Although doubtless many of the spectators were not Christians, everybody made the sign of the cross. Had not the Imperator proclaimed Christianity the State religion? Besides, there was a rumor that the priests employed spies, and that unbelievers were to expect punishments as severe as the Christians had received at their hands, when the Roman gods were in power.

Several officers of the Imperial Guard, erect and almost motionless on their horses, carried tall banners on which were painted the cross with the words: In hoc signo vinces.

“Kotikokura!” He appeared almost instantly. “Look! Do you remember?” His eyes darted to and fro. “The Cross…have you forgotten?” He did not understand. I burst out laughing. “Of course not. How could you remember? You never saw it! You flamed like a heaven, but you only saw the darkness in front of you.” Kotikokura grinned.

The Emperor, reclining upon a couch, a diadem upon his head and a mass of jewels upon his hands and arms, was carried by four giants. Vivat Imperator! Vivat!

The great dark hand of night covered the Bosphorus and hid the cross upon the Greek temple. Over it hung, like a scimitar, the crescent moon, tipped with a star.

THE Rhine barely stirred, and our boat glided upon it, lightly, like a giant feather dropped by some mythological eagle. For a long time, I continued to see the tall, wooden fence that surrounded my vineyards. I remembered the dingy shop of my father and the poverty I had endured in my childhood. My present wealth delighted me, like the fragrant wines that my slaves squeezed out of the grapes.

My childhood! Strange! It seemed as if it had just been; as if it recently merely turned a corner. Had centuries really passed? Was it only a dream? But if a dream…where were the people I had once known…the kings, the emperors, the empresses, Lydia, Asi-ma, Damis, Poppeae? What boors were stepping upon their dust? Time was a motionless, frozen river, over which shadows flitted and vanished, but I was as a tree congealed within it, and my shadow carved upon its face a permanent pattern.

In a corner of the boat, Kotikokura curled up like a dog, his face turned toward the sun. Was he, too, a congealed tree; or had he become a branch, as it were, of me?

Ulrica sang. Her golden hair, coiled into two heavy braids, whose tips rested on her lap, shone like the sun that was setting in back of us. Whom did she resemble? Mary? Perhaps. But she was not as voluptuous. Lydia? She was as sentimental and tender, but at unexpected moments, too haughty or too timid,—a little incomprehensible like the woods she came from.

“Ulrica, in Rome they would call you a Barbarian.”

“Rome!” she sneered. “Rome is an old witch, jealous of youth.”

“Have you not heard, dear, that Rome is eternal?”

“The city may be eternal, but the people are dying.”

“What makes you think that the people are dying?”

“Rome sneers at virtue, Cartaphilus, and no longer believes in the gods.”

“Rome believes in a new god, Ulrica.”

“How can a god be new, Cartaphilus? Are not gods older than heaven and earth?”

“Are you sure, my dear, that the gods live?”

She looked at me, her blue eyes opened wide, as if scared.

“May they not all be just…stories? Tales to put to sleep little children?”

She burst out laughing. “Cartaphilus, you say such fantastic things. You know, at times, I think that you too are a god…maybe Fro…the god of love.”

“You called me a god, Ulrica, many years ago…in a far-away country…do you remember?”

Ulrica kissed my hands. Is she Asi-ma, I wondered? “Do you remember?”

“I never traveled to a far-away country…and many years ago… I was not born then, Cartaphilus.” She placed her head upon my knee.

“You were a princess then, Ulrica.”

“And did you love me then, Cartaphilus?”

“I loved you then.”

“Do you love me now?”

“I love you now.”

Why did I seek always the past in the present? Was my life of centuries merely the endeavor to capture again and again my first experiences, my initial sensations? The sun disappeared, drawing after it the last semicircle of its reflection that lingered on the edge of the horizon.

“Dear, when you were the princess of that far-away country, you became my wife on a boat like this.”

She closed her eyes, and pressed tightly against me.

“Now that you are a princess of the woods, will you become my wife again…on a boat?”

“Cartaphilus, am I not your slave; did you not purchase me from a merchant? Am I supposed to have a will?”

“You are not my slave. I purchased you because you were beautiful, and because you whispered: ‘I love you.’ Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Was it not true?”

“It was true.”

“Are not two lovers as free as monarchs?”

“Cartaphilus…make me your wife…again.”

It was true—Rome was dying. The Barbarians were becoming more and more daring. Some day, I was certain, they would attempt to capture the Eternal City. My vineyards lay between them and Rome. The boots of the conquerors spare nothing. A Roman, formerly the Governor of one of the provinces in Asia-Minor, more confident than I, in the prowess of his country’s army, bought my property.

“Ulrica, I shall soon leave. Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“Perhaps to Rome…perhaps to some farther country. I do not know.”

She shook her head. “I belong in the woods.”

“Think it over, my dear. We shall not leave for a few days.”

“I will not go.” She walked away.

Kotikokura approached me, out of breath, and pulled my arm.

“What is the trouble, Kotikokura? What has happened?”

He uttered some sounds which I could not understand, but I noticed that his hands were covered with blood. “What’s happened? Quick, tell me!”

He pulled me. “Ulrica! Ulrica!”

Ulrica lay upon the ground, her head thrown back. A stream of blood was flowing out of her chest, passing over her arm and one of her braids, and making a large, red pool that separated into several branches. In her right hand she held a short sword.

“Ulrica! Ulrica!” I bent over her. She opened her eyes, already blurred. “Cartaphilus,” she whispered, “when I was a princess, did I also kill myself?”

“I do not know, Ulrica. I went away.”

“You always go away.”

“I am he who wanders forever, Ulrica.”

She was about to say something, when her mouth filled with blood.

Kotikokura, bent almost to the ground, groaned.

“Come, Kotikokura. You must be a man. Men suffer less noisily.” He stood up and stared at me. “Or perhaps, a man should not suffer at all, seeing that he deals with mere shadows that flit across a frozen river.”

His jaw fell.

“Many birds shall perch upon the tree for a while…and fly away. The tree must endure forever.”

The loss of Ulrica pained me more than I had expected. There was a freshness, a purity in her that resembled the perfume of the fields after a rainstorm. I felt that I had not breathed deeply enough, that I had walked by quickly and a little absent-mindedly…and suddenly found myself upon a long, dusty road.

Kotikokura was shaving his body. He had become very skillful, and no longer needed assistance.

“Kotikokura, how long must a man live to learn how to live fully, so that he may not know the meaning of regret?”

Kotikokura grinned. Was he the incarnation of some grotesque sphinx? Did he know the wisdom of the ages, and therefore would not speak?

“Do the gods live in eternity, Kotikokura, because they find mere time insufficient?”

He grinned on.