The Silver Chalice (70 page)

“It is no wonder,” he thought many times, “that Rome rules the world.”

He graduated from this feeling of interest to one of alarm as the tower kept rising higher and higher into the sky. It had become now a threat, a tangible threat, to Christianity. He would stand and stare up at it and say to himself, “If Simon flies off from the top, the world will believe him capable of doing anything that Jesus did.” He knew that nothing had been heard from the leaders of the Christian church in Rome. If the challenge of Simon had reached their ears, they had refused to respond. Nero railed bitterly about the silence of the detested Christians. “Simon Magus will do what he can,” he said one day to Basil. “If these sly dogs do not then come forward to face him, they will receive the punishment they deserve.”

Basil had no doubt that Simon would succeed. He remembered what Helena had told him of the new device that would be carried, in great secrecy no doubt, and installed at the summit of the tower. Simon would fly high up in the air, and no one below would be able to see how it was done. They would raise their voices and cry out that a miracle had been wrought.

One day Basil stumbled on a confirmation of what Helena had told him. Walking close to the foundations of the high wooden walls, he caught a word of Aramaic spoken by a workman who was operating a bow drill with a strap like the leash of a top. He was addressing a fellow
worker who was operating a drill that scooped out wood with ease and precision.

“He will do it by wires,” said the first carpenter. “Bronze wires. Do you know what they are?”

“By the adz of Atlas, yes!” answered the second. “I have seen them, great, heavy ropes of bronze that could rip the bowels from a mountain of copper.”

“But this is different. It is called—
drawn wire
. I am not sure what that means, but I suppose the stuff is drawn out, by some magic Simon knows, until it becomes very thin. This much I have been told, that it keeps all its strength no matter how thin they make it. Do you believe that, Jacob?”

“I do not believe it, Ziphah. It stands to reason that when you reduce the size of anything you take away from its strength.”

“But this is said to be different, I am telling you, my Jacob. It can be made as thin as a cobweb, but it never loses strength. It is a kind of miracle. I hear this pestilential magician has strips of this wire as long as fifteen feet.”

There was the explanation, said Basil to himself as he walked away in a state of great alarm. These wires like cobwebs would be painted so they would not glisten in the sun and no human eye would be able to see them from the ground. There would be a wheel concealed at the top of the tower that would swing Simon around the narrow apex, allowing him to rise and dip in the air like a swallow about the parapets of houses.

“That is how it will be done,” he said to himself. “Should I go to Nero and tell him about it? Would he believe me if I did?” He decided after much earnest thought that nothing would be accomplished by going to the Emperor. Nero wanted Simon to succeed, by hook or by crook, because he desired to see the Christians confounded in the eyes of the world. He did not care what means the magician used. In any event, what proof did Basil have to offer? He had nothing but suppositions.

When he turned back to the palace he encountered Helena in the gardens. He had not seen her since the night of his arrival at the palace, and it was apparent to him at once that her attitude had changed. There was no mistaking the coldness in her eyes.

“What do you think of it?” she asked, gesturing toward the tower. “It is to go still higher. Simon does not believe in doing things by halves. He says he is going to fly and so he wants the upper reaches of heaven for his flight.”

“The higher up it goes,” said Basil, “the less chance there will be for the wires to be seen.”

“Wires?” Helena gave him a level glance that was nothing less than glacial. “What are they?”

Basil did not attempt to answer. The girl regarded him with no evidence of a rise in the temperature of her eyes. Then she changed the subject.

“You are flying high yourself,” she said. “You are soaring in the heavens of Nero’s favor. Has it been pleasant to climb so rapidly, even though you know you owe your chance to someone else?”

At this Basil’s attitude became as chilly as her own. “I did not want this to happen. You arranged it, I know, but it was against my wish. I was summoned to appear and I had no alternative but to obey. I had no desire to do any of this climbing you hold against me.”

“You had no desire to climb? That I do not believe. My shoulders are bruised by the stamp of your heels.” Her feelings became more hostile with every word she spoke. “I talked to you about Simon and his delusions. Have you mentioned this to others?”

“I have not repeated a word to anyone.”

“Put what I said out of your mind!” Her tone was sharp. “I must have been out of my own mind when I spoke to you. It was very foolish of me.” For several moments she kept her eyes on the ground, and it was clear that she was seeking her way to a decision. Then she looked up suddenly. “The palace rings with your praises. Everyone says your models of Nero are true to life. You have looked into his eyes and read his soul. I wonder, O Basil, if you have any desire to look into my eyes and read what is in
my
mind? You might find it very disturbing if you did. Very disturbing indeed, my little Basil!”

O
N THE EVENING
following his conversation with Helena, Basil visited the domain of Selech on his way to the banqueting hall. There was an air of expectancy in the kitchens, which he attributed at once to a curious object standing in front of Selech’s platform, a structure about six feet high and resembling a closed chair. There were handles on each side, front and back, by which it could be carried. On examining it with some curiosity, Basil discovered that the base was of wood but that the rest was made of pastry. It had a delicious aroma, as though it had come fresh from the ovens, and it was coated over with sugar to make it a warm and inviting brown. On the top there was a bird’s cage, also made of pastry and filled with canaries. The birds, twittering among themselves, were perched on swings of hard candy. The top was fringed with candy bells that jingled lightly.

“What is this?” asked Basil when Selech joined him near the pastry chair.

“It is to be used for a surprise tonight,” explained the Archimagirus. “Observe, there is a door, and no one will be able to see inside when it is closed. The chair will be carried in with great ceremony; music and drums and acrobats. The canaries will be singing like mad, and then—the door will fly open and someone will come out.”

It was clear who the someone would be, for at this moment the little dancer Juli-Juli arrived in the kitchens and began to weave her way across to them. She was dressed in green and her arms were filled with a mass of fluffy yellow plumes. It was clear that she was very much excited, because she smiled and waved to them and began to dance her way around the ovens and tables.

“Is it ready?” she asked. “How wonderful! I am ready, O Selech. I can hardly wait. It smells so good that I am afraid I shall bite holes out of it when they are carrying me in.” She smiled at Basil over the burden of plumes. “Please, Selech, tell this young man all about it. He is a very nice young man and he has a beautiful wife. But he is very serious, and I think we could get him to smile if you told him.”

“He will be there to see for himself,” protested the great cook. “Should we rob him of the surprise?”

The girl smiled at Basil again and held out the plumes for his inspection. He could see they consisted of two large wings and a cap shaped like a cock’s comb. She put the cap on her golden hair, pulling it down tightly over her ears, and then made motions with her arms to indicate that the wings would be attached to her shoulders.

“Tell him my first number will be a bird dance.”

Selech translated this and then added an explanation. “There is a spring under the chair. When it is released, she will shoot out through the door like a bird in flight.”

Juli-Juli was fairly dancing with excitement. “Tell him about my second number, Selech. Ah, that second number. I want him to know about it. Then he will be sure to wait for it.”

“Do not fear, Juli-Juli. The young man will wait.”

“She will make a very lovely bird,” declared Basil.

Juli-Juli did not need to have this translated. She sensed his admiration from the smile that accompanied the remark and smiled back at him, nodding her head delightedly. “Do not repeat this, if you please, Selech, but it is a pity he is married,” she said.

“She will appear with the dessert,” explained the cook. He turned to the little dancer. “Caesar will think you a real bird when the door opens and you fly out. You must do your teacher credit tonight. You must dance, Juli-Juli, as you have never danced before. But now I think you had better return to your own quarters. Darius will be wondering where you are.”

Another surprise awaited Basil when he reached the banqueting hall. A table had been placed behind the couch of Nero, and on it were the five models he had made of the Emperor. It was the first time they had been put on display, and he wondered about the reason for showing them on this particular evening. He was conscious also of a stirring of pride. Perhaps he was to be singled out for some kind of honor.

He felt a lift of spirits as he glanced about the lofty, resounding hall
with its enormous pillars that had been raised to the glory of Augustus, the first of the emperors. For three weeks he had lived in this atmosphere of greatness, a greatness that had dwindled and become tarnished and tawdry. He had been a success. The Emperor still babbled about him with undiminished confidence. People were talking about him, he knew, quoting the things Nero said, calling him the little genius. No matter what the future might bring, this was something he would always remember, that he had won respect for his capacity in the bitter jealousies of the halls of Nero.

Having won the full approval of the Emperor and the sophisticates about him, Basil felt he could afford to rest on his laurels. It was time for him to be going. He had other work to do that pressed on his consciousness. He wanted to be back with Deborra, making up to her for his past blindness. He wondered if this might not be the right occasion to ask the consent of Nero to his withdrawal from court. He decided that, should the Emperor prove in an amiable mood, he would take the risk of asking.

For the first time he indulged in the general practice of wandering about the long hall with its many levels and its constant interruption of steps, where the guests were already reclining on their couches. The company was more brilliant than usual. The women seemed to have known that the amber-haired Poppaea, reclining in a sulky, silken boredom beside her imperial mate, would take this occasion to set off her warm brown eyes with her fabulous jeweled earrings. At any rate, they had arrayed themselves brilliantly. Their arms were covered with bracelets and their fingers were stiff with rings. They were proving quite careless with their lower draperies, for at this season they still wore their garters on bare flesh and were anxious to show the rubies and opals that nestled in the bands of black velour or silk.

Basil noticed also that there were amethyst drinking cups at nearly all places, which meant that the guests had brought their own with them. The table appointments at the palace had fallen into an eclipse of shoddiness during the reign of Claudius, and from this there had been no revival. Amethyst cups protected the users from intoxication and so were considered essential.

Simon the Magician, occupying his usual place in a sardonic silence, was one to be avoided; Basil did not want to be recognized as the youth who had gone to him to have an evil spirit cast out. He saw the victorious general, Flavius, in the relative obscurity of a side couch, the penalty for proving dull and unresponsive. Helena was beside a handsome young
man with dull eyes, attired in the rich trappings of the Praetorian Guard. She carefully avoided meeting his glance as he strolled by.

Nero, it became evident at once, was in an amiable mood. He sang with great restraint after the serving of the first course. He sang again, with less restraint and a tendency to overact, after the second course. Everyone applauded madly, and he beamed with gratification and puffed out his great thick chest. There was a feeling of easiness and satisfaction in the air because of this, but at the same time there was also an undercurrent of fear. The place reserved for Tigellinus was empty. Basil asked himself the question that all others in the hall were raising: What dark matters kept the police head away?

The dessert had been brought in, consisting of huge platters of fruit and nuts and dishes of gold heaped with luscious honey cakes and trays on which were spread out tarts of such flakiness that the mouths of the nearly satiated diners opened again in greedy anticipation. There was a pause. Two gladiators had come into the hall and were standing in the open space beneath the flight of twenty marble steps that led up to where Nero sat. They had their short blunt swords in their hands and were ready to set about the business of slashing and cutting at each other. Darius, as master of ceremonies, did not raise his baton, however, for the carnage to begin. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, his eyes turned to the high arch where swinging doors closed off the passage leading to the kitchens.