Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face. Charles Kingsley

his cubs at his heels. What a scoundrelly visage that tall fellow-deacon, or reader, or whatever he is by his dress—has!’

      ‘There they are—whispering together. Heaven give them pleasant thoughts and pleasanter faces!’

      ‘Amen!’ quoth Orestes, with a sneer: and he would have said Amen in good earnest, had he been able to take the liberty—which we shall—and listen to Cyril’s answer to Peter, the tall reader.

      ‘From Hypatia’s, you say? Why, he only returned to the city this morning.’

      ‘I saw his four-in-hand standing at her door, as I came down the Museum Street hither, half an hour ago.’

      ‘And twenty carriages besides, I don’t doubt?’

      ‘The street was blocked up with them. There! Look round the corner now.—Chariots, litters, slaves, and fops.—When shall we see such a concourse as that where it ought to be?’

      Cyril made no answer; and Peter went on—‘Where it ought to be, my father—in front of your door at the Serapeium?’

      ‘The world, the flesh, and the devil know their own, Peter: and as long as they have their own to go to, we cannot expect them to come to us.’

      ‘But what if their own were taken out of the way?’

      ‘They might come to us for want of better amusement … devil and all. Well—if I could get a fair hold of the two first, I would take the third into the bargain, and see what could be done with him. But never, while these lecture-rooms last—these Egyptian chambers of imagery—these theatres of Satan, where the devil transforms himself into an angel of light, and apes Christian virtue, and bedizens his ministers like ministers of righteousness, as long as that lecture-room stands and the great and the powerful flock to it, to learn excuses for their own tyrannies and atheisms, so long will the kingdom of God be trampled under foot in Alexandria; so long will the princes of this world, with their gladiators, and parasites, and money-lenders, be masters here, and not the bishops and priests of the living God.’

      It was now Peter’s turn to be silent; and as the two, with their little knot of district-visitors behind them, walk moodily along the great esplanade which overlooked the harbour, and then vanish suddenly up some dingy alley into the crowded misery of the sailors’ quarter, we will leave them to go about their errand of mercy, and, like fashionable people, keep to the grand parade, and listen again to our two fashionable friends in the carved and gilded curricle with four white blood-horses.

      ‘A fine sparkling breeze outside the Pharos, Raphael—fair for the wheat-ships too.’

      ‘Are they gone yet?

      ‘Yes—why? I sent the first fleet off three days ago; and the rest are clearing outwards to-day.’

      ‘Oh!—ah—so!—Then you have not heard from Heraclian?’

      ‘Heraclian? What the-blessed saints has the Count of Africa to do with my wheat-ships?’

      ‘Oh, nothing. It’s no business of mine. Only he is going to rebel. … But here we are at your door.’

      ‘To what?’ asked Orestes, in a horrified tone.

      ‘To rebel, and attack Rome.’

      ‘Good gods—God, I mean. A fresh bore! Come in, and tell a poor miserable slave of a governor—speak low, for Heaven’s sake!—I hope these rascally grooms haven’t overheard you.’

      ‘Easy to throw them into the canal, if they have,’ quoth Raphael, as he walked coolly through hall and corridor after the perturbed governor.

      Poor Orestes never stopped till he reached a little chamber of the inner court, beckoned the Jew in after him, locked the door, threw himself into an arm-chair, put his hands on his knees, and sat, bending forward, staring into Raphael’s face with a ludicrous terror and perplexity.

      ‘Tell me all about it. Tell me this instant.’

      ‘I have told you all I know,’ quoth Raphael, quietly seating himself on a sofa, and playing with a jewelled dagger. ‘I thought, of course, that you were in the secret, or I should have said nothing. It’s no business of mine, you know.’

      Orestes, like most weak and luxurious men, Romans especially, had a wild-beast vein in him—and it burst forth.

      ‘Hell and the furies! You insolent provincial slave—you will carry these liberties of yours too far! Do you know who I am, you accursed Jew? Tell me the whole truth, or, by the head of the emperor, I’ll twist it out of you with red-hot pincers!’

      Raphael’s countenance assumed a dogged expression, which showed that the old Jewish blood still heat true, under all its affected shell of Neo-Platonist nonchalance; and there was a quiet unpleasant earnest in his smile, as he answered—

      ‘Then, my dear governor, you will be the first man on earth who ever yet forced a Jew to say or do what he did not choose.’

      ‘We’ll see!’ yelled Orestes. ‘Here, slaves!’ And he clapped his hands loudly.

      ‘Calm yourself, your excellency,’ quoth Raphael, rising. ‘The door is locked; the mosquito net is across the window; and this dagger is poisoned. If anything happens to me, you will offend all the Jew money-lenders, and die in about three days in a great deal of pain, having missed our assignation with old Miriam, lost your pleasantest companion, and left your own finances and those of the prefecture in a considerable state of embarrassment. How much better to sit down, hear all I have to say philosophically, like a true pupil of Hypatia, and not expect a man to tell you what he really does not know.’

      Orestes, after looking vainly round the room for a place to escape, had quietly subsided into his chair again; and by the time that the slaves knocked at the door he had so far recovered his philosophy as to ask, not for the torturers, but for a page and wine.

      ‘Oh, you Jews!’ quoth he, trying to laugh off matters. ‘The same incarnate fiends that Titus found you!’

      ‘The very same, my dear prefect. Now for this matter, which is really important-at least to Gentiles. Heraclian will certainly rebel. Synesius let out as much to me. He has fitted out an armament for Ostia, stopped his own wheat-ships, and is going to write to you to stop yours, and to starve out the Eternal City, Goths, senate, emperor, and all. Whether you will comply with his reasonable little request depends of course on yourself.’

      ‘And that again very much on his plans.’

      ‘Of course. You cannot be expected to—we will euphemise-unless it be made worth your while.’

      Orestes sat buried in deep thought.

      ‘Of course not,’ said he at last, half unconsciously. And then, in sudden dread of having committed himself, he looked up fiercely at the Jew.

      ‘And how do I know that this is not some infernal trap of yours? Tell me how you found out all this, or by Hercules (he had quite forgotten his Christianity by this time)—by Hercules and the Twelve Gods, I’ll—’

      ‘Don’t use expressions unworthy of a philosopher. My source of information was very simple and very good. He has been negotiating a loan from the Rabbis at Carthage. They were either frightened, or loyal, or both, and hung back. He knew—as all wise governors know when they allow themselves time—that it is no use to bully a Jew; slid applied to me. I never lend money—it is unphilosophical: but I introduced him to old Miriam, who dare do business with the devil himself; and by that move, whether he has the money or not, I cannot tell: but this I can tell, that we have his secret—and so have you now; and if you want more information, the old woman, who enjoys an intrigue as much as she does Falernian, will get it you.’

      ‘Well, you are a true friend, after all.’

      ‘Of course I am. Now, is not this method of getting at the truth much easier and pleasanter than setting a couple of dirty negroes to pinch