ITHOBAL THE KING
Two hours had gone by, and the prince Aziel, together with his retinue,
the officers of the caravan, and many other guests, were seated at a
great feast made in their honour, by Sakon, the governor of the city.
This feast was held in the large pillared hall of Sakon’s house, built
beneath the northern wall of the temple fortress, and not more than a
few paces from its narrow entrance, through which in case of alarm the
inhabitants of the palace could fly for safety. All down this chamber
were placed tables, accommodating more than two hundred feasters, but
the principal guests were seated by themselves upon a raised daïs at
the head of the hall. Among them sat Sakon himself, a middle-aged man
stout in build, and thoughtful of face, his daughter Elissa, some other
noble ladies, and a score or more of the notables of the city and its
surrounding territories.
One of these strangers immediately attracted the attention of Aziel,
who was seated in the place of honour at the right of Sakon, between
him and the lady Elissa. This man was of large stature, and about forty
years of age; the magnificence of his apparel and the great gold chain
set with rough diamonds which hung about his neck showing him to be a
person of importance. His tawny complexion marked him of mixed race.
This conclusion his features did not belie, for the brow, nose, and
cheek-bones were Semitic in outline, while the full, prominent eyes,
and thick, sensuous lips could with equal certainty be attributed to
the Negroid stock. In fact, he was the son of a native African queen,
or chieftainess, and a noble Phœnician, and his rank no less than that
of absolute king and hereditary chief of a vast and undefined territory
which lay around the trading cities of the white men, whereof Zimboe
was the head and largest. Aziel noticed that this king, who was named
Ithobal, seemed angry and ill at ease, whether because he was not
satisfied with the place which had been allotted to him at the table,
or for other reasons, he could not at the time determine.
When the meats had been removed, and the goblets were filled with wine,
men began to talk, till presently Sakon called for silence, and rising,
addressed Aziel:—
“Prince,” he said, “in the name of this great and free city—for free it
is, though we acknowledge the king of Tyre as our suzerain—I give you
welcome within our gates. Here, far in the heart of Libya, we have
heard of the glorious and wise king, your grandfather, and of the
mighty Pharaoh of Egypt, whose blood runs also within your veins.
Prince, we are honoured in your coming, and for the asking, whatever
this land of gold can boast is yours. Long may you live; may the favour
of those gods you worship attend you, and in the pursuit of wisdom, of
wealth, of war, and of love, may the good grain of all be garnered in
your bosom, and the wind of prosperity winnow out the chaff of them to
fall beneath your feet. Prince, I have greeted you as it behoves me to
greet the blood of Solomon and Pharaoh; now I add a word. Now I greet
you as a father greets the man who has saved his only and beloved
daughter from death, or shameful bondage. Know you, friends, what this
stranger did since to-night’s moonrise? My daughter was at worship
alone yonder without the walls, and a great savage set on her,
purposing to bear her away captive. Ay, and he would have done it had
not the prince Aziel here given him battle, and, after a fierce fight,
slain him.”
“No great deed to kill a single savage,” broke in the king Ithobal, who
had been listening with impatience to Sakon’s praises of this high-born
stranger.
“No great deed you say, King,” answered Sakon. “Guards, bring in the
body of the man and set it before us.”
There was a pause, till presently six men staggered up the hall bearing
between them the corpse of the barbarian, which, still covered with the
leopard skin mantle, they threw down on the edge of the daïs.
“See!” said one of the bearers, withdrawing the cloak from the huge
body. Then pointing to the sword which still transfixed it, he added,
“and learn what strength heaven gives to the arms of princes.”
Such of the guests as were near enough rose to look at the grizzly
sight, then turned to offer their congratulations to the conqueror, but
there was one of them—the king Ithobal—who offered none; indeed, as his
eyes fell upon the face of the corpse, they grew alight with rage.
“What ails you, King? Are you jealous of such a blow?” asked Sakon,
watching him curiously.
“Speak no more of that thrust, I pray you,” said Aziel, “for it was due
to the weight of the man rushing on the sword, which after he was dead
I could not find the power to loosen from his breast-bone.”
“Then I will do you that service, Prince,” sneered Ithobal, and,
setting his foot upon the breast of the corpse, with a sudden effort of
his great frame, he plucked out the sword and cast it down upon the
table.
“Now, one might think,” said Aziel, flushing with anger, “that you,
King, who do a courtesy to a man of smaller strength, mean a challenge.
Doubtless, however, I am mistaken, who do not understand the manners of
this country.”
“Think what you will, Prince,” answered the chieftain, “but learn that
he who lies dead before us by your hand—as you say—was no slave to be
killed at pleasure, but a man of rank, none other, indeed, than the son
of my mother’s sister.”
“Is it so?” replied Aziel, “then surely, King, you are well rid of a
cousin, however highly born, who made it his business to ravish maidens
from their homes.”
By way of answer to these words Ithobal sprang from his seat again,
laying hand upon his sword. But before he could speak or draw it, the
governor Sakon addressed him in a cold and meaning voice:—
“Of your courtesy, King,” he said, “remember that the prince here is my
guest, as you are, and give us peace. If that dead man was your cousin,
at least he well deserved to die, not at the hand of one of royal
blood, but by that of the executioner, for he was the worst of
thieves—a thief of women. Now tell me, King, I pray you, how came your
cousin here, so far from home, since he was not numbered in your
retinue?”
“I do not know, Sakon,” answered Ithobal, “and if I knew I would not
say. You tell me that my dead kinsman was a thief of women, which, in
Phœnician eyes, must be a crime indeed. So be it; but thief or no
thief, I say that there is a blood feud between me and the man who slew
him, and were he great Solomon himself, instead of one of fifty
princelets of his line, he should pay bitterly for the deed. To-morrow,
Sakon, I will meet you before I leave for my own land, for I have words
to speak to you. Till then, farewell!”—and rising, he strode down the
hall, followed by his officers and guard.
The sudden departure of king Ithobal in anger was the signal for the
breaking up of the feast.
“Why is that half-bred chief so wrath with me?” asked Aziel in a low
voice of Elissa as they followed Sakon to another chamber.
“Because—if you would know the truth—he set his dead cousin to kidnap
me, and you thwarted him,” she answered, looking straight before her.
Aziel made no reply, for at that moment Sakon turned to speak with him,
and his face was anxious.
“I crave your pardon, Prince,” he said, drawing him aside, “that you
should have met with such insults at my board. Had it been any other
man who spoke thus to you, by now he had rued his words, but this
Ithobal is the terror of our city, for if he chooses he can bring a
hundred thousand savages upon us, shutting us within our walls to
starve, and cutting us off from the working of the mines whence we win
gold. Therefore, in this way or that, he must be humoured, as indeed we
have humoured him and his father for years, though now,” he added, his
brow darkening, “he demands a price that I am loth to pay,” and he
glanced towards his daughter, who stood watching them at a little
distance, looking most beautiful in her white robes and ornaments of
gold.
“Can you not make war upon him, and break his power?” asked Aziel, with
a strange anxiety, guessing that this price demanded by Ithobal was
none other than Elissa, the woman whom he had rescued, and whose wisdom
and beauty had stirred his heart.
“It might be done, Prince, but the risk would be great, and we are here
to work the mines and grow rich in trade—not to make war. The policy of
Zimboe has always been a policy of peace.”
“I have a better and cheaper plan,” said a calm voice at his elbow—that
of Metem. “It is this: Slip a bow-string over the brute’s head as he
lies snoring, and pull it tight. An eagle in a cage is easy to deal
with, but once on the wing the matter is different.”
“There is wisdom in your counsel,” said Sakon, in a hesitating voice.
“Wisdom!” broke in Aziel; “ay, the wisdom of the assassin. What, noble
Sakon, would you murder a sleeping guest?”
“No, Prince, I would not,” he answered hastily; “also, such a deed
would bring the Tribes upon us.”
“Then, Sakon, you are more foolish than you used to be,” said Metem
laughing. “A man who will not despatch a foe, whenever he can catch
him, by means fair or foul, is not the man to govern a rich city set in
the heart of a barbarous land, and so I shall tell Hiram, our king, if
ever I live to see Tyre again. As for you, most high Prince, forgive
the humblest of your servants if he tells you that the tenderness of
your heart and the nobility of your sentiments will, I think, bring you
to an early and evil end;” and, glancing towards Elissa as though to
put a point upon his words, Metem smiled sarcastically and withdrew.
At this moment a messenger, whose long white hair, wild eyes and red
robe announced him to be a priest of El, by which name the people of
Zimboe worshipped Baal, entered the room, and whispered something into
the ear of Sakon which seemed to disturb him much.
“Pardon me, Prince, and you, my guests, if I leave you,” said the
governor, “but I have evil tidings that call me to the temple. The lady
Baaltis is seized with the black fever, and I must visit her. For an
hour, farewell.”
This news caused consternation among the company, and in the general
confusion that followed its announcement Aziel joined Elissa, who had
passed on to the balcony of the house, and was seated there alone,
looking out over the moonlit city and the plains beyond. At his
approach she rose in token of respect, then sat herself down again,
motioning him to do likewise.
“Give me of your wisdom, lady,” he said. “I thought that Baaltis was
the goddess whom I heard you worshipping yonder in the grove; how,
then, can she be stricken with a fever?”
“She is the goddess,” Elissa answered smiling; “but the _lady_ Baaltis
is a woman whom we revere as the incarnation of that goddess upon
earth, and being but a woman in her hour she must die.”
“Then, what becomes of the incarnation of the goddess?”
“Another is chosen by the college of the priests of El, and the company
of the priestesses of Baaltis. If that lady Baaltis who is dead chances
to leave a daughter, it is usual for the lot to fall upon her; if not,
upon such one of the noble maidens as may be chosen.”
“Does the lady Baaltis marry, then?”
“Yes, Prince, within a year of her consecration, she must choose
herself a husband, and he may be whom she will, provided only that he
is of white blood, and does public sacrifice to El and Baaltis. Then
after she has named him, this husband takes the title of Shadid, and
for so long as his wife shall live he is the high priest of the god El,
and clothed with the majesty of the god, as his wife is clothed with
the majesty of Baaltis. But should she die, another wins his place.”
“It is a strange faith,” said Aziel, “which teaches that the Lord of
Heaven can find a home in mortal breasts. But, lady, it is yours, so of
it I say no more. Now tell me, if you will, what did you mean when you
said that this barbarian king, Ithobal, set the savage whom I slew to
kidnap you? Do you know this, or do you suspect it only?”
“I suspected it from the first, Prince, and for good reasons; moreover,
I read it in the king’s face as he looked upon the corpse, and when he
perceived me among the feasters.”
“And why should he wish to carry you away this brutally, lady, when he
is at peace with the great city?”
“Perchance, Prince, after what passed to-night you can guess,” she
answered lowering her eyes.
“Yes, lady, I can guess, and though it is shameful that such an one
should dare to think of you, still, since he is a man, I cannot blame
him overmuch. But why should he press his suit in this rough and secret
fashion instead of openly as a king might do?”
“He may have pressed it openly and been repulsed,” she replied in a low
voice. “But if he could have carried me to some far fortress, how
should I flout him there, that is, if I still lived? There, with no
price to pay in gold or lands or power, he would have been my master,
and I should have been his slave till such time as he wearied of me.
That is the fate from which you have saved me, Prince, or rather from
death, for I am not one who could bear such shame at the hands of a man
I hate.”
“Lady,” he said bowing, “I think that perhaps for the first time in my
life I am glad to-night that I was born.”
“And I,” she answered, “who am but a Phœnician maiden, am glad that I
should have lived to hear one who is as royal in thought and soul as he
is in rank speak thus to me. Oh! Prince,” she added, clasping her
hands, “if your words are not those of empty courtesy alone, hear me,
for you are great, a Lord of the Earth whom none refuse, and it may be
in your power to give me aid. Prince, I am in a sore strait, for that
danger from which I prayed to be delivered this night presses me hard.
Prince, it is true that Ithobal has been refused my hand, both by
myself and by my father, and therefore it was that he strove to steal
me away. But the evil is not done with, for the great nobles of the
city and the chief priests of El came to my father at sunset and prayed
him that he would let Ithobal take me, seeing that otherwise in his
rage he will make war upon Zimboe. When a man placed as is my father
must choose between the safety of thousands and the honour and
happiness of one poor girl, what will his answer be, think you?”
“Now,” said Aziel, “save that no wrong can right a wrong, I almost
grieve that I cried shame upon the counsel of Metem. Sweet lady, be
sure of this, that I will give all I have, even to my life, to protect
you from the vile fate you dread—yes, all I have—except my soul.”
“Ah!” she cried with a sudden flash of her dark eyes, “all except your
soul. If we women could find the man who would risk both life and soul
for us, then, were he but a slave, we would worship him as never man
was worshipped since Baaltis mounted her heavenly throne.”
“Were I not a Hebrew you would tempt me, lady,” Aziel answered smiling,
“but being one I may not risk my soul even were such a prize within my
reach.”
“Nay, Prince,” she broke in, “I did but jest; forget my words, for they
were wrung from a heart torn with fears. Oh! did you know the terror of
this half-savage Ithobal which oppresses me, you would forgive me all—a
terror that to-night lies upon me with a tenfold weight.”
“Why so, lady?”
“Doubtless because it is nearer,” Elissa whispered, but her beautiful
pleading eyes and quivering lips seemed to belie her words and say,
“because _you_ are near, and a change has come upon me.”
For the second time that day Aziel’s glance met hers, and for the
second time a strange new pang that was more pain than joy, and yet
half-divine, snatched at his heart-strings, for a while numbing his
reason and taking from him the power of speech.
“What was it?” he wondered vaguely. He had seen many lovely faces, and
many noble women had shown him favour, but why had none of them stirred
him thus? Could it be that this stranger Gentile maiden was his
soul-mate—she whom he was destined to love above all upon the earth,
nay, whom he did already love, and so soon?
“Lady,” he said, taking a step towards her, “lady——” and he paused.
Elissa bowed her dark head till her gold-bedecked and scented hair
almost fell upon his feet, but she made no answer.
Then another voice broke upon the silence, a clear, strident voice that
said:—
“Prince, forgive me, if for the second time to-day I disturb you; but
the guests have gone; your chamber is made ready, and, not knowing the
customs of the women of this country, I sought you, little guessing
that, at such an hour, I should find you alone with one of them.”
Aziel looked up, although there was no need for him to do so, for he
knew that voice well, to see the tall form of the Levite Issachar
standing before them, a cold light of anger shining in his eyes.
Elissa saw also, and, with some murmured words of farewell, she turned
and went, leaving them together.