IV Ashtoreth
Not until an hour after sunset did Charmides at last set foot on shore and stand, in the dim evening crimson, on the western strand of the island city. His bundle of clothing and money was on his back. His lyre hung from his waist by a thong; and on his head, over its usual fillet, he wore a peaked cap of crimson cloth, cut after the Tyrian fashion. He was waiting for Kabir, who lingered to indulge in a round of chaff with half a dozen loquacious fellows on a small barge that was just about to put off for the galley. Kabir had, in the friendliest way, invited the shepherd to share his own lodging at the house of his brother in the city; but, notwithstanding this, the rhapsode felt forlorn enough as he stood looking out across the darkening waters in the direction of his home. It was a sudden and most untoward emotion that made the Greek blind to his appearance when Kabir finally came to his side. For not till the Phœnician’s hand fell upon his shoulder, and the rather raucous voice sounded close in his ear, did Charmides turn, with a start, to follow his guide out into the streets of Tyre.
They were narrow, these streets, and twisting, and very dirty. Moreover, though the business of the day was finished, the thoroughfares were still a wriggling mass of litters, chariots, camels, asses, dogs, and men. Charmides slipped through patches of filth, and stumbled over animals that lay in his path, while he looked about him in dull displeasure at the buildings of stone and clay-brick and dried mud, sumptuous or wretched beyond belief, that lined these lanes. On all sides rose the clamor of rude, Phœnician voices and the mouthing of ungraceful words. Here and there a fire of sticks, burning in some court-yard and visible through an open door-way, cast an uncertain light across their path. Kabir walked rapidly, and in silence. His momentary feeling of excitement at being again in his native city had passed, and he had regained his usual placid indifference—the indifference that Charmides before now had found unexpectedly sympathetic.
After nearly half an hour’s walk the Phœnician halted before a very fair-sized wooden house, and, knocking ponderously upon the closed, brass-bound door, turned to Charmides with a slight smile, saying:
“It is the house of my brother, where I, also, make my home when I am here. You will be welcome in my family.”
Charmides had no time to make a fitting reply, for the door was quickly opened by some one who, after peering for a moment or two into the darkness at the waiting figures, gave a sudden, loud shout of delight and seized Kabir by the girdle. For the next ten minutes the young Greek stood in the background, watching the general mêlée that ensued upon the shout. Four children, besides the half-grown boy who had opened the door, made a speedy appearance; and they were followed by a quiet-looking woman who manifested extreme pleasure at sight of Kabir. Finally, out of the gloom of the interior, drawn by the hubbub of excitement at the door, appeared a dignified and well-dressed man, who, on perceiving Kabir, gave a quick exclamation, and, brushing away the clinging children, embraced his brother with every sign of delighted affection.
Half an hour later the whole party were seated in a well-furnished room, Charmides and Kabir partaking of supper, while the Phœnicians sat close about them, listening eagerly to the story of the long voyage, the disaster on the rocks of Selinous, and the account of Charmides and his family.
“So you fare on to Babylon, stranger?” observed Abdosir, Kabir’s brother. “It is well that you reached Tyre no later. The last caravan of the summer leaves for the East in three days, under charge”—he turned to his brother—“under charge of Hodo, whom you, Kabir, will surely remember. A month ago he came up from the great city, has now finished his business, and returns homeward by way of Damascus. The Greek will do well in his care.”
“Yes, that is excellent.—Hodo! One could have asked no better master of the caravan.” Kabir turned to Charmides with a smile; but the youth sat silent, his eyes still fixed on the face of Abdosir, his expression containing little enough of joy.
“You have heard what my brother says,” continued Kabir, in Greek. “This Hodo is a Babylonian, and well known to us. He is a shrewd merchant and an excellent comrade. We will recommend you to him to-morrow. If your caravan starts in three days’ time you will reach the city of Istar easily enough in another month.”
Charmides tried hard to answer this speech in a proper spirit, but he found it an effort to speak at all. At the present moment the only wish of his heart was that any communication with distant Babylon might be found impossible, and that he himself might be at liberty to turn his face once more to the west. Perhaps this mood was partly induced by weariness. If so, Kabir knew his companion better than the Greek knew himself; for, after finishing their meat and wine, and talking for a few minutes with his nephews and nieces, Kabir quietly suggested to his sister-in-law that the Greek be shown a sleeping-apartment to which he might retire when he would, which proved to be immediately.
The room in which Charmides finally fell asleep was one that boasted of greater luxury than he had ever known before. Walled with painted tiles, hung with embroideries, carpeted with rugs from far Eastern looms, and lighted by a hanging-lamp of wrought bronze, it presented to the Greek an appearance of comfort that drew from him a long sigh of content; and he sank to sleep on the soft couch with the name of Zeus on his lips and the image of his mother in his heart.
He awoke alone. Kabir’s bed, across the room, had been slept on, but was empty now. The daylight about him was dim enough, but the half-light gave no hint of the hour; for the single window in the room was scarcely so large as a man’s hand. Sounds of life were to be heard in the city outside, and from the house around him. Once really awake, then, and conscious of his whereabouts, Charmides rose in haste, dressed, smoothed his hair, looked for water but found none, and proceeded with some hesitation into the living-room. This he found to be occupied only by one of the children, a little girl, who greeted him shyly, and bade him eat of the food that had been left for him upon the table. Charmides, as timid as the child, forbore to ask for the water without which he felt it impious to begin the day, and sat down, as he was bid, to a repast of millet bread, buffalo milk, and lentils. These things he finished, to the satisfaction of the little Phœnician, and then looked about him wondering what to do. It was evidently late. By a question or two he learned that Kabir and Abdosir had been gone from the house for an hour or more, that Zarada was out on a visit, and that, in all probability, it would be noon before any one returned to the house. With this knowledge Charmides sought his mantle and cap, and went forth into the city to learn something of Tyre for himself.
Tyre by daylight was no less unlovely but rather more interesting than Tyre at night. Charmides, accustomed to the well-ordered dignity of life in his distant Doric city, was amazed and bewildered here, in the midst of this labyrinth of narrow streets choked with men and animals. Having some idea of direction, he felt no dread of losing his way, but wandered on at will, hurried and pushed from one side of a street to the other, always too diverted by what he saw to resent the interferences. He chanced presently on a broader thoroughfare, one fairly well kept, stretching in a straight line from north to south. This, as he guessed, was the principal street of the city, terminating, as he could not know, on the north, in the great agenorium, or open mart, east of the Sidonian harbor, and, on the south, in the grove and temple of Melkart. Charmides moved along up this street, admiring the solid stone buildings that lined it on either side; watching the graceful chariots drawn by richly caparisoned horses, and driven by men who, from their dress, were evidently rulers in the oligarchy; and constantly annoyed by the importunities of beggars or venders of cheap wares that were to be found everywhere through the city, but most of all on this street. He had walked farther than he knew, for at length he came in sight of the sea that stretched out before him from the other side of a great, open square running down to the water’s edge.
Open square it had been, no doubt, at the time of its planning; but, in all probability, since the day of completion, no one had ever seen it empty. Just now, certainly, there was not a spare foot of pavement in its entire area, and Charmides looked about him with the wonderment and pleasure of a child. Directly before him were the shoe and sandal venders, who occupied about a quarter of an acre of space. Shoes were an article that Charmides had never seen worn. Their purpose was easy to divine, however, and he fell to admiring the cleverness of their invention and the beauty of their ornamentation. Beyond this interesting spot came the silk and cloth merchants, then the leather venders, brass and metal workers, and dealers in Egyptian and Sidonian jewelry. To the left of these was the market, where grain, fish, fruits, meat, and wines were to be had; while down the whole eastern edge of the space lay a row of dirty, supercilious-looking camels, half of them for sale, half of them owned by sellers in the mart.
Charmides had not yet begun to thread a path through the tangle of men and merchandise when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find Kabir at his side.
“So you are here, my Charmides! Have you come to seek us out? Who directed you hither?”
“I came by chance to this place, not knowing you were here. It is wonderful! I have not seen anything like it before.”
“No. Selinous certainly has no such place. Here, indeed, we are well met. Desert needs of yours may be supplied before we leave the market. Now, Charmides, you must be made known to him who will lead you farther into the East. Hodo the Babylonian is with me. Hodo! Here!”
Kabir looked round and beckoned to a little fellow who had left him to examine the goods of a cloth merchant near by. At Kabir’s call, however, he turned, and, seeing Charmides, came over to his friend’s side. Charmides beheld a small man, hardly five feet high, swathed from head to heels in white garments of rich texture. Well as they were worn, however, they could not conceal the semi-deformity of the little fellow. He was altogether crooked: crooked in his legs, in his back, in his nose, in his expression—an ugly little man with an ugly little face that had in it a singularly infectious gleam of humor.
Hodo looked at Charmides, and his ugliness gathered and broke into a delighted smile that transformed every feature of his face. Charmides looked at Hodo and could not refrain from answering the smile with a gay laugh. Thenceforward Hodo felt that he had Charmides for a friend.
“Now, Theronides, Hodo will go with us into the mart here and will tell us what you need for the desert journey, that we may buy.”
“But what things should I need? I have all necessary garments, as many as I can carry with me, now.”
“What to wear on the head for dust?” demanded Hodo, speaking Phœnician in a deep and rather rich voice.
“This cap—and my fillet. In the heat I shall not need even those.”
“Hump!” Hodo grinned, crookedly. “I have crossed the desert nineteen times, young Greek, and I will tell you what you must wear. See—you are a yellow man, and your skin is as thin as a Phrygian’s, while mine is like leather. Your hair is too fine to shield you at all from the fierce rays of Shamash. There must be a square of silk to wind about your head, and two thicknesses of muslin to protect your neck in the back. Then, if you think me versed in desert knowledge, you will leave off that short tunic and get a single linen garment that will cover you down to your heels. You will want a light cloak, perhaps, for night, for comfort; but you will not often wear it. The rains are over. Summer is upon us. None will suffer from cold upon the desert.”
Charmides listened closely to this speech, yet was not able to understand all that the Babylonian said, for he spoke Phœnician as thickly as a Phœnician spoke Greek. The rhapsode, therefore, turned appealingly to Kabir, who explained the words at length; and then, Charmides having very sensibly put himself into Hodo’s hands, the three proceeded to make the necessary purchases, for which Kabir paid, while Charmides repaid him from his bag at Kabir’s abode. On their return walk Charmides questioned Hodo as to when and whence their caravan was to start, and he found that it would be but two days before men and camels assembled on the mainland, in a little square opposite the Egyptian harbor.
“And we do not go straight to Babylon?”
“As straight as will be well in this season. Damascus first, then out and over the desert. It is the easiest route—twenty days’ ride from the gate of Six Thieves.”
“And you come now from Babylon?”
“Two months ago I was there, Greek. Kabir knoweth it.”
Charmides nodded apologetically and said no more. Kabir watched for the light to come into his eyes, and waited for a certain question. But the youth kept silent, and, after a pause, the Babylonian took the words out of Kabir’s mouth and rushed in upon the young man’s thoughts.
“It is said, Greek, that you take this long journey for the sake of our goddess, the lady Istar, queen of the gods of Babylon.”
Kabir kept his eyes fixed on those of Charmides, but failed to see any interest come into the youth’s expression. Instead, a frown spread itself over the fair forehead, and the young mouth straightened ominously.
“The object of my journey matters little,” was his low-voiced reply.
Hodo’s eyes stretched open. He sent a grimace of astonishment to Kabir, and silence followed Charmides’ last words. The three walked on uncomfortably, till there came sounds of a surprising chuckle from the Babylonian, who, as both his companions turned towards him, exclaimed, irrepressibly:
“The thought of Ishtar brings me to another. Kabir—to-morrow, I remember, is the day of the semi-yearly rites of Ashtoreth—at her sanctuary on the mainland.”
For a second or two Kabir did not reply. He was musing—on a subject relative to Charmides’ girlish purity. Finally he said: “Yes. The yearly festival of Tammuz took place a month ago. To-morrow is the festival of the virgin rites. We will go—all three. You, Charmides, shall see the ceremonies of our Aphrodite, Astarte of the Mazzarines. She is our Tyrian Istar.”
Charmides looked at him with new animation. “Do they offer sacrifice?”
“Yes—in the grove—doves and lambs, and one young bullock. But the real ceremony takes place within the temple. Knowing but little of our Eastern customs, you will do well to see that.”
Charmides nodded acquiescence, and Hodo chuckled to himself again. But the silence that followed lasted till they had once more reached the house of Abdosir.
During the remainder of that day Charmides made no remark on the subject of the amusement promised for the morrow. Kabir tried to draw him to it by talking of the great temples of Melkart, Baal, and the Olympian Zeus that were on the island. But Charmides seemed to be developing a surprising and unnecessary taciturnity, for which the Phœnician, regarding him as extraordinarily young, would hardly have given him credit; and, before the evening was over, Kabir was moved to consider, a little more closely, how much depth of character really lay behind that open and ingenuous personality.
As a matter of fact, Charmides’ silence was the result of a chance remembrance of his last talk with his mother, mingled with a prophetic intuition of what the morrow would bring forth. When the morrow arrived, however, and Hodo, gay in red embroideries, came with it, Charmides appeared in his holiday garments, and seemed as ready as his companions to set forth to the holy place.
The grove and temple of Ashtoreth, or Astarte, of Tyre, were outside the city proper, and lay on the mainland, south of the Egyptian harbor. From the spot where ferry-boats left one after the passage of the narrow channel, there was a walk of nearly a mile southward to the entrance of the grove. This was marked by open gates and two ill-carved stone statues, the subjects of which Charmides regarded with haughty displeasure. His first impression, however, was ameliorated by the great beauty of the wood, where cedar and cypress trees grew at will, while the shaded ground was kept clear of leaves and brush, and was covered with a rare velvet turf. The coolness and shade to be found beneath the great branches, after the pitiless sunshine through which they had been walking, was delicious; and the Greek would willingly have given the afternoon to wandering here, watching the golden shadows and exploring the sinuous paths that wound everywhere before him. He did not, however, venture to suggest this course. There was now a stream of men passing and following them to the temple. Hodo was half running in his eagerness, and Kabir himself had perceptibly quickened his pace. Neither of them spoke, and the Greek was free to watch the people around him, to marvel at the richness of their garments, the profusion of their jewelry, and the extreme animation of their faces. He caught glimpses, also, of three stone altars, carved in indistinguishable bas-relief, covered with offerings, and attended by yellow-robed priestesses, with whom, indeed, the way to the temple was thronged. It was ten minutes’ walk from the entrance of the grove before the temple itself was reached.
A broad, low, badly proportioned building of stone, colonnaded with pillars of Assyrian design and startlingly disagreeable to the Greek eye, frieze and pediment carved with gross caricatures of the Phœnician pantheon, and a sloping, square door-way of Egyptian style, was the sight that met Charmides’ eyes—the far-famed sanctuary of Ashtoreth of Tyre. The crowd of men assembling at this door-way from every part of the grove made it necessary to wait one’s turn before entering. Hodo, Kabir, and Charmides had difficulty in keeping together in the crush, but finally found themselves inside.
Here was darkness, odorous with stale incense, dotted with glimmering lights, moving with men. Once within, Kabir and Hodo performed some prostrations and muttered a prayer or two, to the words of which Charmides listened rather blankly. Then the three of them passed from the entrance hall into the great room of the temple. This was lighted from the roof by hundreds of swinging lamps; and, Charmides’ eyes having become accustomed to the softened light, he was able to see everything distinctly.
The entire company of spectators halted at the upper end of the room. Opposite them, in the farther wall, was the shrine of the goddess, in which her statue stood. About this shrine hung bronze lamps of beautiful workmanship, in which burned perfumed oil and frankincense. In front of the shrine, which was paved with African marble, was a slab of smooth granite, eight feet long, six broad, and about four in height. Around this knelt a company of priestesses, all but one of whom were robed in yellow. The one, whose bowed head could hardly be seen, was clad in a single garment of white veiling; and her hair, unbound, fell in a brown curtain to the floor on either side of her. Charmides, taking his eyes from the group of worshippers, looked again around the room. About it, built into the walls behind the pillars, were half a hundred dim niches, shadowy, unlighted, of indeterminable depth, the purpose of which he failed to divine. Except for these, the pillars, the shrine, and the altar, there was nothing to look at in the room, for the walls were bare of inscriptions, and there were no other statues than the one of Ashtoreth in her sanctum.
This survey finished, Charmides turned all his attentions to the group of priestesses at the end of the room. They were now chanting aloud; and, from the restlessness among the company of men, Charmides decided that the ceremony was approaching a point of interest. Presently Kabir seized his hand and the two of them followed in the wake of Hodo, who was eagerly forcing a passage into the front rank.
All those in the first row were, whether by chance or design Charmides could not know, young, more or less comely, and dressed with extreme elegance. As the rhapsode gained his new position he felt upon him the eyes of half the company; and not a few whispers relative to his fair skin and his fine physique reached his ears. His speculation as to the reason for this was presently forgotten, however, for the women down the room had formed into a semicircular phalanx, in the very centre of which stood the white-robed, unveiled girl. Then, to the sound of a processional chant, all of them began a slow advance up the hall towards the orderly ranks of men. The Greek caught a new order of whispers, now, that rose about him on all sides. Of these he understood here and there a phrase: “Beautiful this time!” “Her hair is her veil!” “Ashtoreth will that she choose me!” “Baal did well to let her come!” And then, as the chant ended and the women halted ten feet from the front row of men, every sound ceased. After a short pause the priestesses separated into two groups, and from their midst the white virgin came slowly forth. At her appearance every man dropped upon one knee, Kabir pulling the wide-eyed Greek down beside him. Again there was a pause, during which Charmides felt his heart beating uncomfortably. The maiden was regarding the ranks of men before her. Slowly, fearfully, her eyes moved along from face to face, their passage marked here and there by a sharply drawn breath from some one before her. Charmides, entirely ignorant of the meaning of this rite, watched her with tentative interest. She was young, her face as white as her robe, her big, half-terrified eyes of a dove-gray color. Pretty—very pretty—she was, as pretty as Doris—but not beautiful. Charmides had, of late, been picturing too divine a beauty to feel any tremor of eagerness before this gentle priestess of Ashtoreth.
All at once her eyes flashed to his. He drew back, earnestly hoping that she would pass him by. But this was not to be. The gray orbs halted at the blue ones, moved languidly over his perfect face, descended to his shoulders—arms—body—and at last a faint tinge of red crept into her deathly cheeks. She nodded once to him, murmuring half a dozen indistinguishable words. Instantly Charmides felt two violent shoves, the one from Kabir on the right, the other from Hodo on the left.
“Rise! Rise to your feet!” Kabir whispered, peremptorily.
Charmides obeyed.
“Go forward to her. The hierodules will take you.”
Charmides went towards the girl. Before he had reached her two of the other women advanced to his side and took him by the hands, at the same time recommencing their chant. Thereupon the whole company, women and men, began a slow march back towards the shrine. Charmides was still in the maze of his first surprise. He walked mechanically between his conductresses, his eyes fixed on the back of the sacrificial maiden who moved in front of him. At twenty paces from the altar the general company stopped. Only Charmides, the girl, and two priestesses advanced till they stood directly in front of the shrine with the altar behind them. Then a hush fell upon the multitude, and Charmides experienced a sudden tremor—a dread of what was to happen next. He had no idea whatever for what purpose he had been chosen, whether it threatened his life, endangered his freedom, or gave promise of honor. Kabir had been eager for him to go, however; and it was evident that many had desired his place. At any rate, the blood in his veins was Greek—and Doric Greek. This thought brought tranquillity, and he stood with renewed indifference till a move was made that struck him like a blow. At a certain phrase in the chant the two women stepped to either side of the white virgin, unclasped the two wrought pins that held her robe upon the shoulders, and, with a quick twist, let the garment fall to the floor.
There was an impulsive quickening in the song. Slowly the girl faced Charmides, her head drooping, her hands clasped before her, her brown hair falling about her shoulders. Supported on either side, she moved towards him till her knee touched his tunic. Charmides took a hasty step backwards, not hearing the faint sigh that escaped her lips. Then one of the priestesses frowned.
“Take her up to Ashtoreth!” she said, pointing from the girl to the stone altar.
Now at last Charmides understood, and he turned white with wrath. For an instant he let his eyes rest in utter scorn, utter disgust, upon the three women in front of him. Then he hurled at them a Greek phrase, fortunately incomprehensible to the multitude. Lastly, unheeding the look of abject terror that was overspreading the face of the girl, he turned upon his heel and began to walk rapidly down the long hall to the door.
By this time the chant had given place to a rising chorus of astonishment and wrath on the part of the men, and of woe on the side of the women. Still the Greek, absorbed in his own displeasure, kept on his way, and would presently have been outside the building, when Kabir, darting from the throng, seized him roughly by the shoulders.
“Charmides! Thou fool! What do you?”
The rhapsode, frowning angrily, tried to shake off his companion, but Kabir’s hands were strong.
“Know you, I say, what you do?”
Charmides turned upon him. “I will not dishonor her, neither myself!” he said, in a voice husky with repression.
“Dishonor—in the rites of Ashtoreth! Nay, you would kill her, rather, then?”
Charmides shrugged.
“You have refused her after the presentation. That is a sign that she is displeasing to the goddess. She will now be offered up upon the altar of death. Her blood must wash away the shame you put on her. Her heart will be cut out and thrown to the dogs to eat.”
The young Greek shivered and stood passive. His eyes wandered aimlessly over the scene before him. Kabir dropped his hold, but Charmides made no move to go on. He seemed to be considering. The company was eying him in an anxious silence that had something of respect in it. But the eyes of the doomed girl burned upon his back in mute, despairing entreaty. Every murmur had died away, and a deadly hush settled over the great hall. The lights burned calmly from above, and the odor of fresh incense became overpowering. Still the shepherd did not move. One instant more and Aris, the high-priestess, would send the order for the sacrificial knife. The Greek’s thoughts wavered vaguely between his mother and his own natural instincts of purity on the one hand; and, on the other, the exigencies of the Phœnician religion. The struggle was fierce. Heraia’s memory was infinitely dear, and the Greek idea of manhood strong within him. Still, death—death was terrible to his mind; and the death of this young girl—
His meditations were interrupted here. Something had suddenly clasped his feet, something lay twisted on the floor before him. A white body, half covered with the long locks of dishevelled hair that flowed from a lowered head, lay there on the stones. Two strained arms caught at his knees. A faint voice, choked with the tears of despair, was begging incoherently for the life that he could give. All of a sudden he melted. He bent his head, drawing a long breath of resignation. Then he stooped, lifted the girl in his arms, and carried her rapidly over to the altar of Ashtoreth. And the great bacchanal that followed upon his act the youth neither saw nor heard.
Kabir and Hodo were both of them abjectly respectful to Charmides next day. For all his defeat, the youth had been left their master, and he knew it. The name of Ashtoreth was not spoken before him in Abdosir’s house; no mention ever after did either Phœnician or Babylonian make of the affair of yesterday; and in one day more Charmides had looked his last upon the city of the sea.
It was in a state of mental chaos that Charmides began his journey to Babylon. In the glare of midday the long row of well-watered camels, heavy laden with riches of the West, swayed to their feet, on the mainland of Tyre, and turned their heads in the direction of Damascus. Charmides had said good-bye to Kabir an hour before, and now sat his animal with an eager light in his eyes and a clutch of regret in his heart—desire for the new, love for the old. He tried hard that day to fix his mind on the great object of his journey, the goddess of Babylon, whom he was so soon to see. But all things around him were new, all things fair, and soon he gave up the attempt at abstraction to watch what went on around him. Far ahead, upon the foremost camel, was Hodo, the leader of the caravan, who, with his desert costume, had also donned an undeniable dignity of demeanor. Before and behind Charmides, in the very centre of the line, sat solemn Orientals whose nationality he did not know. Far to the right stretched flat, fertile fields of grain. To the left, at no great distance, the river Leontes flashed a tumultuous, sunlit course down to the sea. Eastward, in front, rose an uneven line of jutting hills, bathed in the luminous, tranquil light of intensely pure air. The day was hot, the motion of the camel so far rather soothing. Charmides’ turbaned head drooped. His eyelids closed. Thoughts of Istar were mingled with memories of the white virgin. Presently, then, he fell asleep.