Serapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.

The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers1 at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.

The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.

The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.

There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolness tempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.

The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.

Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.

In the porch of the slaves’ quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord’s sickness spread melancholy among all his household.

Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:

“Cora, I love you very much.”

Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:

“I am not free; I belong to the master.”

“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”

Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.

“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divert you, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”

“I am listening, Caleb.”

“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are temples of chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The SabÆans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and little golden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to CÆsar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”2

“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the SabÆans one and all suffer from headache.”

“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”

“No, Caleb.”

“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”

“Yes. I fear the SabÆan amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”

“Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”

“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master....”

“Whom you love.”

Cora hesitated. Then she said:

“Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope.”

The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.

Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:

“You would go hunting with me, Cora, and you would sit in front of me on a SabÆan stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and they would follow you about like big cats.”

Cora only smiled and said nothing.

“I know, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It is not because you love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would be a slave. My wife would be a free woman and reign as queen in my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the SabÆan law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of all her husband’s brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to touch even the hem of your garment.”

“I did not know that law,” said Cora.

“There was a king’s daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door, as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks made for her, like the brothers’. When one of the princes left her, she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife, the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla, and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment.”

Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and glittered.

“In that case, I’ll think it over, Caleb!” laughed Cora. “In that case, I’ll think it over!”

“Do think it over, Cora,” laughed Caleb. “If you are willing, I’ll buy you from your master. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood, but with sails like a bird’s wings, so that we can either sail about on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it’s as I tell you. We have those magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over, Cora! Do think it over!”

And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden, looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the rain-water to the cisterns.