius.
"Here, look at this. It was lying just here. It can't be true... By the gods! What's in the thing? Hold it in the sunlight and look. Is it real?"
Gellius complied. He showed no excitement, but his dark eyes flashed. He turned to Yusef with a question.
"What is this thing, my friend?"
"That? Oh, it belongs to the baby—a toy. An odd bit of glass."
"I'd like to buy it from you. Set a price on it."
Yusef shook his head. Just then the decurion intervened.
"See here, my traveled gentleman, I know you Jews keep your women close and all that. Still, the permit mentions a woman and a baby. For form's sake, I'd like a look at them. You might have a band of assassins in that tent, for all I know."
Barter was forgotten. Used to Roman authority, Yusef made no protest, but called, and Miriam came out, carrying the baby.
"Talk to my wife, gentlemen," said Yusef, "if you want the pretty glass. It's her affair, not mine."
Gellius fell into talk with her. Rufus looked at her, noted her beauty, met her eyes and was struck by their intelligence.
Then he perceived that Gellius was offering a few copper coins for the glass, and that she was wavering. This angered him. He stepped forward impetuously, took from his pouch half a dozen gold coins, and held them out to her.
"The thing may have value," he said. "Take these instead."
Gellius stepped back, darkly flushed and furious. Yusef, at the sight of gold, came pushing forward, beginning an impassioned harangue. Miriam, who had none of the meek subservience of the Oriental woman, calmly ignored him and took the money from Rufus.
"Very well," she said. "We cannot afford to refuse your kindness. You may have the toy. You think it has some value?"
"I think so," replied Rufus. "I may be wrong. If I'm right, I'll pay you as much again to complete the transaction."
She smiled at this. The baby cooed and put out an arm. Rufus gravely took his tiny hand and looked at him.
"A nest-egg for you, pretty boy," he said, and left another coin in his tiny palm. "I may be back in a couple of days, should the thing have any worth. We'll be here for a week or so, packing and awaiting our ship to Alexandria."
Yusef said they would be here for some days still, recuperating from the desert journey.
A shout came from the village. The decurion replied. The three returned to their horses, and Rufus mounted and waved at the family. Then he fell in beside Gellius.
"A fair price to those poor devils," he said, laughing. "Let's see the thing."
Gellius yielded it. "You're a fool. She'd have sold for a few coppers. I had it bought when you interfered, curse you!"
"Hello! Ruffled you, did I?" Rufus chuckled. "My dear fellow, you're dealing in emeralds now, not in marble."
This thrust drove Gellius into an even darker fury. "I don't throw money away like a drunken soldier," he snapped.
"No," retorted Rufus, himself angry. "A soldier has earned the right."
Gellius, who had bought his way out of military service, spurred away furiously. They did not speak again all the way back to the fort. This really brought to a head a long-term division between them which had been slowly increasing. However, Rufus made an effort at compromise that evening.
"Look here, Aulus, let's patch this thing up: We might hold the green stone as joint property—"
"Keep it and be damned," broke out Gellius. "I want nothing to do with it, and no more to do with you either."
"As you prefer," said Rufus. "I'll be glad enough to part company."
IT was more than that, however. Gellius had seen what was in
the stone; a few words with the old fort commandant, who was
something of an antiquary, told him what the thing really
was—an emerald from the Egyptian crown jewels, unique and
famous in the history of the land; and after that the heady wine
of Cyprus worked evilly upon him.
Rufus had an old Greek servant, a freedman named Herakles, who knew everything. In the lamplight that evening, he showed Herakles the green stone.
"There's a sphinx inside it," he said. "Look for yourself. It may be a lump of glass formed about the image—"
Herakles, examining the green gem through a small glass such as jewelers used, shook his head gravely.
"No, my lord. It is beryl—an emerald from the ancient Egyptian mines. The image is natural, made by the flaws in the stone, a perfect Sphinx. I've heard of it, for it's famous in legend and story. Cleopatra owned it, and the kings before her. It is filled with magic powers for both good and evil. For the love of the gods, keep it secret!"
Rufus examined the gem attentively next day, and saw Herakles had told the truth about it; the Sphinx was indeed made by flaws coming together in a certain spot. Having, like many Romans, scant reverence for the old gods, and no belief in their powers, he saw that this was no more than a natural freak—a poor thing as an emerald, but rare as a curiosity.
DURING the afternoon he roved about the bazaars and purchased
a number of trifling objects for gifts, and the following morning
had his horse saddled and went off riding by himself. The truth
was that he could not get the face of the Jewish woman out of his
mind; she had impressed him deeply. So had the spot, the Eye of
the Sun, with its obelisks and its ancient memories.
When he got there, he found Yusef being interrogated by a centurion and two soldiers of the garrison, while a scribe took down his replies. With the arrogance bred of his consular rank and position, Rufus intervened sharply.
"Lord," said the centurion, "this wandering rascal has found some great treasure of gems and gold, and we were sent to question him, at the instance of your friend Aulus Gellius, who will presently be here."
"Indeed!" said Rufus.
"Aye, and the fellow has the gold, indeed."
"Let me tell you a thing or two," said Rufus calmly. "The other day I purchased from this man, who is an honest fellow, a gem which he had found. The gold he now has is what I gave him, and I have brought more to complete the purchase. I'll answer for him. What's more, I'll see your commander when I return to the fort. Now, shall I speak of you in friendly terms, or have you demoted for bothering honest people who are friends of mine? Suit yourself, but do it quickly."
The centurion was a shrewd fellow. He snapped commands at his men. The gold-pieces taken from Yusef were returned instantly and the intruders marched away. Rufus questioned Yusef, learned the origin of the green stone, and laughed.
"You shan't be bothered again," he promised. "I'll have a safe-conduct sent you from the commander at Babylon, so fear not. Now I have some little gifts for you, so bring out your family and forget your troubles."
Miriam appeared with the baby. Rufus distributed his presents and gave her a dozen more gold-pieces. Later he went with Yusef to look at the carvings on the obelisks, and being entirely honest, made no secret of his thoughts.
"You'll be safe enough after this. But frankly, it's no safe place for so lovely a woman as your wife, my friend. If I were you, I'd get along and reach some city, perhaps Memphis. She's a remarkable young woman, glorious as the dawn!"
YUSEF liked the young Roman and he smiled now, pleased.
"I think so myself, lord," he said. "She's got more to her than most women. Of course she's a bit above me—comes from our ancient King David's family. But I understand what you mean—she's not just a pretty creature. There are strange depths and abilities in her. After you had gone, the other day, she said you were a person to be trusted, and your friend had a heart as dark as his face. She's usually dead right in sizing up people."
"I am flattered," Rufus said gravely, and was.
They came back to the spring and ate. Knowing that these Orientals had peculiar rules about eating with any not of their race, Rufus had brought along some victuals for himself. He enjoyed himself thoroughly. He liked these honest common folk who made no pretensions. They talked about Syria and Roman rule and living conditions, and he got some inkling of the Jewish religion, which he thought had much in common with the one-god religion of the ancient King Akhnaton here in Egypt.
Then Gellius came riding down the trail, dark and intent as usual. As he dismounted, Rufus approached him with a pleasant word, to which the other replied with a quick angry look.
"Interfering again, eh? You seem to have taken upon yourself the protection of these people, according to the centurion."
Rufus lost his smile. "What if I have? Should that anger you?"
"Not anger; mere irritation," said Gellius, loftily. "It had occurred to me that this bearded rascal must have uncovered some great treasure—"
"Not at all. A dying vagrant came along and gave him the green lump—rather, gave it to the baby as a plaything."
"As though anyone would credit such a yarn!"
"I credit it," said Rufus flatly. "And I like them. And I'll not have them bothered any further. Is that clear?"
"Admirably so." Gellius met his eyes and smiled. "It appears that this emerald is a famous stone, my dear fellow, formerly belonging to Queen Cleopatra."
"What of that?"
Gellius turned to his horse, still smiling.
"Our divine Octavian, now called Augustus, conquered her and took Egypt—not for Rome, but for himself. Her entire wealth was turned into his private purse, which sadly needed it. He now sits in Rome, master of the world, and his grandson Lucius is at present in Armenia as pro-consul."
"I don't know what you're getting at," said Rufus, frowning.
"You will, soon enough." Gellius mounted and gathered his reins. "You and your pretty bright-eyes—ha! Give her my love, though I don't think she has much use for me."
He rode away, chuckling. Rufus frowned after him, then turned back to the others under the sycamore tree. Miriam gave him an odd glance.
"Small love in that man's heart," she said.
"Right," said Rufus. "See here, Yusef—I think you know I'm a friend?"
The bearded man nodded and smiled. "You honor us, lord."
"Well, something's wrong. I don't know what it is, but I don't like that man's words and looks. I can't be harmed by him, but you can be. I'd advise you to pack here and now, and get out of here. Take the road north to Alexandria; plenty of your people are there, and you can be lost among them."
Yusef, looking astonished, glanced at his wife.
She nodded. "I was about to suggest the same thing," she said. "I can feel it is wise."
"Oh! All right, then." Yusef stood up. "We have two animals now. I can pack up in half an hour, and we can travel all night. I know better than to distrust your judgment, good wife."
"But we don't want to leave here in the heat of the day," she put in quietly. "Best to wait an hour—"
"Best not," intervened Rufus. "I'm uneasy. Better get away now, while no one will be on the roads. Best of all, buy a boat from the villagers yonder and float downriver. I'll see to that, while you pack, Yusef."
Catching assent in the face of Miriam, he went to his horses, saddled and mounted, and cantered over to the hovels. There a gold coin did the business. He picked out a small but stout little craft, concluded the bargain and rode back. Yusef was already getting the tent down and rolled up. Rufus liked the way in which the man had accepted the situation without protest or argument, calmly going to work.
He lent a hand loading the tent on the little donkey and getting it over to the boat. Miriam and the baby followed, with a bundle of scanty belongings. Rufus, used to a retinue of servants and luxury in travel, was astonished at how little these people owned. He got them loaded into the boat, saw them off, then directed his horse upstream again for the fortress.
Babylon, an old outpost, stood at the edge of the Mokattam hills, almost opposite the Sphinx and Pyramids on the west side of the Nile. Rufus was almost there when he met a detachment of half a dozen soldiers, who reined in at sight of him.
"My lord," said the apologetic officer, "the commandant sent us for you—he desires speech with you at once."
Rufus assented silently, asking no questions. Arrest? Hard to say. A Roman of consular rank was not to be handled like an ordinary tourist. Gellius had definitely started some sort of trouble, however.
Not until Rufus reached the presence of the commandant, a tough old veteran of the Parthian campaigns, did he learn the truth. The veteran was dictating to a scribe and spewing out oaths on the side. He dismissed the scribe and barked at Rufus:
"Ha! By Hercules, this is a devil of a thing to have broken loose in my district! Look at this!" He pointed to the Sphinx emerald lying on a table. "Information laid by that damned Gellius against you—now I have to take official action against you—technical arrest and so forth. Worse, I've got to take up the case with the Prefect, put it into his hands—"
Rufus smiled. "My dear chap, suppose you tell me what it's all about? Since you've made free with my effects. I presume my servants are under restraint."
"Of course they are—oh, it's damnable! Why hasn't someone cut the throat of that fellow Gellius? Well, here's the thing in a nutshell: Some wandering Parthians or Jews or Bedawin located a huge hoard of buried treasure laid away by Queen Cleopatra. Gellius recognized it for what it was, and tried to get hold of it for Augustus. You interfered, overbid him, and got it for yourself—and that emerald is the proof. Property of Caesar—see what a damned jam I'm in?"
Rufus broke out laughing. Then his laughter died, but he kept it up as a pose, assuming a light-hearted confidence to mask his real inward alarm.
"Has Gellius actually laid a charge against me?" he asked.
"Aye—of sequestering the rightful property of Caesar. That emerald, if it is an emerald as he says, is actual proof. How much more of the Egyptian crown jewels you have, I don't know or care."
"Where's the virtuous Gellius now?"
"Hopped a down boat half an hour ago for Alexandria. And now I suppose you'll want to make a statement answering the charges, which means scribes and translators and no end of nonsense, but it's your due."
"Wait a minute," Rufus put in. "What's your procedure in the case?"
"Nominally, I'd send you along to Alexandria and chuck the whole thing into the lap of the Prefect to be rid of it. We'll have commissions and investigators and the gods only know what else piling along here. However, you're Decimus Rufus and a good guy. I'll play ball with you—do anything you like that I can do."
RUFUS thought fast, realizing his position was extremely
serious. Ridiculous as were the charges and the whole story,
Octavian was Augustus Caesar, head of the Empire; anyone who
controverted his position in any way was out of luck, as every
official well knew. Everyone connected with the case would bend
over backward, in self-protection. If Yusef and Miriam were
picked up, they would get handled in a tough way, treated as
criminals, given no trial.
"Never mind any statement," he said slowly. "What actually happened is this: We came upon some wanderers by a spring downstream and got this green stone from them. It had been given to their baby the previous day by a passing stranger. I bought it for a decent price after Gellius tried to get it for a few coppers. There's the whole thing."
The commandant looked disgusted. "Is the stone really an emerald?"
"Gellius thinks it is."
"That's why he tried to get hold of it, eh? I kept it as evidence. About these people who had it—"
"Oh, they've gone long ago. Nobody knows them."
"That's usually the way in this damned country. However, Caesar's name is now in the case, and I can't hush it up."
"I'm a Roman citizen. Suppose I appeal to Caesar's judgment?"
"Don't, for the love of the gods! Now, see here: I can slough the whole thing off on the Prefect. Lucius, proconsul of Armenia and grandson of Caesar, will be in Alexandria next week on a visit. Do you know him?"
"Very well." Rufus smiled. "We shared the same tutors as boys."
"Fine, then. Here's what I'll do—pass the buck to the Prefect. Send you down on the next boat with word that the other parties have disappeared, and the whole story seems to be a pack of nonsense. Gabinius, the Prefect, is a decent fellow for a politician. You appeal to his judgment—maybe slip him a fat bribe—and everything may possibly be jake. What say?"
"Done with you," said Rufus. The Jewish family was forgotten.
"Mind, I don't say it's finished. That Gellius can still raise hell with the right sort of lies," warned the kindly commandant. "If it was my business, I'd see that he got stopped with a bit of steel in the ribs. Easily done here."
Rufus chuckled. "I'm not that scared, thanks."
"All right. I'll turn you and your servants loose on your pledge of honor—and take that emerald or glass or whatever it is with you. I'll place it in your charge. That suit you?"
Considerably less worried now, Rufus sought his own quarters, only to get bad news from Herakles. The two other servants had vanished completely. When Rufus had put the whole matter before his faithful old freedman, the Greek shook his head.
"Plain enough now where those two rascals went, master. With Gellius, of course. You'll have them as witnesses against you, eh?"
"I don't get it at all," said Rufus. "What's his object?"
"Damage, master. A mighty lawsuit can be started on less evidence. I've guessed for a long time that he bore you no love. Every rich man is a target for arrows."
Rufus shook his head. It all seemed ridiculous and far- fetched. So, in truth, did his own solicitude for that Jewish family. He wondered if he had been a fool...
That evening he sat for a long while examining the emerald with the little glass of Herakles. As a natural curiosity it had value. As an emerald, it was of poor color and cut and polish.
It was shrewd old Herakles, a great delver in legend and story, who tipped him off to what else lay in the bit of beryl. The stone had, or was supposed to have, a hypnotic effect upon the beholder. Rufus, who took no stock whatever in the mystic or supernatural, found a certain fascination in the stone but nothing more. Finally he tucked it up and stowed it away, laughing.
"All nonsense," he exclaimed. "I see nothing in it. I'm not a dreamer or a poet, so put it down to my loss."
"It holds the magic of the gods, master," Herakles said reprovingly.
"Bosh! What gods? They're all a pack of lies," snapped Rufus. "Get me a cup of wine and go to bed."
NEXT day a downriver boat halted at the fortress signal. Rufus
was put aboard, with Herakles and a soldier as nominal guard, to
report to the Prefect. As the lazy craft dropped down the river,
Rufus stood watching the eastern bank, and presently descried the
native hamlet, and beyond it the twin obelisks that marked the
Eye of the Sun, their copper caps greenish against the sky.
Evening found them at Alexandria, coming in by the Lake Mareotis approach to the river-boat harbor at the Gate of the Sun in the south wall. These lake docks were vaster and more crowded even than the maritime wharves at the seaward side of the city; the whole traffic of Egypt was pouring in here.
Here, quartered as a guest-prisoner in the royal buildings near the northern Gate of the Moon, Rufus found himself entirely out of Egypt. This was a Greek city, the most splendid in the world, and was thoroughly European; the buildings of the Jewish quarter were noted for magnificence, but from the towering six hundred-foot Pharos or lighthouse, to the enormous marble bulk of the Serapeum behind the city, everything was marble, Grecian, with no hint of Egypt. Legionaries tramped the wide avenues, as symbol of Rome.
As for his own business, Rufus found it delayed. The Prefect, Gabinius, lay ill in the palace—very ill, by all accounts; until his recovery, nothing could be done. So, for a couple of days, Rufus saw the sights of the city—until one evening Gellius came walking in upon him, coolly insolent but apparently friendly.
"Business, my dear Rufus, business!" he said amiably. "The illness of Gabinius is not at all bad for us, and the visit of Lucius next week—proconsul and heir to the empire—has thrown everything else into confusion. Our little affair can end without any further publicity, if you say the word."
"I? I've nothing to do with it," said Rufus. "You're the one whose deviltry has stirred things up—you and your fantastic lies."
"Not so fantastic if supported by witnesses. I have a couple, at least. However, suppose we get down to business: I know you don't want this affair to go farther. It has perilous angles, if pushed—highly perilous."
Rufus was puzzled but wary of a trap. Gellius regarded him smilingly.
"Noble Roman of the old school, aren't you! I'd wager you even believe in virtue and honesty, eh? Well, look at this. I've been over on the glass market—here."
On the table by the lamp he set a glowing green lump, cut and polished like a great jewel.
"Glass, pure glass," he said, chuckling. "Made to order. No doubt you get the idea?"
"No," replied Rufus.
"Very simple. Hand over the emerald; I want it, and mean to have it. I'll pay you any price you set. Then we go to the Prefect with this bit of glass in place of it. He's damned sick and will be happy to be rid of this affair quickly. What we thought was emerald, proves upon examination to be a lump of glass—all an unfortunate mistake; I withdraw my story on the spot. You see? My witnesses will swear to it that this is the thing we found. They'll swear to anything I say, for or against you. The mountain turns out to be an anthill; Gabinius is delighted to be rid of the case; all is well. Eh? Clever, eh?"
"Clever," repeated Rufus, admiring the simplicity of the thing. "So you really want the emerald, do you? Might have had it for nothing, if you'd said so in the beginning."
"I want it. I mean to have it." Gellius waved his hand. "It's a turn of the dice, Rufus—one side serious and dangerous, the other a light nothing. It's for you to say."
"Oh, I haven't thought particularly about it," Rufus said.
"By the way, who do you think I saw today in this city of three hundred thousand souls? No other than your Jewish friends from the Eye of the Sun. A painter was doing a painting of them—that Greek artist Diomedes. He has a good feeling for line, too. Well, I presume you've no objection to my solution of our affair? Hand over the real emerald, and the thing's done."
"You tempt me strangely," said Rufus. "Let me think about it."
"Think fast, then," said Gellius, rising. "I'll come back for your answer tomorrow evening about this time."
He strode out. Rufus looked at the glass jewel reflectively. Presently he reached out, touched the bell, and Herakles came in.
"Somewhere in this city," said Rufus, "is a Greek artist named Diomedes, I think of some renown. Locate him. Spare no expense. I must see him tomorrow without fail."
Why? He hardly knew, unless it were that Gellius spelled danger.
IN the morning Herakles showed up with the information.
Diomedes was a well-known artist and he lived in a street near
the Library. Rufus set off at once, and his freedman located the
house without trouble.
Diomedes was an elderly man, famed for his funeral portraits, which he despised. What good, he would say, to paint portraits that were buried with a corpse? However, it was the fashion and paid excellently. He greeted his caller, and replied to the queries of Rufus with a laugh.
"Oh, those Jews! Yes, yes, come in and see them if you like. I'm doing a sketch of them just as they are—it's for a painting."
So Rufus walked into the studio. Miriam and Yusef greeted him with delight; even the baby cooed at him in apparent recognition. Warn them? Alarm them? He could not. Instead, he took the artist aside.
"I have a commission for you," he said, and described the Eye of the Sun and its location. Diomedes knew of it. "All right. Take a boat, load this family in, go there and paint the three of them sitting by that sycamore tree. Do it at once. I'll be here for a week or more. Eh?"
Diomedes was more than willing, named a good price, and Rufus agreed. Before his departure, the Roman went over and shook hands with the babe.
"Your dark friend was here yesterday," said Miriam to him. He met her eyes, read the question in them, and smiled.
"That's why I came today. I think you'll have no more trouble from him. I want Diomedes to make a painting of you three—I'd like to have it. Especially the baby. His eyes stay in my mind. You'll be paid, so I trust you won't mind going with him back to the Eye of the Sun. I want that in the picture too."
Miriam and Yusef laughed happily. For an instant, Miriam detained him.
"Be careful," she said quietly. "Do you still have the green stone?"
He assented. "I may not keep it. I don't like it particularly."
"Then don't. Here's a gift for you—there's a good deal of fever about. Three drops in a cup of water." She put a tiny glass vial in his hand. Yusef nodded at him; the baby cooed again.
Rufus took his departure rather hurriedly.
"Then don't." Don't keep it, she had meant. This stuck in his mind. In fact, it must have largely decided him. After all, he did not want the emerald. He had not intended to yield to Gellius, but when the latter walked in that evening, Rufus brought out the bit of beryl and handed it over without a word. Gellius seized it, his eyes alight.
"Good! I thought you would. Come along, bring the bit of glass—we'll see the sub-prefect now. He's agreed to handle the matter. Gabinius is dying, they say. We'll have the affair out of the way and done with in half an hour."
Still Rufus only shrugged and went along, agreeably. He did not understand his own compliance, yet it gave him cynical amusement. "Then don't." The two words had a fund of meaning. Give it up. Part with it. Give Gellius his way. Why? He did not know. He was almost tempted to think that some god dwelt in that woman...
He was astonished at the way everything went off. His two former servants swore to the green stone. An expert in jewels was waiting, and with a laugh pronounced it glass. The whole bubble was pricked in a moment or two, with laughter and huge relief. The case was dismissed. Gellius went his way.
The sub-prefect halted Rufus.
"Wait. Gabinius knows you're here, wants to see you as a courtesy. He knew your father well. Will you see him?"
"Oh, of course!" Rufus was astonished. "I thought he was dying!"
"He is; he's clear-headed about it, though—the fever will recur, but no one knows much about it. Something he picked up on shipboard. If you'll have a word with him, come along. From what they say, he won't last out the night."
THEY went to the palace—the Lochias Palace, home of the
former royal family—and were admitted to an antechamber
where guards stood about, and half a dozen physicians pulled long
faces and conferred. Yes, the Prefect could see them; he was
conscious but would not live through the night. Witchcraft, they
called it.
They passed in to the great airy bedroom overlooking the sea—now fast closed, with incense burning. Gabinius, unshaven and a mere shadow of himself, lay on the huge bed. He looked at them and feebly raised a hand in salutation. Rufus went to him quickly, took his hand, smiled down at him.
"Knew—your father well," whispered Gabinius. "Glad to see you. Not long left."
"Nonsense," said Rufus. Something pressed at his girdle. He slipped a hand under his toga—the little vial Miriam had given him. Well, why not? For fevers, she had said...
"See here, Gabinius," he spoke out, fetching the vial into sight, "I have a remedy—might do you some good. Will you try it?"
The Prefect laughed at him, horribly, a ghastly mockery of laughter.
"They've tried everything," he croaked. "A lot you know! Well, why not? I'm past harming. Let's have it."
A slave knelt close by. Rufus told him to fetch a small cup of water. His impulse past, he felt like a fool. The sub-prefect looked on, cynically. The water came. Into it Rufus measured three drops from the vial, whose stopper came out readily. He tasted it; just water, no taste at all. He lifted the head of Gabinius.
"Here, now—put it down. Can't hurt you, and might help."
The dying man gulped obediently. "See you—across the Styx," he murmured.
They stayed a few moments more, then departed. Gabinius was falling into coma.
THAT night Rufus fell asleep upon angry self-recrimination. He
had played the fool, had made an ass of himself—they might
even say he had poisoned the Prefect! When he wakened to
daylight, the thought recurred to him, and he groaned. Then he
found Herakles at his side, shaking him.
"Master! Master—wake up! They found him—in the water—"
Rufus sat up. "Eh? What? Who?"
"Gellius. He was picked out of the water this morning, a knife-wound through his heart. He had been robbed and stripped."
Gellius! Rufus understood, and laughed harshly. So the rascal had talked, and had been knifed and robbed! No loss. Well, so much for the emerald—gone for good now.
He shaved, bathed, and was dressing when the sub-prefect burst into his room like a madman, babbling and cursing and laughing.
"Rufus! A miracle!" he broke out. "You did it."
"I know nothing about it," said Rufus. "I didn't see Gellius after he left us—"
"Gellius be damned! I'm talking about the Prefect. Gabinius woke up sane and sound this morning—fever gone, head clear! That remedy of yours, man—it did the work!"
Incredible, amazing—but quite true. Overnight, Gabinius was out of the toils. The day passed; another came—the invalid was gaining health and strength. He saw Rufus, thanked him warmly, offered sacrifices of thanks to the gods. Yet another day, and he was on his feet.
Rufus sat staring at the tiny glass vial. That woman Miriam—had she told the truth about the remedy? He could believe nothing else. Here was the proof. He was besieged by a flood of physicians and quacks, all begging for information about the wondrous remedy. Vast sums were offered him in return. Gabinius was appearing publicly, preparing the reception for the coming pro-consul, Lucius.
Amid all this confusion and hubbub, here came the Greek painter Diomedes, with a carefully wrapped wooden plaque under his arm.
Rufus received him delightedly. "Finished?" he asked.
"Of course, my lord," said the artist. "Here it is. Those people went on up the Nile, bound for Memphis. I think this is rather good, myself."
He opened up the painting, placed it in the proper light, and Rufus inspected it.
Nothing but the spring, the tree and roots, the family and in the background a shadowy obelisk. It was the family, the Eye of the Sun, yes. The features of Miriam were well caught. Those of the baby seemed to sparkle. Good work, and Rufus said so.
"Excellent. I'll take it home to Rome with me."
"By the way, I have a message." Diomedes, laughing, held out a small vial. "You remember, that day in my studio, Miriam gave you a fever-cure? Well, she said to tell you it was a sad mistake. Here's the real cure—she hopes it may be useful some day."
Rufus stared. "Eh? You're mad! I have the vial she gave me."
"Nothing but water in it, she says." The artist chuckled. "Water from the Eye of the Sun—she had been keeping it as a memento and gave it to you in error. Tourist mementoes! Just like a woman, eh?"
Bewildered, Rufus thanked him, paid him, sent him away, then sat down to look at the painting and collect his confused senses.
Water from the spring—nothing else. A keepsake. He himself had tasted it—just plain water. Then it had effected no cure whatever. But by the gods, Gabinius was well again! There could be no mystery; there was no wonderful cure at all.
"You can't get away from plain hard facts." Rufus sighed. "Gellius robbed and murdered by waterfront thieves: The emerald lost forever, and good riddance. The Prefect on his feet—he must have recovered naturally, then. And I sit here with this picture—all because of the Eye of the Sun! Funny how things turn out. All of it perfectly natural, entirely normal, in fact. And yet—and yet—"
And yet...