The Scarlet Fig: Or, Slowly Through a Land of Stone, Book Three of the Vergil Magus Series

XV Alexandria

It was not until he came to Alexandria (and it was some great long while until; much had passed until) that he came at last and at least to the spoor of the other armil … and how came he to have the one silver bangle of the pair and he now sought the other? … another tale: in its place … in its place … not a furlong from the site where lieth Great Alexander, lapt in honey and wrapt in gold: which tomb all must visit whom Fortuna takes thither to Alexandria: near that great Canopic Way itself. Not until then did he find the man — not the last man but the next-to-the-last-man of whom the Sibyl spoke, had spoken, in that voice as from a thousand caverns echoing forth — the man: tall and gant and with one eye (even as she’d said) the color of Sidonian glass and the tother eye of a common brown color. Seeing him, and with but a lurch of his heart, into the shop, swift, Vergil went.

He drew forth the sketch he’d made and showed it; the papyrus had been oft unfolded, and was by then much worn, and very smutched. The shopkeeper glanced at it, with the usual Alexandrian elegance and politesse, but without much real interest, then of a sudden gave a sudden nod, looked up. “You have it, then?” asked Vergil.

“My don, I have it not; I had it. I bought it from a —”

“When? Where? Where is it now?”

A most exquisite shrug. “It has been sold some time ago, some time ago, my don, to a younger man than either you or I; very young, in fact; his name is inconnu to me, and so is his abiding-place. Would my don care for wine? Some native beer to refresh — a thing most curious, the bangle, and I wonder not that my don — eh? Well, no, but as I have seen him more than once before, daresay that I shall see him more than once again. A goblet of the honey-hearted wine? forgive me, I shall press no more the offer. Ah. No more of him I know save that he unmuffled his face and he paused but little at my modest price, and so I brought it down but little. He paid me … ah well … I will but say that had I but its twain and twin, I need must ask a piece of gold imperial for it, of th’ old coinage, mind. — Yea, he entered, he unmuffled his face, and he had rid …” A moment the jeweller rolled his odd matched eyes, then, “… a white barb as went a bit dauncingly in her gait. I have some other silvern armil, ser, cunningly-wreaked, and set with green chalcedony — My don! Ser! Serrah! The god is with you, the Dios unself! Zeus! Serapion! There goeth she now, and he must be aback of her! Go swift—!”

Vergil went swift. Having but some modest care not over-much to startle the barb, he did not run but walked rapidly and stopped a pace or three afront of her; held up his own hand with the unfolden papyrus which had the armil sketched upon it. His eyes encountered those of the rider, eyes dark beneath emphatic dark brows, and those eyes did not rest upon him, but the rider urged his horse — Then stopped. At last had noticed the sketch. Another noted the stop, was at once beside him with, “Sweet water from the Nilus brought, young lord? A copperkin a cup —” saw his water was not wanted, instantly was gone.

“You have this silver bracelin, my serrah? I shall pay ane gold imperial for it, of the old coinage: or ask me more, I do entreat!”

For a moment the man said and did nothing. The white barb danced a bit and he was obliged to ride a few steps away; then back he came, it seemed reluctantly. The voice muffled, said he, “I have it not. I bought it for my brother. He hath it now.”

A shaggy Northishman stalked by, mouth open somewhat between blond-bearded lips, and two black Nubians with estridge-plumes in hair looked round them as they walked. Alexandria was a pearl of all the earth for all to see. Why indeed did Vergil want the other silvern armil so? Because it had been hers and as long as he would have them he would have a share in her? He reckoned not for sure why, he did want it. “As you gave it him — your brother — and I have come far to find it — he is free to give it me! That is, e’er what his price, I pay it.”

The riding-man now free and safe from the deep dusts of any desert and of any land of stone, went on to unwrap his head and face; more muffled than ever (the barb daunced on, he had only one hand free), his voice as he was doing this, spoke only a few words, dull or almost sullen. “It has no price. I shall not say you where he is. I gave it him for the great love,” a last word followed, which might have been he or it might have been we: the headcloth came clean off. The man was certainly young, the young man showed no sign of having ever met him, would clearly sooner ride around him and be off: but Vergil knew at once that they indeed once met.

“Hold! Stay!” cried Vergil. The young man stopped and looked at him without even a slight change upon his face, healthy young face, dark-eyed, with well-defined dark brows, though the face was not without sign of care and cark. They looked at each other a moment without sound (and the exquisitely well-mannered throng flowed all around); the young man stroked his perfect skin with perfect fingers. “But do you recollect me not? You are the nephew of Bodmi the Cooper! Is your name not Rustus? Rustus, we have met —”

Something painful, painful, and very, very deep showed a moment in the young man’s face. He made a level sound which was either yea or nay, or neither yea nor nay. Something like a shadow fled across his face. “Serrah, I know you not, nor know you me.” He would ride on.

“But Rustus —!”

One last few words the other said. “Ser,” said he, “I am Justus. Rustus is my brother, twin.” Eyes already gone past Vergil, the man rode away; eyes gone dead to all elegance and all vanities, eyes gone dead to all save a passage through a red, eroded land.

finis libris 4:00 p.m.

Bremerton, Washington

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