Part 11

He was passing now by a solitary rock shaped like an altar, and it came into his mind that it had been set there as a sign that his prayer would be accepted. He approached it and knelt down before it. "O Saviour of mankind," he prayed, "guide me through this desolation to the place where I may at last find forgiveness." He remained long in prayer and when he rose he felt for the first time that a little core of light had begun to dawn in the blackness of his despair. Each day, after that, he prayed, and night by night the hauntings of the demons were diminished and he knew that the tyranny which the powers of evil had gained over him was abating. He felt now that he was under heavenly guidance as day after day he wandered on, heedless of the changes in the great monotony of sand that seemed boundless as the earth itself, until he began again to come upon the solitary cells of the hermits. Some were empty and ruinous, but in others he found the stern inhabitant who shared with him his scanty store of bread and water. The impulse to fly from himself which had first driven him out on his long pilgrimage, had spent itself, and he began to think that when he came to a suitable place he would stop there and build himself a cell in which, by a life of stern repentance, he might pursue that forgiveness for which he had prayed.

[Illustration: woodcut]

_Chapter Thirteen_

When that thought had grown to a resolve, night had fallen. A full moon rising heavy and ripe out of the horizon was transforming the night into a pale and spectral day, and Malchus determined to travel on through the night and to choose for his abode the place where he should stop to rest an hour before dawn. And so he tramped on, and when it seemed that the night was flagging and dawn was not far off he halted on a ledge midway up a sandy slope and, nestling down into the deep, loose sand which still kept beneath the surface the warmth of the departed day, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, sunlight brooded heavy upon the world. His memory was confused and it seemed to him that this was no more than many of his awakenings in the unknown desert. Then the voice of his soul spoke as loud and clear as if an unseen speaker stood beside him. "Here is the place," it said, "in which you must seek forgiveness." And hearing those words, Malchus remembered that where he lay was the place in which he had resolved to remain. He rose up to survey it; but as he raised his eyes astonishment seized him, then horror and despair. Was it a hideous delusion, or had he been led during all these days not by Heaven but by demons? For, like a sudden and murderous onslaught, the discovery flashed upon him that he was standing before his own cell. And not only that, but, as he continued to glare dumbly at the familiar scene, he saw that a few yards away, small and slim in her straight gown, the cane-gatherer stood watching him. At that a frenzy came upon him and, snatching up stones in both hands, he rushed forward, hurling them at the girl and snatching up more and hurling again. But as he drew near to her her face became distorted and hideous and she dissolved before his eyes like a wraith; and Malchus stood poising a great stone in his right hand and staring foolishly on vacant air. He dropped the stone, but as he turned, with doubt and fear in his heart, toward his cell, he saw the girl come round the corner of it and--lovely again as when he had first seen her--vanish into the doorway. A shuddering came upon him like an ague, for now he understood that this was God's answer to his prayer that he might be guided to the place where he should find forgiveness. It was not by flying from his sin that he could overcome it, but by facing it. And now, in answer to his prayer, God had brought him face to face with the bodily symbol of his sin. He understood, but his courage sank before the ordeal; he felt that he was not yet strong enough to face the terrible and supreme struggle which involved the fate of his immortal soul. For, despite the long weeks of austerity in the inner-most desert, his mind was still troubled by earthly weaknesses and earthly desires: even after this long mortification of the flesh the desire of the flesh was still alive. How could he be sure, then, that he would have the strength to conquer? Could he stand firm against that girl, mortal or demon, waiting for him there in his cell? He stood trembling, for even this brief sight of her had aroused in him all his old half-conquered desire. If he were to fail again in the contest, how irrevocable this time would be his damnation. He braced himself and, raising his arms to Heaven, cried for mercy. "O Father," he prayed, "try not my weakness too sternly. Drive me not away from Thee." He took a few trembling steps toward the cell. Then he stopped. The odds were too terrible; his courage suddenly broke like a wall that collapses upon itself, and with hands thrust out before him like one groping in utter darkness, he turned his back on the cell and ran down the slope to the desert plain below.

He neither knew nor cared where he was going. He did not even know why he ran. As when Helena had cast him off, he felt that his life was broken in two. But now it was worse; for, to a man who is fleeing from God, no new hope, no saving ideal, can ever come. Henceforward he would be no more than a beast cast out from the herd, wandering lonely and disconsolate till death should bring deliverance. Worse, even worse, than that; for to him death would bring not deliverance, but inescapable and everlasting torment.

He had stopped running. His feeble body had of its own accord stood still, and, swaying like a tree in the wind, his head muffled in his cloak as if to shut out all existence, he tried to collect his thoughts. But his mind was dark and empty. A whirlwind of misery and despair filled its emptiness, and he stood, without a will, without thought, blind, stark as a desert rock, empty as a tomb.

Suddenly he started with fear. A touch had fallen upon his arm and a well-known voice sounded in his ears. "My son, I saw you in a vision as you were returning to yourself and I have brought you the money which I received in Alexandria for your weaving." A hand drew down his hand and put money into it. "It was told me in Alexandria that God has freed your father from the burden of the flesh. Give thanks to God, then, that he has given freedom to your father and has loosed from you another earthly bond."

Malchus stood immovable. He dared not lower the cloak from his face lest his eyes should meet the eyes of Serapion. A hand fell on his shoulder as if to comfort and exhort him, and in a little while Malchus felt that he was alone. Then only did he dare to lower his cloak. A hundred paces behind him a lonely figure retreated across the sand, and Malchus knew that he had cast off his only friend. He turned away with a sob and continued his aimless wandering; and, as he fared on, the storm of passion abated and he understood what Serapion had told him. At first the thought that his father was dead was no more to him than an echo out of the remote distance; it came to him as a surprise that his father should have been alive until so lately. But soon his dissolved life began to crystallize in new thoughts and emotions about this new thing and, as it were, to become coherent again. For, now that his father was dead, his mother would be alone, and he told himself that it was his duty to go to Alexandria to help her to settle her affairs. That thought became the center of his life; he fastened upon it as strayed birds of passage settle in flocks among the rigging of a ship, finding there for a moment foothold and repose in the homeless void of sea and sky. His life took on again a meaning and direction and he did not question whether it was truly love for his mother or the sight of a refuge for his own mind that urged him on. He knew only that his desires were fixed on returning to Alexandria.

And so he wandered on, not knowing where he was in the vast deformity of the desert; and late in the evening he found himself on the bank of the great river. Human shapes moved before him, and, following them, he went on board a boat which stood with loosely hanging sail at a wooden jetty. It seemed that it was about to cross the river and he stationed himself lonely and apart on the deck, as he had done long ago when he had followed Serapion on to the ship on Lake Mareotis.

The passage of the river did not take long, but when they touched the further bank it was already broad moonlight. The other passengers, having disembarked, settled themselves in the sand on the edge of the broad track which skirted the river. Malchus questioned one of them, who replied that they were waiting for a caravan which was traveling northward toward the towns and villages at the mouth of the river, and Malchus resolved at once that he too would join the caravan. He lay down in the sand not far from the other travelers, brushing away the upper layers with his hands till he came down to the warmth that lingered below, and soon, overcome with weariness, he fell into a deep sleep.

[Illustration: woodcut]

It seemed that he had only slept for a few minutes when some one shook him by the shoulder and he awoke to a hushed, multitudinous noise which seemed to fill the whole desert. It was the sound of hundreds of muffled footsteps churning the sand, the low muttering of a great company, the snuffling and breathing of camels, and the creaking of their harness and loads. The sky was cold and bright as polished steel. Malchus saw with amazement that it was not more than an hour from the dawn. He stood up, feeling stiff, weary, and very old. A great blur of shadowy forms moved against the clear sky and, like the distant rocks and hills of an unstable world, the fantastic shapes of camels swayed above them. The air was sharp and searching: he could see the breath of the camels smoking upward in a thin fume.

With the others who had crossed the river, he took his place in the rear of the shadowy host, and before they had marched an hour the dawn broke like a sudden summer on their right flank and their left was accompanied by a long saw-edged shadow like a mountain range that flowed and undulated in pace with them. Too soon upon the dawn came the torrid sunlight, burning up the morning coolness and adding another torment to each suffering life in the great sinuous retinue. As they went on their way, new companies joined them, and before long Malchus and his companions were no longer in the rear, but in the middle of the line of march. Noon came, burdening them with its relentless pressure, and Malchus, as in his lonely desert wanderings, fell into that monotonous rhythm of movement in which the body labors on wearily of its own accord and the mind is lulled into a stupor.

Suddenly a tremor ran through the company, a spasm of doubt, apprehension, then of sharp fear. Malchus thrilled to it with the rest and, seeing many heads turned eastward, he turned his eyes in that direction and saw a great cloud of dust that moved toward them like a sandstorm. He watched it keenly, anxiously, till it grew to a company of white-cloaked riders. Rapidly they came nearer and nearer still. They were Arabs. Perched on their long-legged camels, they crouched eagerly forward. Their long cloaks streamed behind them. Soon they were so close that if they had been going to cross the course of the caravan they would have swung to the right or left; but still they swept on, straight for the center. Then suddenly the caravan broke into three. The van detached itself from the rest and flew cowering forward; the rear turned and shrank backward on its tracks. A small company in the middle, which included Malchus and his companions and a dozen laden camels, halted, terrified and bewildered by its sudden isolation. The white-cloaked riders swept round them in a circle and closed in upon them.

Malchus awaited the outcome like one in a trance. Was this, he wondered numbly, God's retribution for his cowardly flight from the ordeal appointed by Him? Without hope and without fear he watched some of the Arabs dismount and move among the captured company, carrying drawn swords in their hands. Soon an Arab approached him also, and he was led away to where four camels lay waiting. The small heads with their great eyes and haughty muzzles moved, scornfully inquisitive, on the top of the long bird-like necks. The Arab stopped before the first and signed to Malchus to mount. A figure wrapped in a black cloak was already in the saddle. Malchus climbed up behind it. The figure did not stir, and Malchus, too, neither stirred nor spoke, waiting idly for what should happen.

When all the prisoners were mounted and a party of Arabs had taken charge of the captured camels, one of the Arabs came up and beat up the four grumbling beasts and the company began to move. The van and the rear of the caravan, which had fled forward and backward, were no longer in sight. They had vanished among the rocks and sandhills.

Malchus, looking for the sun, saw that they were now traveling due east. At first they moved slowly, but soon the leaders broke into a canter and Malchus and his unknown companion were flung against each other. The violent swaying began to give him great pain, and, seeing that his companion was also distressed, Malchus put his arms about him that they might steady each other. Thus bound together, they were able to avoid the swaying and buffeting which had tormented them and endangered their safety when apart. The thought of Alexandria, which, when he had joined the caravan, had grown for Malchus into something beautifully and terribly real, had shrunk back now into a dream. Perhaps he would never go there now, and his mind effortlessly began to picture the city--the streets, his parents' house, his own house, and that little door, so piercingly familiar, which opened into Helena's garden. He paused at the door, hesitated; something--he could not remember what--held him forcibly back, but he shook off the restraint and opened the door. He went in quickly and secretly, shutting the door behind him, and stood breathless at the beauty of the place, at the gentle stirring chequer of sunlight and leaf shadows, the flowers drooping in clusters from the trees and swelling in mounds of blended colors from the grass, the fountains--silver ghosts half-seen among the trees--filling the place with the cooling rustle of water. He ventured forward upon a grassy walk, but figures moved among the trees and he hid himself till they had passed. "Where is she?" he asked himself with ecstatic fear, and just as he was going to move again he saw that Helena was watching him through the boughs. She came toward him, her eyes shining with pleasure, and he stood waiting. A voice called him loudly and commandingly from the garden gate. He trembled, for he knew that it was the voice of God; but he lingered like a disobedient child and Helena caught him by the shoulders. Then, submitting wilfully to his desire as he had done when the cane-gatherer came to his cell, he threw his arms around Helena, whispering into her ear little passionate phrases, deliciously aware of the smallness and suppleness of the body in his arms. Then a startling rush of wind in his ears and a gust of sand in his face, and he awoke to the flowerless desert and the weary lurching of the camel. But still he was no more than half awake; still his mind thrilled to the sweetness of his meeting with Helena, his arms still felt that soft weight of her body. Though a man is not responsible before God for his dreams, was it not deadly sin to take delight in the memory of them? But this was more than a memory. He still held the soft body in his arms. He cried out in fear and the cry roused him from his drowsiness. The body that he clasped was the body of his fellow captive. He shuddered and loosed his grasp, as if what he clasped were a thing unclean. But at his cry and the loosing of his arms his companion turned, and at the same moment another gust of wind blew the cloak from the muffled face. Malchus saw with horror and despair that the face looking at him was the face of a woman.

Was she an evil spirit in human form? Or was it that God had rescued him from his cowardly flight and his desperate attempt to return to Alexandria, and brought him again, with an inexorable indulgence, face to face with his sin? Malchus did not know; but he knew that he was in dire jeopardy and he prayed from his heart, making the holy sign at the end of each prayer. And still, despite his prayers, the woman remained on the saddle in front of him, so that he knew she was no demon, but a creature of flesh and blood like himself. The speed of their going had slackened to a walk, but now again the leaders of the company urged on the lurching beasts and again Malchus and his companion clung together for safety. And Malchus cried to the soul within him: "O my soul, such is the outcome of your attempt to escape the judgment of God and return to the life which you had cast off."

[Illustration: woodcut]

_Chapter Fourteen_

Late in the evening of the second day, when the sky was already curdling into darkness and those sharp points of brightness which are called the stars, they halted. They had reached the Arab encampment. A dark cluster of tents showed square and angular on the gray plain and the air was full of the mournful bleating of the flocks which had been brought in from pasture. Then the same Arab came and made their camel kneel down, and Malchus and the woman stepped stiffly into the sand and lay down apart to rest in the place appointed for them.

Soon after the dawn Malchus awoke. A tall figure stood beside him, who ordered him to rise up and follow him. It was the sheikh of the company who had captured them, and he led Malchus toward the largest of the tents and, lifting the curtain of the doorway, took him inside. A woman crouched on the floor, preparing food. The sheikh told Malchus that this was his mistress whom he must obey, and Malchus, being defenseless, bowed himself down before the Arab woman. Then food of curdled camel's milk was given to him for himself and the woman who had ridden with him, and he returned to the place where he had slept. Of the rest of the captives he saw nothing, and, being alone with the woman among a strange people, Malchus was forced to converse with her daily, to the peril of his soul. But he did not allow his eyes to fall upon her, for he had seen that she was young and beautiful. Her name was Veronica. She was a married woman of his own race. Her husband's house was in Lycopolis, and when she had fallen into the hands of the Arabs she had been traveling to Alexandria; but of her life and circumstances Malchus knew no more, since he forbore to question her or to talk with her more than was needful. She herself spoke no more than he, but when she did so the soft low note of her voice thrilled him, for it was too like the voice of Helena--so like that, whenever she spoke, old memories and old delights woke again in his heart and dreams of Helena troubled his nightly sleep.

After a few days the sheikh led Malchus out and set him in charge of their flock in place of the Arab shepherd who was so old that he could scarcely drag his parched and wearied body as far as the meager pastures where the beasts found a daily sustenance. For two days the old shepherd accompanied Malchus, showing him where the sparse herb sprang among the rocks and thorns, and in the evening when they had returned to the tents he sat with Malchus, teaching him the names of the sheep and goats. Each had its own name and each when called would raise its head and come to the call. The Arabs scorn the shepherd's lot, preferring the monotonous idleness of the camp to the free and open life of the herdsman, and none of them will undertake it except from bare necessity.