CHAPTER V

DICE--THE VENUS THROW

About the middle of the night Chrysis was awakened by three knocks at the door.

She was sleeping with her two friends Rhodis and Myrtocleia, and rising cautiously she went down and half opened the door.

A voice came from without. “Who is it, Djala? Who is it?” she asked.

“Naucrates wishes to speak to you. I told him that you were engaged.”

“Oh, how foolish! Most certainly I will see him. I am not engaged. Come in, Naucrates. I am in my chamber.”

She went back to bed. Naucrates remained for a moment at the door as if he feared to be indiscreet. The two girls, who were musicians, opened their sleepy eyes but could not rend themselves from their dreams.

“Sit down,” said Chrysis. “There need be no false modesty between us two. I know that you have not come to see me. What do you want?”

Naucrates was a well-known philosopher who for more than twenty years had been the lover of Bacchis and had not deceived her, though more from indolence than fidelity be it said. His grey hair was cut short, his beard was pointed after the manner of Demosthenes and his moustaches were even with his lips. He wore a great white woollen robe.

“I have brought you an invitation,” he said. “Bacchis is giving a dinner to-morrow to be followed by a fête. We shall be seven including yourself. Be sure you come.”

“A fête? What is the occasion?”

“She has given freedom to her most beautiful slave Aphrodisia. There will be dancers and musicians. I think your two friends are engaged to be there, and ought not to be here now. They are at this moment rehearsing at Bacchis’ house.”

“Oh! that is right,” Rhodis cried, “we had forgotten it. Arise, Myrto, we are very late.”

But Chrysis declared--

“No! not yet! It is too bad to take away my friends. If I had suspected I should not have admitted you. Oh! they are dressed already!”

“Our dresses are not very elaborate,” the girl answered. “We are not beautiful enough to spend much time over our toilettes.”

“Shall I then see you at the temple at some hour to-morrow?” Chrysis asked them.

“Yes, to-morrow morning, we shall take doves as our offering. I am taking a drachma from your purse, Chrysis. We shall not otherwise have the money to purchase them. Good-bye till to-morrow.”

They ran out. Naucrates gazed for some time at the door which had closed behind them, then he rose, saying--

“Can I tell Bacchis that she may reckon upon you?”

“I will come,” Chrysis replied.

The philosopher bowed to her and slowly departed.

As soon as he had gone Chrysis clasped her hands and spoke aloud although she was alone.

“Bacchis, Bacchis, he comes from her and does not know. Is the mirror then still in her possession? Demetrios has forgotten me. If he has hesitated on the first day, I am lost, he will do nothing. But it is quite possible that he has obtained it. Bacchis has other mirrors which she uses more often. Without a doubt she has not found out yet. Ye Gods! Ye Gods! there is no way of finding out. Ah! Djala! Djala!”

The slave entered.

“Give me my dice. I wish to throw them,” Chrysis said.

She tossed in the air the four dice.

“Oh! oh! Djala, look!”

The throw had resulted in the dice each presenting a different face. It was thirty-five chances to one against this happening and it was the highest scoring throw of all.

Djala coldly observed--

“What did you wish?”

“Quite true,” Chrysis said in disappointed tones. “I forgot to utter a wish. I thought of something but said nothing. Does not that count just the same?”

“I don’t think so; you must start again.”

Chrysis made a second throw. This time the result was not decisive, it resulted in both good and bad omens and required another throw to make its meaning clear.

The third throw Chrysis made with one of the dice only, and when she saw the result burst into tears.

Djala said nothing but was herself uneasy. Chrysis lay upon her bed weeping with her hair in disorder. At last she turned round with an angry movement.

“Why did you make me begin again? I am sure the first throw counted.”

“It would have done if you had expressed a wish, but you did not. You are the only one who knows what your desire was.”

“Besides, dice prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in it. I am going to try something else.”

She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took from the table a box of white counters, selected twenty-two of them, and then with the point of a pearl hook scratched one after the other the letters of the Hebrew alphabet upon them.

“I rely upon this. It never deceives one,” she said. “Raise the front of your robe, that shall be my bag.”

She threw the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating in her mind--

“Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?”

She drew out the tenth arcanum which clearly meant--

“Yes.”