Sónnica. Vicente Blasco Ibanez

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СКАЧАТЬ had worn hard calloused lines.

      Actæon looked through the window at the Celtiberian, the only one of the group who remained silent, but who had his glittering eyes fastened upon the bare neck showing above the Roman legionary's bronze corselet, as if attracted by the coarse veins outlined beneath the skin. Surely the Greek had seen those eyes before; they were like an old acquaintance whose name one cannot recall. There was something artificial about his person, which the Greek divined with his keen perception.

      "I would swear by Mercury that that man is not what he pretends to be. He looks something more than a shepherd, and the bronze color of his face is not that of the Celtiberians, no matter how sunburned they may be. Perhaps that long hair which falls around his shoulders is false——"

      He was unable to observe him longer because of the dispute between the legionary and the old Carthaginian, who gradually approached each other to hear better in the midst of the clamor which reigned in the tavern.

      "I also was on that sad expedition to the Ægates," said the Carthaginian; "there is where I received this wound that crosses my face. It is true that you conquered us; but what does that show? Many times did I see your ships flee before ours, and more than once I counted Roman corpses by the hundred on the fields of Sicily. Ah, if Hanno had not arrived too late that day of the combat at the islands! If Hamilcar had only had reinforcements!"

      "Hamilcar!" disdainfully exclaimed the Roman. "A great chief who had to sue for peace! A merchant turned warrior!"

      And he laughed with the insolence of the strong, not fearing the anger of the old Carthaginian, who began to stammer an answer.

      The Celtiberian, who had remained silent, laid his hand upon the old man.

      "Silence, Carthaginian! The Roman is right. You are peddlers incapable of measuring up with them in war. You love money too much to dominate by the sword. But Carthage is not made of those of your breed; there are others born there who will know how to stand up before those peasants of Italy!"

      The Roman, seeing the rustic intervene in the dispute, became still more arrogant and insolent.

      "And who can that be?" he shouted scornfully. "The son of Hamilcar? That youngster who they say had a slave for a mother?"

      "Those who founded your city, Roman, were sons of a prostitute, and the day is not far distant when the horse of Carthage shall trample under foot the wolf of Romulus!"

      The legionary arose trembling with fury, feeling for his sword, but he suddenly gave a savage growl and fell, pressing his hands against his throat.

      Actæon had seen the Celtiberian introduce his right hand into the sleeve of his sagum, and, drawing a knife, stab the legionary in the thick neck he had been staring at with the fixity of a wild beast while the fallen man mocked at Carthage.

      The tavern shook with the strain of the combat. The other Roman seeing his companion down, hurled himself at the Celtiberian with raised sword, but quick as a flash he received a thrust in the face and was blinded by a stream of blood.

      The agility of the man was astounding. His movements had the elasticity of the panther; blows seemed to rebound from his body without doing him harm. Around him fell a shower of jars, of broken amphoræ, of swords hurled through the air; but with extended arm, and knife held before him, he made a spring toward the door and disappeared.

      "After him! After him!" clamored the Romans, starting in pursuit.

      Attracted by the brutal joy of a man hunt, all who were sober enough to retain mastery of their legs followed him out of the hostelry. The horde of men, fired by the sight of blood, sprang over the bodies of the dying Roman and the drunken sailors who lay snoring near him. The Greek saw them break up into groups, running in all directions after the Celtiberian, who had disappeared a few steps distant from the hostelry as if dissolved into the shadow of the night.

      The port thrilled with the ardor of the chase. Lights flashed along the wharves and through the village streets; the lupanars and taverns were subjected to a brutal overhauling by the Romans who were mad with fury; a fresh fight started at the door of every hut; blood was about to flow anew, when the Greek, fearing to become involved in a riot, fled to the temple. Bacchis had not returned, and the Greek climbed up the steps and stretched out on the portico, a broad terrace paved with blue marble, over which the fluted columns supporting the pediment flung oblique bars of shadow.

      When Actæon awoke he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Birds were singing in the olive trees, and he heard voices near. As he arose he was surprised to see that day had dawned, for it seemed but a few minutes had passed since he fell asleep.

      A woman, a patrician, stood not far away, smiling upon him. She was robed in a flowing white linen mantle which fell to her feet in graceful folds like the drapery of statues. A few curls of blonde hair fell over her forehead. Her lips were painted red, and her black eyes, velvety, and with a silky caress in their gaze, were surrounded by blue circles suggesting a night of fatigue. Moving her arms beneath her mantle, hidden ornaments jingled with silvery tones, and the toe of her sandal, peeping from beneath the border of her garment, shone like a jewelled star.

      She was followed by two slender Celtiberian slaves, their brown, swelling breasts almost bare, their limbs wrapped in multicolored cloth. One carried a pair of white doves, the other bore on her head a basket of roses.

      Actæon recognized Polyanthus, the Saguntine pilot, and also the perfumed young gallant who had been on the wharf with another horseman when the ship came in, standing near the handsome patrician.

      The Greek arose, amazed at the beautiful apparition smiling upon him.

      "Athenian," she said in Greek of the purest accent, "I am Sónnica, the mistress of the ship which brought you hither. Polyanthus is my freedman and he has done well in giving you passage, for he is aware of my interest in your people. Who are you?"

      "I am Actæon, and I ask the gods to shower blessings upon you for your kindness. May Venus guard your beauty while you live."

      "Are you a navigator? Are you engaged in commerce? Are you traveling about the world giving lessons in rhetoric and poetry?"

      "I am a soldier, as were all my ancestors. My grandfather died in Italy covering with his body the great Pyrrhus who wept for him as for a brother. My father was a captain of mercenaries in the service of Carthage, and was cruelly assassinated in the war called 'inexorable.'"

      He was silent a moment as if overcome by this recollection. His voice choked, but presently he added: "I fought until recently under the orders of Cleomenes, the last Lacedæmonian. I was one of his companions, and when the hero suffered defeat I accompanied him to Alexandria, afterward traveling over the world because I could not endure the inactivity of exile. I have also been a merchant in Rhodes, a fisherman on the Bosphorus, a farmer in Egypt, and a satirical poet in Athens."

      The handsome Sónnica approached him smiling. He was an Athenian possessed of all the qualities so loved by her; one of those adventurers accustomed to rapid changes of fortune, rounders of the world, who frequently chronicle their achievements when they have reached old age.

      "And why have you come hither?"

      "I have come by chance. Your pilot offered to bring me to Zacynthus, and I came. I felt stifled in New Carthage. I might have enlisted in Hannibal's army; it would have been sufficient perhaps to have revealed my origin to meet with welcome. The Greeks are paid great prices in every army. But a war is in progress here also, and I prefer to go against СКАЧАТЬ