Part 9

“This tomb raised to the memory of her husband, Mausolus, was to be the Wonder of the World. Not content with one Greek architect, therefore, she employed no less than four to design and beautify the building you see before you, which faces north, south, east and west. Scopas it was who built the eastern side, Leochares the west, Bruxis the north, and Timotheus the south. These were famous men in my day, and even when they had finished their labour, and even when the tomb of Mausolus was surrounded by colonnades, supported by beautiful pillars, and lined with magnificent statues, the queen was not satisfied. The tomb must be still more wonderful, still more stately. So she sent for Pythios, a great sculptor, and ordered him to erect above the temple-like tomb, a pyramid. On the top of the pyramid he was to place a group in marble which should represent herself and Mausolus, standing side by side, in a chariot drawn by four horses.

“Now Pythios was anxious to find as a model for these horses the most beautiful steed in the world. And where, said everyone, could he find a creature more beautiful than the famous Bucephalus of Alexander?

“So Pythios came to our court and sought of my master permission to make drawings of me in varying attitudes as I reared or ran. This being granted, I became the model for all four of the marble steeds who drew the chariot of King Mausolus and his queen Artemisia. Behold them! For in magic fashion you see them as they appeared long, long ago, when this tomb was first completed. Greatly favoured are you, little children, for other mortals now living must be content to gaze only upon those broken fragments of the tomb, which, in recent days, have been drawn from the earth. Long, long ago, was this magnificent monument destroyed, and were it not for my company and the magic of Sheshà, who has called me to this earth once more, you would be looking upon nothing but ruin and destruction here in this place. See how splendidly white and dazzling appears that noble group against the deep blue of the sky! And then contrast it with the battered figures, the one chariot wheel, the broken horse’s head, which is all that now remains. Still more wonderful that such fragments should at last have found their way to your grey city of London—thousands of miles away.”

Bucephalus paused once more, wrapped in earnest thought, which the children scarcely dared to disturb, though they were longing to ask questions.

“You will ask,” he continued presently, “how I, who at the time when this tomb was built dwelt far from Halicarnassus, know all that I have related. Let me explain.

“Though Pythios had taken me as a model for those famous horses of his, I never thought to behold them, and when I have completed the story of Queen Artemisia, I will relate how it chanced that I _did_ at last look upon them with my own eyes.

“The great tomb, so marvellous, so beautiful that it became one of the Seven Wonders of the World, was at length finished—as you see it. A miracle in marble, with the queen herself and her dearly loved husband standing together to endure as she thought for ever. Her task completed, and with nothing else to live for, the queen pined away, and a year later died. The monument she raised, as you know, is shattered to fragments, but, after all, Artemisia’s wish was fulfilled, for the name of her husband, at least in a fashion, yet lives. Ever since her day, every splendid tomb, such as that in which kings or great heroes are buried, has been called a _Mausoleum_. And when people of the present age speak that word, though they may not be aware of it, they are uttering the name of Mausolus, so dear to Artemisia.

“And now to return to my own history.

“Fourteen years after the death of this unhappy queen, I bore my master, Alexander, into yonder city of Halicarnassus, as a conqueror. He had fought and defeated the sovereign then reigning in Caria, and all the inhabitants of this country did him homage. How well I remember the morning he rode out to see with his own eyes this very tomb of which he had heard so much.

“It was a morning such as this. The sun, just as you see it now, had newly risen, and then, as now, the marble pillars, the chariot group, the statues stood out white as sea-foam against a sky, every whit as deep and blue as you behold.

“Alexander stood transfixed with admiration, and I could not refrain from a glance of pride at my own image, four times repeated on the summit of the building.

“‘Ah!’ thought I, ‘when she ordered those marble horses to be carved by the greatest sculptor of her time, little did Queen Artemisia guess that the model from which they were designed would one day gallop proudly into her city, bearing upon his back the conqueror of her kingdom.’ It was a sad and overwhelming reflection, and, as I gazed upwards at the statue of Artemisia herself, I half expected her to descend in wrath from her chariot to punish my insolence. But, after all, it was Alexander, not I, who had taken Halicarnassus, as I made haste to assure myself, and I turned my head to look in the face of my beloved master. He was gazing sadly at the tomb, and I fancied that, conqueror though he was, he thought with sorrow and pity of the unhappy queen. For as generous as brave was my dear master, Alexander the Great.”

* * * * *

Quite a long silence followed the last words, and it was a silence which somehow the children had no wish to break, for they both felt a little dreamy and disinclined to speak.

“Presently,” thought Rachel, “we’ll ask him to let us go up that splendid staircase and get inside the temple where Mausolus is buried. There must be all sorts of lovely things there.” But at the moment she felt it was enough just to sit still and gaze at the outside of the tomb, at the burning blue of the sky behind it, at the sparkling bay beyond, about which the flat-roofed white houses of the city clustered.

“It will be awfully interesting to walk about in Halicarnassus,” she reflected. “I wonder whether we shall see Queen Artemisia? We _might_. Anything of course could happen. And it’s all just as real as—as though it _was_ real,” she added, at a loss how to put it to herself. It was just when she had made this half-dreamy reflection that she saw the tomb of Mausolus beginning to totter. It swayed for a moment right and left before her eyes—and then was gone. So also was the city. She had a flashing glimpse of mounds of earth, and of a plain scattered over with stones, before Grayson stood putting a can of hot water upon the wash-stand.

“Time to get up, Miss Rachel,” she observed, cheerfully.

* * * * *

Never had Rachel so longed to see Diana as now. If Diana knew nothing about this adventure—then it was only a dream, and that would be too dreadful.

She could scarcely wait till the afternoon, when her friend was to come round to go for a walk with her. One glance, however, at Diana’s face when at last she came, reassured her. Their eyes met, and Diana’s were sparkling and full of mystery. You may imagine what they talked about in Kensington Gardens that afternoon when they ran on together in front of Miss Moore.

SIXTH WONDER

The day after their walk in Kensington Gardens, Diana, full of distress, ran in to see Rachel early in the afternoon.

“What do you think? I have to go to the seaside to-morrow!” she exclaimed, breathlessly. “Mother and Father are going, and they say I’m to go with them, and—”

“But how lovely!” interrupted Rachel. “For _you_, I mean. It will be horrid for _me_,” she added, dejectedly. “Why don’t you want to go?”

Diana stared at her. “Don’t you understand? I shall be away more than a week, and”—she lowered her voice mysteriously—“the _seventh_ day, you know, will come round, and I shan’t be here, and I shall miss the chance of an adventure. Oh, I do envy you, Rachel! I’d rather never go to the seaside again than miss all the exciting things that might happen. And you see I can’t explain why I don’t want to go—so it’s all perfectly horrible.”

“But you know I don’t believe it makes a scrap of difference _where_ we are,” declared Rachel. “If ‘he’ wanted us to go to the Museum, or to Egypt, or to Rhodes, or anywhere, we could go just the same, whether we were in London or by the sea, or at the North Pole. You remember what everybody says about him.” She glanced over her shoulder to make quite certain that they were alone, and went on to quote in a whisper, “‘_Sheshà, greatest of Magicians_.’ Salome said that, when I was in Babylon, and the other night, you remember, Bucephalus said it when he changed into a real horse. And, of course, he _is_ the greatest of magicians. He can do anything he likes. I shouldn’t worry a bit about going away if I were you. I only wish I had the chance.”

Diana’s face became radiant.

“I never thought of that!” she exclaimed. “How clever you are, Rachel. Oh, if only you were coming, too, it would be perfectly splendid.”

Rachel sighed. “It will be awfully dull without you. But all the same I expect I shall meet you _somewhere or other_ in a few days. Seven days, or perhaps nights, from the evening before last, you know!” she went on with a little chuckle of anticipation.

She felt nevertheless so depressed at the thought of losing Diana, even for a short time, that what happened next seemed altogether too good to be true.

“Would you like to go to the seaside with Diana?” enquired Aunt Hester at tea-time.

Rachel’s face of joy was such an answer that Aunt Hester laughed.

“Well, I think you may. I’ve just had a note from the child’s mother to say you could share a room with Diana at the hotel. They’ll be there for a week.... It will do her good to get out of London for a few days,” she went on, turning to Miss Moore. “She’s a country child, you see, and she’s beginning to look a little pale. A breath of sea air won’t hurt her.”

Rachel could have screamed for delight, and as though things could not happen too fortunately, just at that moment, Mr. Sheston was announced.

She hadn’t seen him for nearly a fortnight, so she would anyhow have been very glad of his arrival, but to-day, his coming seemed specially fortunate as a kind of sign that she had been right in offering consolation to Diana. A few minutes later, indeed, she was even more certain of it.

“It’s no use suggesting a visit to your favourite place of amusement,” said Aunt Hester, in a quizzical tone when she had welcomed the old gentleman and given him some tea. “Rachel is going to St. Mary’s Bay for a week with her little friend, so she’ll be far away from such entertainments as museums.”

“So shall I,” returned Mr. Sheston, helping himself to cake. “Curiously enough _I’m_ going to St. Mary’s Bay in a day or two for a little change of air.”

Rachel really _did_ scream for joy at this news, and when, after some eager questioning she discovered that Mr. Sheston was actually going to the very hotel in which Diana’s father and mother had taken rooms, she was almost sure that whatever else happened, she and Diana would not miss an “adventure.”

It was altogether delightful at St. Mary’s Bay. The weather was perfect. Diana’s father and mother were, next to her own, Rachel thought, the nicest father and mother in the world, and it was gratifying to find that they very much liked their little daughter’s new friend, Mr. Sheston. All day long, she and Rachel were out of doors, scrambling about bare-footed on the rocks, and enjoying themselves tremendously.

At intervals, of course, they discussed their chances of an adventure, and, as the magic seventh day approached, their excitement increased.

“It makes it such fun that he never says anything about the magic between whiles, doesn’t it?” Rachel observed on the morning of the day when something might be expected to happen. “He’s just like a nice old gentleman, except at ‘seven’ times. Can’t you imagine how people would stare at him if they knew he was Sheshà, and Dinocrates, and Cleon, and ever so many more?”

“And that he can make Alexander’s beautiful horse come back again to the world, and fly with us to Halicarnassus!” put in Diana with a laugh of triumph. “They only think he’s a dear, clever old gentleman who knows all about things in the British Museum. It’s jolly to be us and to know ever so much more about him than just _that_!”

“Don’t forget he’s promised to take us up the lighthouse this afternoon,” remarked Rachel, as they went into the hotel for lunch.

They reminded him of this promise almost before he had taken his place opposite to them at the table, and an arrangement was made to meet on the terrace outside, at three o’clock. “After I’ve had my nap,” said Mr. Sheston, in his character as an old gentleman who took care of himself and could not do without his midday sleep.

Punctually at three o’clock, however, he made his appearance on the terrace, and they all set out to walk to the lighthouse.

It was built at the end of a long spur of rock which jutted out from the bay for quite half a mile, and when at last they reached the strong stone tower, both children thought how lonely was the spot on which it stood.

It was great fun to climb the twisting stone staircase within the lighthouse and to come at last into the “lantern”—a round room at the top, from which there was a wonderful view of the great expanse of sea now calm and blue as any mountain lake.

“Oh, I should like to live up here!” exclaimed Diana, enthusiastically, when the lighthouse-keeper had explained all about the working of the great shining lamp.

“Ah, it’s all very well now, missie,” returned the old sailor-man, shaking his head. “But you wouldn’t like it so much on some of the nights we gets up here in the winter. To look at that there sea now, you’d never think, p’raps, what it’s like in the winter when there’s a great storm, and the waves come on mountains high, a-dashing all around, with the wind howlin’ and shrieking like a lot ’er wild animals, and the spray tossin’ right up to them there winders, and beatin’ against ’em like mad. And the birds—them sea-gulls flying round the light as they do—gettin’ all ’mazed-like and confused, dashin’ theirselves against the glass, poor things, an’ cryin’ most uncanny.... It’s wild enough up ’ere then, I can tell you. Not altogether comfortable-like either,” he added, with a broad smile.

“And it’s even worse for the poor sailors in the ships, isn’t it?” said Rachel, nodding seawards. “How glad they must be to see your light that keeps them from getting on to the rocks. I should think they feel awfully glad then that lighthouses are invented. How _were_ they invented?” she asked, suddenly turning to Mr. Sheston. “I mean who first thought of making a lighthouse?”

Scarcely had she asked the question, when the glass-encircled room, with its huge lantern, was blotted out in darkness. Another second and Rachel felt a fresh wind blowing in her face, and, before she had time to cry out to Diana, Diana herself gave a scream of amazement and delight.

“Rachel! Look—look! What is it? Where are we?” she cried.

For a moment Rachel paid no heed to the second question. She had no idea where she stood. She only knew that she was gazing upon something very strange and wonderful. It was night and quite dark, and she heard the sound of water lapping close to her feet. But her eyes were fixed upon something that looked like a gigantic lily rising out of the sea, and made visible by _flames_, which at its summit leapt and danced and streamed upwards towards the night sky.

“We’re on a _ship_,” whispered Diana, excitedly.

And then, for the first time, Rachel realised that she was standing on the deck of a vessel, and that all around her, sailors were moving, busy with ropes and sails as they shouted to one another in a language she did not understand.

The flames darting from the top of the wonderful column lighted up a great track of water between the ship and the coast, which was plainly visible in the red glare of the fire. So also was the ship that sailed over the illuminated sea, and the figures of the sailors on board. They were like no sailors she had ever seen, for they were clothed in a strange fashion, and wore curiously shaped caps.

“There is the first lighthouse,” said a well-known voice, and turning together, the children saw standing behind them—Mr. Sheston. Rachel, at any rate, knew it was Mr. Sheston, even though he looked quite different, and wore a tunic with a cloak thrown over his shoulders, for she was accustomed by this time to seeing him in various guises.

“Oh, _do_ tell us where we are,” she begged. “We’re on the sea, of course—but what sea is it? And how far are we back into the Past? And what is your name _this_ time?”

The tall dark man laughed.

“Let me take the questions singly. This is the Mediterranean Sea. We are about two thousand five hundred years back into the Past. The land there is the coast of Egypt. And my name you already know, for I am Dinocrates.”

“Oh, then it was you who built the Temple of Diana?” asked Rachel.

“And you were the little boy with the leopard skin? And afterwards—hundreds of years afterwards—you built the _first_ temple—and the second and third ones too,” cried Diana. “Mr. Sheston told us all about you, and——”

But here Diana paused, for she suddenly realised that Dinocrates and Mr. Sheston were one and the same.

Rachel had evidently come to a like conclusion, for all at once she said in a whisper, “I thought so.”

There was silence for a moment while both children, rather confused, were considering the strangeness of this. Then Rachel, who was never very long quiet, began again:

“There’s a great town behind the tower, isn’t there? When the flames blow backwards I can see the houses.”

“You behold the city of Alexandria.”

“Alexandria?” repeated Diana quickly. “That reminds me of—_last_ time. Bucephalus, you know, and Alexander the Great.... Has the town anything to do with him?”

“Everything,” answered Dinocrates. “He founded it, and gave to it his own name, the name by which men who live in your world of to-day, still call it. But it was I who built it,” he added. “That is, you understand, it was I who made the plans for the building of the city.”

“And did you build the lighthouse too?” asked Diana.

Dinocrates shook his head.

“Nay, not to me, but to another, do the sailors owe that tower of warning—the tower that has saved many lives.”

“Do tell us about it,” urged Rachel. “Who first thought of it? I suppose the sort of lights we have now with reflectors and all that, weren’t invented when _this_ lighthouse was made? But what a good idea to make flames come out at the top instead.”

“You shall hear the story of the lighthouse,” said Dinocrates, “but let us sit at our ease while I relate it.”

He pointed to a coil of ropes, and the children, settling themselves close together upon it, found that it made a most comfortable seat.

Dinocrates meanwhile wrapping his cloak about him lay full length upon the deck near them, and turned his face in the direction of the lily-white tower with its crown of leaping flames. For a moment he did not speak, and the children were so impressed by the wild beauty of the scene that they too were silent.

The vessel, as strange to their eyes as were the sailors who formed its crew, glided slowly and softly over the dark water on which lay a pathway of crimson light. To and fro moved the sailors, sometimes singing, sometimes laughing, sometimes shouting to one another as they went about their work, but paying no heed to their visitors.

The flames from the lighthouse rising and falling revealed a coastline with a fringe of white houses, and on the sea other ships moving in various directions, their sails sometimes lighted up brightly in the red glow of the fire.

Rachel, who had sunk into a sort of happy dream, started when at last their companion spoke.

“Do you remember,” he began, “what Bucephalus, that famous horse, has already told you concerning his master, Alexander the Great? How that he set out to conquer the world? Bucephalus has, I know, related to you how his master took the city of Halicarnassus in Asia Minor and visited the tomb of Mausolus, built by the sorrowing Queen Artemisia. That, however, was only the beginning of his victories.

“A little later, when all Asia Minor owned his sway, he turned his thoughts to Egypt and conquered _that_ country also. Sailing in his barge up the great river Nile which waters the land, he came at last to where it flows out into the sea—this very sea upon which you are now sailing. But he found no city there, such as by the light of that beacon fire you now behold. Only a few poor huts stood then at the mouth of the great river. ‘Here,’ thought Alexander, ‘is the place for a mighty port, and here a mighty town shall arise. But whom shall I employ to build such a city for me? Who is the greatest architect now living?’ Instantly my name was upon his lips. For, only a year before, he had seen the great new temple I had completed at Ephesus, in honour of Diana.

“At once he sent for me, and straight from the building of that temple in Ephesus I came hither. Let me now show you, little maids, what I found where now that lighthouse and that city stand. Rise, and bow with closed eyes seven times in the direction of the shore.”

Rachel and Diana needed no second invitation. They leapt to their feet and obeyed.

“Open now your eyes and behold,” said Dinocrates.

Again the children did as they were told, and found, scarcely to their surprise now, so accustomed to marvels had they grown, that the night had vanished. It was broad daylight, and the sun streamed down upon a bare rocky island separated by a narrow belt of sea from the mainland. There was no city, no lighthouse, only a few rough huts upon the rocky island round which the sea-gulls circled, uttering sad cries. A mighty river, flowing through miles of flat land, poured its waters into the sea close to the island.

“This,” said Dinocrates, when the children had gazed a moment at the scene, “was what I found, when, at the command of Alexander, I came hither to build the city. That bare island in front of the mainland was then, and is still called, the Isle of Pharos.”

He waited a moment.

“Close once again your eyes, and wait till I pronounce the magic number,” he presently directed.

At the word _seven_, the children looked again, and together uttered a long _Oh!_ of astonishment at the change which had taken place. There was the island indeed, but no longer bare and uninhabited. A gleaming bridge joined it on the land side to a city whose temples, open-air theatres, statues and monuments shone white and splendid in the sunshine. The whole, including three sides of the island, was enclosed by a mighty wall with turrets at intervals upon it, and the water space between the island and the city was now a harbour in which ships rode at anchor.

“There stands Alexandria as I built it over two thousand years ago,” said Dinocrates, quietly. “And there, bearing the same name, the name of Alexander the Great, it stands to-day. English sailors anchor their ships in its port, many English people live there, and it has heard the guns of the Great War that is just over.”

“Not like Babylon, or Ephesus—all in ruins,” murmured Rachel. “Alexandria has _lasted_.”

“It has lasted—but it no longer looks as you see it here. Time and change! Time and change!” murmured Dinocrates, softly. “It is a modern city now, and most of what _I_ built is ruins beneath its present squares and houses.”

“But there’s no lighthouse—even as we see the place now,” exclaimed Diana.