Chapter II: Part 2

Rachel scarcely knew in which direction to look first, so glorious was the view. She saw that each of the four sides of the wall was pierced by gigantic gates made of bronze—all the gates opening upon broad streets which crossed one another, so that the whole city was divided into squares, filled with gardens and houses. The broad river flowed through it from north to south, and over the river hung a mighty bridge, at each end of which was a palace.

It was difficult for Rachel to make up her mind in which direction to turn her eyes, but the sight of something that appeared like a forest-covered mountain rising near one of the palaces, was so lovely that she pointed to it and turned to Salome.

“What a beautiful mountain!” she exclaimed. “How funny there should be only _one_—because the rest of the country is so flat. There isn’t another hill as far as ever I can see,” she added, glancing over the wide plain in which the city lay.

Salome smiled.

“That is no mountain,” she said. “It was made by human hands. It is the great glory of our city, and, so my mistress says, in time to come, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon will be called one of the Wonders of the World.”

Rachel started. “There are seven Wonders of the World,” she began, eagerly. “I’ve seen one of them already—the Great Pyramid, you know. And now——”

“I have heard of the Pyramid in the land of Egypt,” Salome interrupted. “But come now and see more closely _our_ wonder—the Garden that is like no other in the world.”

She took Rachel’s hand, and in a few moments they had entered the city through a gate which Rachel noticed was covered with tiles of blue enamel as brilliant as the sky above them. And on either side of the gate, like sentinels, stood huge winged bulls carved in stone. But how different they looked here, she thought, in the golden sunshine, with the wonderful blue tiles behind them, and their great shadows, black as ink, stretching on either hand!

“This is one of the new gates built by our king,” Salome told her. “He has caused inscriptions to be written about them so that all the world may know what adornments he has added to our fair city of Babylon. Our city that shall last for ever,” she added proudly.

Rachel glanced at her, and thought of a great rubbish heap she had recently seen—“_the mound called Babil which covers the palace in which dwelt King Nebuchadnezzar nearly three thousand years ago_”—she remembered the very words of Sheshà.... How amazing it was to be walking with this little girl in the very city that now lay under a mound of earth! To be talking to a little girl who lived nearly three thousand years ago, and had no idea that her home was even now being dug up in fragments by men living in the world to-day!... For a moment it all seemed too puzzling to be true. Rachel rubbed her eyes with her disengaged hand, and half expected the whole vision to disappear. Yet when she looked again, the lovely scene still lay before her, and she could feel the warmth of Salome’s little brown hand within her own.

“I must be getting used to the Past,” she reflected. “Because now I can _feel_ as well as see the people. They didn’t seem quite real when I was with Sheshà in Egypt. But now it’s different. Is it because _these_ people didn’t live quite so far back into the Past as King Cheops and his slaves, I wonder?”

She glanced again at the grave, strangely clad little girl at her side, who talked as though she were quite grown up.

“I mustn’t say anything about the rubbish mound, or tell her anything about the sort of world _I_ belong to,” she reflected hurriedly. “She wouldn’t understand. I suppose she thinks I’m living in her times, but have just never happened to see Babylon before. And that’s quite true!” she added to herself, with a little inward chuckle.

While such thoughts as these were hurrying through her mind, she was looking right and left, full of eager curiosity, for the bridge she was crossing was thronged with amazing figures.

Men with black, curling beards, bare-legged, and bare-armed, wearing tunics of brilliant colours, passed her. Some of these were seated upon the backs of camels following one another in long lines. The soft-footed, grey beasts were loaded with merchandise, and the bales on either side of their humped backs swayed as they moved. They were decked fantastically with trappings of plaited scarlet wool, hung with tassels of brilliant colour. After such a procession of camels and their drivers, would come perhaps a chariot with four horses abreast, driven by a fierce-looking man in a gorgeous fringed robe, whose dark eyes flashed like jewels in his bronzed face. Following one such chariot, she saw a group of girls in gauzy tunics, bracelets on their arms, tinkling anklets above their feet, dancing as they came, and singing a wild song as they tossed their arms above their heads.

“They are going to the Temple of Belus,” explained Salome, as Rachel stood still to look at them.

She turned round and pointed with her little brown forefinger to a great building at the other end of the bridge.

“Later, if there is still time, you shall see the temple of the great God. But let us hasten now towards the gardens, for there, in the cool of the day, the queen walks with her maidens, and I must be in attendance.”

Rachel was torn between her longing to be actually within the wonderful Hanging Garden and her desire to linger on the bridge which afforded such a magnificent view. She gazed with delight upon the broad shining river which divided the city, and upon the ships with gracefully curved sails which, rowed by almost naked slaves, moved to and fro over its surface.

Some of these ships were drawn up against the quays which lined the river, as far as eye could reach, and Rachel saw a swarming multitude of men staggering under corded chests of wood which the ships had brought to be unloaded.

Salome stopped to watch the slaves at their work.

“That is merchandise for the palace, I trust,” she observed. “We have awaited it too long, and the queen grows angry.”

“What sort of things are in those boxes?” Rachel asked.

“Ivory and ebony for the thrones, and for the couches and the chariots, emeralds and fine linen, and coral and agate. Spices from Arabia and precious stones and gold,” answered Salome, in a sort of chanting voice.

Rachel gasped. It sounded like a fairy tale. Yet she remembered something like it—Where was it? In the Bible, surely!

Just as the thought of the Bible crossed her mind, a group of men passed close to her. They were dressed rather differently from the other people around her, their faces, too, looked different, and their eyes were very sad.

“Who are those men?” she enquired, looking back over her shoulder. “They look so unhappy—and _homesick_, somehow.” Rachel knew what it was to be homesick!

Salome glanced at them carelessly. “They are Hebrews who call themselves the Children of Israel. Our king, the great Nebuchadnezzar—may he live for ever—conquered their country and took their treasures from Jerusalem, their chief city, and brought many of them here to Babylon to live. They hate us, and we despise them.”

Rachel started as the words of the psalm darted into her mind. “_By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down.... We hanged our harps upon the willows_....” She had heard this sung in church, and it had meant nothing to her but just “a psalm.” Yet, here before her very eyes now, was one of “the rivers.” There were “the willows” fringing streams which flowed through the innumerable gardens, and she had just met some of the captive Jews! Rachel gasped again as all these things became “real” to her—something that had actually happened—was, in fact, happening before her eyes.

“It’s awful to be homesick,” she murmured, rather to herself than to Salome, who, without replying, ran on in front of her to a flight of steps at the end of the bridge.

“This is one of the entrances to the Hanging Garden,” she explained, looking back. “We must hasten, lest my mistress calls for me.”

Rachel followed her from terrace to terrace, too overwhelmed with delight at the glimpses of beauty she caught right and left to say a word. She saw that the whole garden was supported, tier above tier, by gigantic arches, and Salome told her each terrace was made of plates of lead, holding earth so deep that great forest trees could grow in it. If she had not known this, the whole place would have seemed to Rachel as though blossoming by magic in the heart of a forest growing in mid-air. She could scarcely believe it was not the work of some magician.

By the time they reached the uppermost terrace, on a level with the city wall, she was not only breathless, but struck dumb by the beauty and wonder of everything round her.

Mighty cedar trees spread their layers of branches between her and the burning blue sky. The air was perfumed with the scent from groves of lemon trees. Fountains tossed their sparkling drops high into the sunshine. Red roses swept in cascades from her feet down the slope to the terraces below. Along paths paved with tiles of sapphire-blue enamel, peacocks walked delicately with outspread tails, and far below, within its four-square walls, the city of Babylon lay glittering in such brilliant sunshine as in her own country she had never dreamt of, nor faintly imagined.

And now, before she had time to recover from her amazement, a new sight was presented, for, coming slowly in her direction, but as yet in the distance, a group of people approached. In the midst of them, as the little procession drew nearer, Rachel saw a lovely woman leaning back in a litter slung between ivory poles and borne by four slaves. The litter was covered with silk hangings of a rich purple, and a fringed canopy of the same material supported on poles also of ivory, was held above the swinging couch by four dark-skinned girls.

“The Queen Amytis,” whispered Salome, and Rachel drew back in sudden fright. “She will wonder who I am—and I shan’t know what to say,” she began, hurriedly. “I don’t know how to talk to queens.”

“Have no fear, she will not see you. No one here sees you but me. That is the work of Sheshà, who is greatest of all magicians and has entrusted you to me, why I know not—nor do I know with any certainty who you are. But he has commanded me to be your guide here in Babylon. No one sees, no one hears you but I alone.”

Wondering greatly, but feeling much relieved, Rachel watched the slaves as very carefully they set down the litter close to a throne-like seat, covered with silken pillows. The arms of the chair she noticed, were two-winged bulls in stone, and the back of it shone with enamelled tiles and plates of gold. The maidens now surrounded their mistress, helping her to rise from the litter, and, as she sank into the great chair, Rachel gazed at her wonderful robe, made of stuff like gossamer, clasped with a great jewel at the waist. Her slim, olive-coloured feet were bare, and, to Rachel’s amazement, she saw the gleam of emeralds in rings upon her toes! On her bare arms and neck there were jewels, also, and there were emeralds in the fillet that bound her beautiful black hair.

Never had Rachel ever dreamt of such a vision! Never indeed could she have imagined such luxury and magnificence as she had seen since she entered Babylon.

“It’s like—like the stories in the Arabian Nights,” she thought, confusedly. Presently the queen spoke in that language which sounded strange to her ears, but which with her _mind_ she somehow understood quite well.

“Listen! One can hear the singing from the Temple of Belus.”

“To-day is a high festival. They offer sacrifices to the God,” answered one of her maidens. “There has been great stir in the city since sunrise.”

“But when the darkness falls there will be silence, and the wise men on the topmost tower will watch the stars.”

Queen Amytis said this as though to herself. Her great dark eyes were fixed upon the shining city below, and Rachel thought she looked sad and anxious.

“The most high God will protect our lord the king on his perilous journey,” one of her maidens declared consolingly. “And the wise men will surely learn good tidings from the stars,” added another.

The queen did not reply, and Rachel looked enquiringly at Salome, who was lying full length on a great tiger-skin stretched in front of her mistress’s chair.

“Sit near me,” said the little maid, making room for her. “No one else sees or hears you. What is it you would ask?”

“Tell me about the temple,” whispered Rachel. “That temple of Belus.”

She could see it very distinctly from where she sat, a wonderful building with a number of storeys piled up one above the other, each storey covered with glazed tiles of a colour different from that above and below.

“It is the Tower of the Seven Planets—the Temple of Belus, who is the God of our city,” Salome told her. “Our great king has lately built it where once stood, so they say, the Tower of Babel.”

“The Tower of Babel? That’s in the Bible!” But a glance at Salome’s face showed her that she didn’t know anything about the Bible—and she remembered that the gods Salome and all the people here worshipped were those the Bible called “false gods.”

“Of the Tower of Babel I know nothing but its name,” said Salome, shrugging her shoulders. “It stood doubtless long ago. But this is a new temple built, as they say, on its ruins. It is of seven colours, because each of the seven planets has a different colour, so the wise men who study the stars declare. And within the temple there stands a golden image of the god Belus, and a golden altar upon which the priests burn frankincense and all sweet scents in honour of the god.”

“But the queen said the wise men watch the stars there?”

“Even so. At night on the topmost storey of the tower, the priests study the sky. They are great astronomers, and have learnt wonderful things about the heavenly bodies, all of which are written down so that their knowledge may not be lost to people who live after them.”

“Then I suppose that’s how _we_ began to know about the stars,” thought Rachel. “Through these people who lived here in Babylon thousands of years ago.” It was very strange to think of this, and strange also, and sad, to remember that what Salome called “the new temple” was now nothing but a heap of half-buried ruins! And, yet, there in some magic way lay Salome before her eyes, her anklets tinkling when she moved, and her little face full of life. And there sat the lovely queen, surrounded by her maidens in their transparent robes! And the cedar trees murmured overhead, and from the groves of lemon trees sweet scents were blown, and below lay the marvellous city.

Rachel grew so confused that it was with difficulty she could prevent herself from saying aloud all she was feeling. And this, as somehow she knew, would be the greatest possible mistake.

“The queen is sad because the king is away, isn’t she?”

The question was put hurriedly, in case she should betray herself.

“Yes. Our great King Nebuchadnezzar is in Egypt, fighting against his enemies. May he be preserved! The queen longs for tidings of him.”

Just at that moment the sound of quick footsteps on the blue tiled path, behind the queen’s chair, made Rachel turn her head. A slave was running in haste along an upper terrace.

The queen also turned and half rose from her throne-like seat as the messenger, drawing near, threw himself face downward on the ground before her, and then, rising and bowing low, put something into her hand.

“A letter, perchance, from the king,” whispered Salome eagerly.

“A letter?” repeated Rachel, looking with curiosity at the strange object.

It certainly bore no resemblance to the letters she knew, for it looked something like a thin square brick, and though it had an envelope, that envelope was made of _clay_ instead of paper, and had a seal upon it.

Feeling quite sure by now that she was invisible to all but the eyes of Salome, she ran to the back of the queen’s chair and watched her break the seal, and take out what it contained. This proved to be a small brick tablet. Upon it was carved some writing that was like, yet unlike, the hieroglyphics she had seen in Egypt, for the letters of which the writing was composed were wedge-shaped, with curious dots and arrow-heads every here and there between them.

And then, smiling happily, the queen began to read the brick aloud.

“_Unto Amytis, my queen whom I love, who loveth me_, say, _It is well with me._ With thee also may it be well.... Let the wife of the king, my lady, be of good cheer, for a messenger of good luck from Belus walketh beside the king of the world....”

Still smiling, she looked round her at her maidens, who all bowed low and murmured together.

“Our lord the king, may he live for ever.”

“The great god Belus, as you hear, protects him!” exclaimed Salome, turning to Rachel.

Suddenly the queen clapped her hands, and at the signal, her maidens snatched up the musical instruments they had laid aside, and their brown fingers began to sweep the strings of curiously shaped harps and lyres as they sang a chant of rejoicing....

The sun was setting, and as she lay stretched out upon the tiger skin, Rachel saw the city below her glowing like a heap of jewels within the casket of its walls. The broad river was washed with gold, and reflected in its depths she saw the purple and embroidered sails of the ships passing and repassing, as they brought gold and ivory, fine linen and precious stones, to enrich still further the magnificence of Babylon. The long line of quays formed a white, glittering fringe on either side of the river. In the gardens and open courtyards between the houses the palms and cedar trees and masses of flowers shone like coloured fire, and the great temple of Belus towering towards the sky, with its seven storeys of seven colours, might have been the enchanted palace of a magician. Rachel gazed and gazed as though she wanted to fix the vision of so much loveliness upon her mind for ever.

But her last look after all was for the beauty of the garden in which she sat—the Hanging Garden that might well, she thought, be called one of the World’s Wonders! For the sun’s last rays lent an even greater magic to the lemon groves, to the leaping cascades which flowed from the upper terrace and were lost among the forest trees beneath; to the pyramids of gorgeous flowers and to the group of singing girls surrounding their lovely queen. Their gauzy robes were dyed with crimson light, the jewels on the queen’s head-dress and on the brown hands touching the harp-strings gleamed dazzlingly, and the voices of the singers mingled with the deep hum of voices floating upwards from the swarming multitudes below.

“Is not our Babylon well called ‘_the lady of kingdoms_’?” whispered Salome. “It shall endure for ever, and in ages to come men will travel hither to see its glories, and to gaze upon this our Hanging Garden—one of the Wonders of the World.”

Rachel turned to look at the grave little girl who spoke like a woman, yet was perhaps no older than herself.

For a moment she saw her great dark mournful eyes, and then, the whole scene, the garden, the great city below with its towers and palaces, disappeared. For yet another moment she saw the dreary desert, the three great mounds of earth under the blue sky, and almost at the same instant, she was walking in a gallery lined with cases, containing stones, bricks, and various other dull-coloured objects.... “These don’t look much like the letters the postman brings every morning, do they?” Mr. Sheston was saying. “Yet they are the sort of letters the Babylonians wrote to one another. These marks on the bricks were made with a metal stick, when the clay was still moist and soft, and then the tablet was baked, so that the writing should last practically for ever.”

“I know!” cried Rachel. “The queen had a letter from the king Nebuchadnezzar, and it was in a sort of clay envelope. And she read it out, and—”

But Mr. Sheston only smiled, and went on telling her about the “brick letters” hundreds of which had already been discovered in the ruins that cover Babylon!

It was a curious smile, and in some way it told Rachel that she must not talk much to Mr. Sheston about Sheshà—even though they were one and the same person.... “Why, even the beginnings of their names are alike!” she thought, suddenly.

“Yes, the Babylonians were wonderful people,” the old man exclaimed. “They were astronomers as well as sculptors and metal workers, you know. They built high towers from which they studied the stars. You may imagine what a splendid view of the sky they would have from these towers rising out of a flat country into air so absolutely clear that the stars look enormously big and bright.”

“And they told fortunes by the stars, didn’t they?” Rachel asked, remembering the king’s letter.

“Yes, they were _astrologers_, too—that is they believed that certain planets had an effect on people’s lives. But, putting that on one side, we have to thank them for the beginning of all the marvellous discoveries that later astronomers have made.... Well, now, my dear,” he went on, presently, just like any other kind old gentleman, “I’m sure you’re ready for tea and buns.”

Rachel was quite ready, and she also quite understood that “Mr. Sheston” and “Sheshà” wished to have very little to do with one another.

So she only said, when, half an hour later, the old man left her at Aunt Hester’s door:

“Thank you _ever_ so much. I shall never forget Babylon, and—and—the Hanging Garden, you know. But there are five more Wonders of the World, aren’t there?” She could not help adding this, nor could she help a beseeching glance at Mr. Sheston.

He laughed. “We’ll see about them, perhaps,” he said. But Rachel ran into the house quite satisfied.

THIRD WONDER

One morning, several days later, Rachel received a long letter from her father, in answer to one she had written to him before making the acquaintance of Mr. Sheston. (Though, indeed, as she remembered, she had even then met him without knowing it!)

“You talk about the British Museum,” he wrote, “and that reminds me of a dear old friend of mine who works there. I don’t think I’ve ever told you about Mr. Sheston, have I? And now I come to think of it I don’t believe I’ve told _anyone_ all he meant to me when I was a little boy, no older than you are now. I’ve never seen him since, but he was better to me then than a thousand beautiful mysterious books. He used to tell me the most wonderful stories, and I’ve never forgotten them. He must be a very old man now. (I thought him very old _then_, but, of course, he wasn’t really.) I believe he sometimes goes to see your Aunt Hester, and I want you to meet him. Perhaps he will tell you some of the strange things he told me. Perhaps even you will have ‘adventures’ when you’re with him! And perhaps not. Anyhow, if you _do_ have ‘adventures,’ take my advice and don’t talk about them. People as a rule don’t understand Mr. Sheston, and some of them say all sorts of silly things about him, and even think he’s mad. He isn’t. He’s the _oldest_ and the wisest man in the world.”

Rachel folded up the letter feeling very happy. She and “Daddy” were great friends, and she was as she said to herself “frightfully glad” that Dad had known Mr. Sheston when he was a little boy. That hint he gave about “adventures” pleased her very much, as also his remark about Mr. Sheston being the oldest man in the world! Oh, yes, certainly Dad had passed through the same sort of experiences as those she had enjoyed since her meeting with his old friend. That was a splendid thought. And all at once she remembered that Dad also was the seventh child in his family. “So _he’s_ mixed up with _sevens_ too,” was her next reflection. “He’s one of the lucky people—like me. He’ll be awfully interested when he gets my last letter to say I’ve met Mr. Sheston already!”

That very same morning, Aunt Hester had a note from the old man to ask if Miss Moore would be kind enough to bring Rachel to tea at his house the following day, at three o’clock. “I will bring her back again myself. Don’t trouble to answer this, because I shall rely upon seeing Rachel at the appointed time.”

Aunt Hester brought the note into the schoolroom, and, after reading it aloud, laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders.

“This is a _command_,” she said, addressing Miss Moore. “He always gets his own way. Will you see that the child arrives punctually?”

Rachel wanted to jump for joy.

“It’s exactly seven days since the last time I saw him,” she exclaimed. “How exciting!”

Mr. Sheston’s house was tucked away in a little quiet square, near the Museum. It had a narrow front-door with a brass knocker that shone with much polishing, and above it, in the shape of a crescent, panes of glass divided by a tracery in white plaster.

Within, the walls of hall and staircase were panelled with dark wood, and the room into which Rachel followed her host after Miss Moore had left her was, she thought, the nicest she had ever seen.

It had three windows, and was long and low, and like the hall, panelled right up to the ceiling. There were cushioned window-seats, and books everywhere, and great bowls of spring flowers on the tables. And in an old-fashioned grate with hobs, a fire sparkled cheerfully, for it was a cold gloomy afternoon.

Tea was laid on a table in front of the fire, and in a few moments the dearest old woman in a frilled close-fitting cap and a spotless apron, entered, bringing a teapot and a kettle, which she placed on the hob.

She smiled at Rachel.

“The very image of her father, isn’t she, sir?” she remarked.

“Oh! Did you know Dad?” enquired Rachel, joyfully.

“Martha has known all my young friends,” said Mr. Sheston.

“Many’s the time your father has sat where you’re sitting now, my dear,” the old woman continued. “He was no older than you then, and had just your look.”

She went out of the room quietly, leaving Rachel much interested, and glad to be in a place that Dad had once known well.

She would like to have asked all sorts of questions about her father when he was a little boy, but, remembering his letter, she felt in some curious way that it would be better not to do so.

Tea was a most cosy and delicious meal, but it was only after old Martha had cleared the table and swept up the hearth that Rachel said rather disappointedly—“Then we’re not going to the British Museum?” Mr. Sheston smiled. “Not to-day. I’m going to tell you a story instead. But first you’ll have to listen to a little lecture.” He took an atlas from one of the book-shelves, and opened it on the table before her. “The story I am going to tell you has something to do with Greece, and in order that you may understand it better, I want you first to look at this. It is a map of Europe as it was three thousand years ago, showing the countries round the Mediterranean Sea. All the parts of the countries that belonged to Greece in those days are coloured pink.”

Rachel looked, and saw many pink islands in the Mediterranean Sea, as well as pink strips along the coast of Asia Minor, and even a pink tip to the heel of Italy.

“The Greek people had a lot of land—only all scattered about,” she remarked.

Mr. Sheston nodded.

“Like England, it was a little country owning a lot of land—‘scattered about,’ as you say. Well now, these islands were the Greek colonies, just as India and South Africa and Australia are our colonies. Again, like the English, the Greeks were great colonists. They sent out their people to live and build and work in places sometimes far distant from the mother country. But now I want you to find on the map one particular island-colony called _Rhodes_.”

“Here it is!” cried Rachel, in a minute, putting her finger on a pink-coloured spot. “It’s a good long way from Greece,” she observed, “and quite close to Asia Minor.”

“It belonged to Greece, however,” said Mr. Sheston, folding up the map. “I only want you to remember its name, and where it is. Now come and look at this statue.”

He got up, and Rachel followed him to a recess on which stood a beautiful little figure of a god.

“That is a god called Phœbus Apollo,” said Mr. Sheston. “To the Greeks he meant all the best things in the world—the sun, poetry, music, wisdom and truth, and everything that is free and beautiful.”

“The gods they worshipped in Egypt and Babylon weren’t beautiful,” said Rachel. “But this god _is_. He’s much better than the others.”

“Because the Greeks themselves were in some ways higher and better than the Egyptians or the Babylonians. They were thinkers and artists, and their minds were free. Therefore they were able to imagine beautiful gods, and they became the greatest race of people that ever lived.... Do you remember the name of their chief city?”

“Athens,” answered Rachel, who was rather good at geography.

“Yes, Athens,” repeated Mr. Sheston, softly. “Wonderful Athens! Well, now, my dear, I can begin my story, asking you to remember that Greece had many colonies, peopled by Greeks whose general life was very much like the life led by the citizens of Athens in the mother country. They worshipped the same gods—Phœbus Apollo amongst them—and they were, in fact, part of the Grecian Empire....”

He was silent for a minute or two, and the room was so quiet and restful that Rachel had almost begun to feel pleasantly drowsy when she heard his voice again. “What I am going to tell you, I once told your father years ago in this very room, and he sat just where you are sitting now,” he said. Before she had time to make a reply, he began the story, and though his first words ought, as Rachel afterwards reflected, to have been rather startling, they seemed perfectly natural, for she was getting used to the idea that, as Dad said, Mr. Sheston was “the _oldest_ man in the world.”

* * * * *

“When I was a little boy, nearer three than two thousand years ago, I lived in the island of Rhodes. You know where it is, because a minute or two ago, you found it on the map, and saw it marked in the Mediterranean Sea as an island some long way from Greece.

“In the map, it was nothing but a little blotch coloured pink, so it’s not surprising if you have no idea what _I_ see, when I remember Rhodes as I knew it nearly three thousand years ago. I’ll describe the vision that rises before me now.

“First of all, my own home. It is a big white house with pillars at the entrance, and a flat roof, standing in a garden full of roses that slopes down almost to the harbour of the town of Rhodes. The harbour is full of ships—our own, and those from Tyre and Athens and Smyrna, and all the great seaports on the Mediterranean—ships with curious curved sails, some of them purple and embroidered with strange devices.”

(“Like the ships from Tyre I saw at Babylon,” thought Rachel, though she did not care to interrupt.)

“Beyond the great harbour with its crowded shipping and merchandise of green and purple figs, heaps of dates, bales of fine muslin and linen, chests—some full of spices, others of gold and ivory—lies the sea, blue as the bluest sapphire, over which, going and coming from every harbour of every country whose shores touched the Mediterranean, ships go sailing. That is the picture I have in my mind when I think of Rhodes as I knew it ages ago.

“My name in those days was Cleon, and I had a beautiful mother, and a little sister called Penelope.

“But before I go on, I must tell you that by the time I came into the world, Athens, our mother city, where my father had been born, was no longer so great and powerful as it had been in the days a hundred years before my time. All sorts of trouble had come to Greece. It had been conquered by a certain king called Alexander the Great, who died just before I was born, and all the time I was a child, the generals of his army were quarrelling among themselves—each one trying to get the largest share of all the great kingdoms their master King Alexander had won. You will ask what that had to do with Rhodes, and with my beautiful home, and with the happiness of everyone I loved. It had all too much to do with us, as I will explain.

“Our island had indeed been conquered by Alexander the Great, but fifty years before I was born we had regained our liberty, had become a republic and also the greatest sea nation in the world. But now, though the great conqueror himself was dead, one of his generals, jealous of our power, determined to subdue us and make us slaves again. This man’s name was Demetrius, and, because he had become so famous in war, he was generally called Demetrius, the Besieger of Cities.

“I was twelve years old when the news came that this dreaded Demetrius had declared war on Rhodes, and was coming to besiege us, and never shall I forget the speech my father (who was Governor of Rhodes) made to the citizens that day!

“‘We are Greeks,’ he said, ‘and worthy children of Athens, our mother city. Never will we yield to Demetrius! Let us prepare for the greatest siege that has ever been known.’

“A great shout answered him, and my father at once began to make preparations.

“‘First of all,’ he said, ‘every useless person must be sent out of Rhodes.’ That meant all the women and children, and all men who were not strong enough to fight. For, in the long siege that was expected, there would not be sufficient food for anyone but workmen and soldiers. Workmen must instantly begin to make every sort of warlike weapon, including machines as far as possible like those which Demetrius would certainly employ against the city. Other workmen must strengthen its walls, toiling day and night. Everyone in fact must labour as they had never done before. I followed him from the marketplace that day full of dread. If all the children were to go, should I have to leave Rhodes just at this stirring time, when I so longed to be in the midst of things? Yet I dared not ask my father to let me stay, for I knew I must not trouble him with my affairs when he had the whole town’s business on his mind. I was very miserable, for I knew he intended to send me, with my mother and little sister, to Athens. But you shall hear how it was that I after all remained in Rhodes through the whole dreadful siege.

“One of our greatest friends was a certain young sculptor called Chares. He was very fond of me, and deeply interested in a curious gift which, even as a child, I possessed. My greatest amusement and interest had always been to draw _plans_ of houses and towns, and I drew them so correctly and well that everyone was amazed, for I had never been taught. To _me_ there was nothing wonderful about this, for it seemed quite easy, and I could never understand why Chares looked upon my work with so much astonishment.

“As soon as I dared I began to beg and entreat not to be sent away, till my father, growing angry, silenced me, and I was just creeping off miserably when Chares, who was with us, spoke.

“He had picked up a plan of the town on which I had been working, and I saw him studying it attentively, all the time I was begging to stay.

“‘Yield to the boy, Hippias,’ he exclaimed, suddenly. ‘Who knows that this gift of his,’ he tapped the paper he held, ‘may not be of value? I think he should remain with us.’

“My father looked from me to Chares, and, after a moment’s silence, said quietly, and to my great joy, ‘So be it. That is’—turning to me—he went on: ‘if you can bear hunger and even wounds perhaps, like a man. We must have no whimpering children in Rhodes.’

“I felt I could bear anything if only I might remain, and I was unspeakably grateful to my dear Chares for his interference. I knew my father not only trusted him greatly, but also had an idea that he was favoured by the gods, and could look into the future. It was because _he_ pleaded for me that my wish was granted.

“In a few days I was the youngest person left in Rhodes, which was now filled only with soldiers and workmen. Those were wonderful days when we waited for the coming of the fleet that was to destroy us! Almost every hour fresh troops were landed, for the countries that were friendly to us sent us soldiers in plenty. Many of them were our own countrymen—Greeks from other colonies, who rejoiced to fight with us, and arrived shouting, singing, and full of delight. All day long I ran here, there and everywhere in the town. Now I was down by the harbour to see a fresh ship full of warriors come sailing in; now I walked round the city walls to watch the workmen strengthening and repairing them. But most time of all I spent in the sheds where the great war engines were being built, for these fascinated me beyond measure, and I wondered whether even the celebrated Demetrius had better or larger ones than those we were making. I was soon to know.

“My father had brought me up to reverence the gods, and the chief god of our worship was Phœbus Apollo—lord of the sun which poured its light so gloriously upon our island, and ripened our grapes and figs, and made the whole land lovely and pleasant to the sight.

“In our garden there was a little white marble temple, and in it, with an altar in front, stood a beautiful statue of the god, made by our friend, Chares, the sculptor. Here I often went to pray for victory. One morning I woke before sunrise, and the loveliness of the sky made me wish to worship the god of the approaching day.

“Like a vast mirror the scarcely heaving sea reflected the pink glow of the sky, where little golden clouds like feathers floated just above the horizon, and a broad band of amber was growing momentarily brighter.

“I rose quickly from my place on the roof, and, running past rooms filled with sleeping soldiers (for our house had been turned into a barracks), made my way into the garden all mysterious, dim and dewy in the dawn.

“I crossed wet lawns, stopped to pick a handful of the roses that poured in a crimson torrent from a stone urn, and then ran on to the grove of lemon trees in which stood the temple.

“To my surprise I found someone there before me. A dark figure stood within. Just at that moment, the first ray of the risen sun darted like a golden arrow between the pillars of the temple, and the marble statue of the god appeared bathed in dazzling light.

“The figure I had seen was now kneeling at the foot of the altar, and I recognised Chares.

“Very softly I crept into the temple, and, dropping my roses on the altar, knelt beside him.

“Then Chares rose to his feet, and stretching out his arms, prayed aloud. His words, spoken in the Greek tongue, sounded like beautiful poetry, but I can only give you in another and different language, a poor idea of the prayer he offered to Phœbus Apollo.

“‘O mighty lord of the sun and of all the beauty in striving for which men are raised above the beasts that perish, grant us victory in the coming strife. I, Chares, thy worshipper, who have many times fashioned in thine honour statues which but faintly show forth my dreams of thy perfection, do make a vow before thee here, at the rising of the sun, that, if to thy people of Rhodes comes the victory we crave, I will raise to thy glory such a statue as never man yet beheld—the Wonder of the World, an everlasting sign of thy mercy, the best and last work of my hands.’

“The little temple was flooded with sunlight, and the heap of roses on the altar was glowing like a crimson fire, when Chares turned, and, seeing me beside him, laid his hand on my shoulder. We moved out of the temple, and he was just going to speak when I pointed with a cry to the horizon. Crowding sails were in sight, and Chares started. ‘They come!’ he exclaimed. ‘At what better moment than after my prayer and vow?’

“But, even before the last words were uttered, such a shout went up from the harbour and the town as to make my heart beat and set me trembling with excitement. From the house, across the lawns to the gates which led to the seashore, the soldiers came rushing, and, in a few moments, Rhodes was humming and buzzing like a hornet’s nest.

“So the famous siege of Rhodes began. You will read all about it when you are older, for it was one of the most celebrated sieges in history. To me, as to hundreds of others, it was a time which, though full of excitement, was still more full of misery and sorrow. My dear father was killed fighting bravely, and many, many of our friends.

“Months passed, and sometimes we won a victory, breaking through the enemy forces, and sometimes Demetrius, with his terrible war machines, triumphed. He had succeeded in landing on our island and was encamped on a hill near our city, while _we_ within _our_ walls, resisted all his efforts to break them down.

“After nine or ten months of fighting, our sailors won a splendid victory against the fleet of Demetrius, and the temples of the gods were crowded with worshippers giving thanks for our success.

“Since my father’s death, Chares had lived with me in our once beautiful house (now a barracks for the soldiers), and he and I preferred to worship in our own little private temple of Phœbus Apollo. When we left it that day, the sun was setting, and the roses, which during the war had grown in wild profusion, almost smothered the shrine, and made it look as though set in the midst of scarlet flames.

“Chares glanced back at it, and put his hand on my shoulder.

“‘Cleon,’ he said, ‘if the statue I have in mind ever rises to the honour of the god, it will be through _you_.’

“I was startled and impressed by his words which I did not understand. How could I, still a child, and not even allowed to fight, have anything to do with victory—if victory ever came? For we knew that Demetrius had but retired to bring fresh forces against us. I began to say something like this, but Chares paid no heed to my words.

“‘Are you keeping your drawings and plans in safety?’ he asked, as though to change the subject. For he knew that my days now were chiefly occupied in making plans of different parts of the city, and also careful drawings of our own, as well as of the enemy’s war machines. This I did to amuse myself, and often, though Chares did not know this, ran into great danger in my eagerness to see something I thought useful or important, more closely.

“‘How do you think this gift has come to you?’ asked Chares presently, when I had assured him that I kept all my drawings.

“And when I said I had never thought about it, and did not consider it a ‘gift,’ because to me it was like a kind of game, he replied gravely,

“‘Some day you will know.’

“We were not left long to enjoy our victory, for soon rumours began to fly about which filled us with anxiety.

“Demetrius, beaten for the time, had indeed retired, but it was known that he had invented, and was building, a new and a more terrible war engine than had ever before been designed. By this time, in Rhodes, we were nearly starving, for our food was almost all gone, and Phrynis, our general, was full of anxiety, for though he did not doubt the courage of our troops, he knew they could not fight if they were weak for lack of nourishment. You may imagine his relief when, just at the blackest moment of despair, some ships sent by our friend, the King of Egypt, managed to get past the watching fleet of the enemy, laden with corn, and, a few days afterwards, other ships arrived with fresh troops to help our tired men.

“After they had rested and been well fed, Phrynis gave orders for soldiers and sailors to prepare for the great machine which would soon be at our gates, by building an _inner_ wall behind that which encircled the city. To do this it was necessary to pull down a great many houses, and, among them, my own beautiful home, and even the little temple of Phœbus Apollo. Before this was done, we held a solemn service within the temple, and again Chares renewed his vow to make the statue, and begged forgiveness of the god for having to destroy one of his dwelling-places. I thought my heart would break when instead of the white house I knew and loved, with its marble columns, its flights of marble steps leading to a garden beautiful as a dream, I saw waste land, scattered over with stones and rubbish, all the roses trampled under foot, and desolation far and wide about the new wall that was rising. But we were fighting for our lives, and there was no time either for sorrow or regret.

“Meanwhile, the war machine which Demetrius was preparing for our destruction was nearly completed. It was being built upon that part of the island already in possession of the enemy, and marvellous tales about its size and deadliness were daily brought into the city by those of our soldiers who had seen it. The name they said that was given to the new engine was _helepolis_, which means _destroyer of cities_. As time went on, I could think of nothing but this awful monster, which I was quite sure _might_ be overcome if only one could think of the means.

“By now, so many were the plans I had made of our city that there was scarcely a yard of it I did not know, and one day I said to Chares,

“‘If only we could discover to which point of the walls this _helepolis_ will be brought when it begins its attack upon us.’

“Chares glanced at me quickly.

“‘Why?’ he asked.

“‘Because, if only I knew that, I should also know at once what to do.’

“I spoke with great confidence, for I was really quite sure of the plan I had in mind—though _why_ I was so sure, I could not tell.

“Chares looked at me again, and then as though he had dismissed the subject, said, ‘To-day I will take you where you may work at your maps and plans in greater quiet.’

“Since the destruction of our house, another in the heart of the town had become our General Headquarters, and here everything was crowded and rough and noisy with the incessant tramping of soldiers about its door, and there was no spot in it that I could call my own. So I was glad that Chares had found a place for me, and, when after several hours’ absence, he returned, I willingly followed him to a house on the hill-side beyond the walls. We passed through a quiet garden and presently entered a room, where, to my surprise, I saw our general Phrynis, several other officers, and one or two men I knew to be engineers. These men smiled in an amused way when I came in, and I heard one whisper to another,

“‘Have we been brought here to consult with a child?’

“But Chares drew a stool up to the table in the window space, and told me to open the ground plans of the city and the maps I had brought, and when the men crowded round to see, I noticed that their faces altered as they passed my drawings from one to the other in silence.

“At last Phrynis, who was very grave, spoke touching a point on one of my plans of the town.

“‘Cleon,’ he said, ‘if the new war engine should be posted at _this_ part of the wall, what would you do supposing you had everything you wanted at your command?’

“Then I began to explain very fast and confidently—(for it all seemed quite simple to me)—just the way in which I would lay a mine under that part of the wall, and just the spot where the engine would sink, if certain directions were carried out.

“The men glanced at one another again in silence, and all at once Phrynis rose. ‘The work begins to-night,’ I heard him say. ‘There is no time to lose. Back to the city.’

“The soldiers clattered out, leaving me alone with Chares, who took my hand and whispered hurriedly, ‘It is right you should know—though you understand that no word must cross your lips. It is _there_, opposite the place on the plan pointed out to you by Phrynis, that the machine will be planted. This we have learnt through our spies. So important is the secret that Phrynis would hold no meeting in the city itself, and therefore have we come to this quiet place. You are to follow and direct the work as soon as it grows dark.’

“Can you at all imagine what a thrilling night that was for me when by the light of torches I saw hundreds of men working under my direction? At the time I was too preoccupied to wonder how it happened that I knew exactly what to say and do. It seemed to me every now and then that I had done and said the same things many times before and therefore need not hesitate, nor even think. It was as though something was happening in my sleep, quite easily and naturally.

“When the first streak of dawn was in the sky, the work was finished, and, all at once worn out, I was almost carried by Chares to our barracks, where I slept for hours. All the rest of that day we waited in suspense, for, though we knew the war machine was ready, we were not sure when the attack would be made.

“It came the next morning. Shouts and battle cries from the besiegers, and terrific blasts from their trumpets were followed by flights of arrows, as the huge monster moving towards us over the waste ground beyond the walls drew near.

“I watched it, with my heart thumping. The ground already in the possession of Demetrius had been levelled so that the ‘destroyer of cities’ might move more easily, and I knew just where the mine would strike it—if only we had not been deceived about the track over which it was to pass!