The City of Delight

There was the rush of countless hoof-beats and a low cloud of dust

obscured the crest of the hill just above them. The soft tremolo of

multitudinous bleating came out of it. The quick excited bark of a

fresh Natolian sheep-dog wakened an echo in one of the ravines through

a hill on the opposite side of the road, while strong and insistent

and happy the young cry preceded this sudden animation in the

wilderness.

There was a fall of gravel on the slope over their heads and the next

instant a fourteen-year-old boy descended upon the pair in a fall of

earth, his sandaled feet planted one ahead of the other, his bare arms

thrown above his head as he balanced himself, his long, stiff,

crinkled black locks blowing backward, his face bright with the eager

enjoyment of his simple feat.

After him came a veritable avalanche of Syrian sheep, scrambling to

right and left as they parted behind Momus and Laodice and eddying

around the young shepherd who stopped at seeing the pair. His yell

died away at once, though the effort of sliding down a frozen, rocky

slope had not interfered with a single note.

He might well have been a young satyr, fresh from the groves of

Achaia, with his big, serious mouth and its range of glittering teeth,

his shining deer-like eyes, wide apart, his faun curls low on his

forehead, his big head set on a short neck, his shoulders yet

childish, his slim brown body half smothered in skins, half bare as he

was born, his large hard hand gripping a crook of horn and wood. His

gaze at Momus was frank with boyish curiosity. His bright eyes plainly

remarked on the oddity of the old servant's appearance. Having

catalogued old Momus as worthy of further inspection, he looked then

at Laodice. Under the lowering moon and the listless effort of coming

day, her unmantled dress of silver tissue made of her a moon-spirit,

banished out of her world of pallor and solitude. Before her splendid

young beauty, pale with distress and weariness, he was not abashed.

His simple eyes studied her with equal frankness, but with an

admiration beyond words.

Feeling somehow that his sudden appearance might have distressed her,

he said finally: "Go on, lady, or stay as it pleases you. I will not hurt you."

Momus' shoulders submerged his ears in an indignant shrug. That this

young calf of the pastures should insure him safe passage!

But Laodice was still filled with the calamity of her loss.

"Hast seen a robber, here, along this road?" she asked.

"Many of them," was the prompt answer.

"With a chest of jewels?"

The boy shook his head.

"I never examined their booty," he said with perfect respect.

"Or then a woman riding one camel and leading another?"