ELISSA TAKES SANCTUARY
Two more hours had passed, and in the evening light a procession of
priestesses might be seen advancing slowly towards the holy tomb along
a narrow road of rock cut in the mountain face. In front of this
procession, wearing a black veil over her broidered robes, walked
Elissa with downcast eyes and hair unbound in token of grief, while
behind her came Mesa and other priestesses bearing in bowls of
alabaster the offerings to the dead, food and wine, and lamps of oil,
and vases filled with perfumes. Behind these again marched the
mourners, women who sang a funeral dirge and from time to time broke
into a wail of simulated grief. Nor, indeed, was their woe as hollow as
might be thought, since from that mountain path they could see the
outposts of the army of Ithobal upon the plain, and note with a shudder
of fear the spear-heads of his countless thousands shining in the
gorges of the opposing heights. It was not for the dead Baaltis that
they mourned this day, but for the fate which overshadowed them and
their city of gold.
“May the curse of all the gods fall on her,” muttered one of the
priestesses as she toiled forward beneath her load of offerings;
“because she is beautiful and pettish, we must be put to the spear, or
become the wives of savages,” and she pointed with her chin to Elissa,
who walked in front, lost in her own thoughts.
“Have patience,” answered Mesa at her side, “you know the plan—to-night
that proud girl and false priestess shall sleep in the camp of
Ithobal.”
“Will he be satisfied with that,” asked the woman, “and leave the city
in peace?”
“They say so,” answered Mesa with a laugh, “though it is strange that a
king should exchange spoil and glory for one round-eyed, thin-limbed
girl who loves his rival. Well, let us thank the gods that made men
foolish, and gave us women wit to profit by their folly. If he wants
her, let him take her, for few will be poorer by her loss.”
“You at least will be richer,” said the other woman, “and by the crown
of Baaltis. Well, I do not grudge it you, and as for the daughter of
Sakon, she shall be Ithobal’s if I take her to him limb by limb.”
“Nay, sister, that is not the bargain; remember she must be delivered
to him without hurt or blemish; otherwise we shall do sacrilege in
vain. Be silent, here is the cave.”
Reaching the platform in front of the tomb, the procession of mourners
ranged themselves about it in a semi-circle. They stood with their
backs to the edge of a cliff that rose sheer for sixty feet or more
from the plain beneath, across which, but at a little distance from the
foot of the precipice ran the road followed by the caravans of
merchants in their journeys to and from the coast. Then, a hymn having
been sung invoking the blessing of the gods on the dead priestess,
Elissa, as the Baaltis, unlocked the gates of bronze with a golden key
that hung at her girdle, and the bearers of the bowls of offerings
pushed them into the mouth of the tomb, whose threshold they were not
allowed to pass. Next, with bowed heads and hands crossed upon her
breast, Elissa entered the tomb, and locking the bronze gate behind
her, took up two of the bowls and vanished with them into its gloomy
depths.
“Why did she lock the gates?” asked a priestess of Mesa. “It is not
customary.”
“Doubtless because it was her pleasure to do so,” answered Mesa
sharply, though she also wondered why Elissa had locked the gate.
When an hour was gone by and Elissa had not returned, her wonder turned
to fear and doubt.
“Call to the lady Baaltis,” she said, “for her prayers are long, and I
fear lest she should have come to harm.”
So they called, setting their lips against the bars of the gate till
presently, Elissa, holding a lamp in her hand, came and stood before
them.
“Why do you disturb me in the sanctuary?” she asked.
“Lady, because they set the night watch on the walls,” answered Mesa,
“and it is time to return to the temple.”
“Return then,” said Elissa, “and leave me in peace. What, you cannot,
Mesa? Nay, and shall I tell you why? Because you had plotted to deliver
me this night to those who should lead me as a peace-offering to
Ithobal, and when you come to them empty-handed they will greet you
with harsh words. Nay, do not trouble to deny it, Mesa. I also have my
spies, and know all the plan; and, therefore, I have taken sanctuary in
this holy place.”
Now Mesa pressed her thin lips together and answered:—
“Those who dare to lay hands upon the person of the living Baaltis will
not shrink from seeking her in the company of her dead sisters.”
“I know it, Mesa; but the gates are barred, and here I have food and
drink in plenty.”
“Gates, however strong, can be broken,” answered the priestess, “so,
lady, do not wait till you are dragged hence like some discovered
slave.”
“Ay,” replied Elissa, with a little laugh, “but what if rather than be
thus dishonoured, I should choose to break another gate, that of my own
life? Look, traitress, here is poison and here is bronze, and I swear
to you that should any lay a hand upon me, by one or other of them I
will die before their eyes. Then, if you will, bear these bones to
Ithobal and take his thanks for them. Now, begone, and give this
message to my father and to all those who have plotted with him, that
since they cannot bribe Ithobal with my beauty, they will do well to be
men, and to fight him with their swords.”
Then she turned and left them, vanishing into the darkness of the tomb.
Great indeed was the dismay of the councillors of Zimboe and of the
priests who had plotted with them when, an hour later, Mesa came, not
to deliver Elissa into their hands, but to repeat to them her threats
and message. In vain did they appeal to Sakon, who only shook his head
and answered:—
“Of this I am sure, that what my daughter has threatened that she will
certainly do if you force her to the choice. But if you will not
believe me, go ask her and satisfy yourselves. I know well what she
will answer you, and I hold that this is a judgment upon us, who first
made her Baaltis against her will, then threatened her with death
because of the prince Aziel, and now would do sacrilege to her sacred
office and violence to herself by tearing her from her consecrated
throne, breaking her bond of marriage and delivering her to Ithobal.”
So the leaders of the councillors visited the holy tomb and reasoned
with Elissa through the bars. But they got no comfort from her, for she
spoke to them with the phial of poison in her bosom and the naked
dagger in her hand, telling them what she had told Mesa—that they had
best give up their plottings and fight Ithobal like men, seeing that
even if she surrendered herself to him, when he grew weary of her the
war must come at last.
“For a hundred years,” she added, “this storm has gathered, and now it
must burst. When it has rolled away it will be known who is master of
the land—the ancient city of Zimboe, or Ithobal king of the Tribes.”
So they went back as they had come, and next day at the dawn, with a
bold face but heavy hearts, received the messengers of king Ithobal,
and told them their tale. The messengers heard and laughed.
“We are glad,” they answered, “since we, who are not in love with the
daughter of Sakon, desire war and not peace, holding as we do that the
time has come when you upstart white men—you outlanders—who have
usurped our country to suck away its wealth should be set beneath our
heel. Nor do we think that the task will be difficult for surely we
have little to fear from a city of low money seekers whose councillors
cannot even conquer the will of a single maid.”
Then in their despair the elders offered other girls to Ithobal in
marriage, as many as he would, and with them a great bribe in money.
But the envoys took their leave, saying that nothing would avail since
they preferred spear-thrusts to gold, for which they had little use,
and Ithobal, their king, had fixed his fancy on one woman alone.
So with a heavy and foreboding heart, the city of Zimboe prepared
itself to resist attack, for as they had guessed, when he learned all,
the rage of Ithobal was great. Nor would he listen to any terms that
they could offer save one which they had no power to grant—that Elissa
should be delivered unharmed into his hands. Councils of war were held,
and to these, so soon as he was sufficiently recovered from his
sickness, the prince Aziel was bidden, for he was known to be a skilled
captain; therefore, though he had been the cause of much of their
trouble, they sought his aid. Also, should the struggle be prolonged,
they hoped through him to win Israel, and perhaps Egypt, to their
cause.
Aziel’s counsel was that they should sally out against the army of
Ithobal by night, since he expected to attack and not to be attacked,
but to that advice they would not listen, for they trusted to their
walls. Indeed, in this Metem supported them, and when the prince argued
with him, he answered:—
“Your tactics would be good enough, Prince, if you had at your back the
lions of Judah, or the wild Arab horsemen of the desert. But here you
must deal with men of my own breed, and we Phœnicians are traders, not
fighting men. Like rats, we fight only when there is no other chance
for our lives; nor do we strike the first blow. It is true that there
are some good soldiers in the city, but they are foreign mercenaries;
and as for the rest, half-breeds and freed slaves, they belong as much
to Ithobal as to Sakon, and are not to be trusted. No, no; let us stay
behind our walls, for they at least were built when men were honest and
will not betray us.”
Now in Zimboe were three lines of defence; first, that of a single wall
built about the huts of the slaves upon the plain, then that of a
double wall of stone with a ditch between thrown round the Phœnician
city, and lastly, the great fortress-temple and the rocky heights
above. These, guarded as they were by many strongholds within whose
circle the cattle were herded, as it was thought, could only be taken
with the sword of hunger.
At last the storm burst, for on the fifth morning after Elissa had
barred herself within the tomb, Ithobal attacked the native town.
Uttering their wild battle-cries, tens of thousands of his savage
warriors, armed with great spears and shields of ox-hide, and wearing
crests of plumes upon their heads, charged down upon the outer wall.
Twice they were driven back, but the work was in bad repair and too
long to defend, so that at the third rush they flowed over it like
lines of marching ants, driving its defenders before them to the inner
gates. In this battle some were killed, but the most of the slaves
threw down their arms and went over to Ithobal, who spared them,
together with their wives and children.
Through all the night that followed, the generals of Zimboe made ready
for the onslaught which must come. Everywhere within the circuit of the
inner wall troops were stationed, while the double southern gateway,
where prince Aziel was the captain in command, was built up with loose
blocks of stone.
A while before the dawn, just as the eastern sky grew grey, Aziel,
watching from his post above the gate of the wall, heard the fierce
war-song of the Tribes swell suddenly from fifty thousand throats and
the measured tramp of their innumerable feet. Then the day broke, and
he saw them advancing in three armies towards the three points chosen
for attack, the largest of the armies, headed by Ithobal the king,
directing its march upon the walled gate of which he was in command.
It was a wondrous and a fearful sight, that of these hordes of plumed
warriors, their broad spears flashing in the sunrise, and their fierce
faces alight with hereditary hate and the lust of slaughter. Never had
Aziel seen such a spectacle, nor could he look upon it without dreading
the issue of the war, for if they were savages, these foes were brave
as the lions of their own plains, and had sworn by the head of their
king to drag down the sheltering walls of Zimboe with their naked
hands, or die to the last man.
Turning his head with a sigh of doubt, Aziel found Metem standing at
his side.
“Have you seen her?” he asked eagerly.
“No, Prince. How could I see her at night when she sits in a tomb like
a fox in his burrow? But I have heard her.”
“What did she say? Quick man, tell me.”
“But little, Prince, for the tomb is watched and I dared not stay there
long. She sent you her greetings and would have you know that her heart
will be with you in the battle, and her prayers beseech the throne of
Heaven for your safety. Also she said that she is well, though it is
lonesome there in the grave among the bodies of the dead priestesses of
Baaltis whose spirits, as she vows, haunt her dreams, reviling her
because she desecrates their sepulchre and has renounced their god.”
“Lonesome, indeed,” said Aziel with a shudder; “but tell me, Metem, had
she no other word?”
“Yes, Prince, but not of good omen, for now as always she is sure that
her doom is at hand, and that you two will meet no more. Still she bade
me tell you that all your life long her spirit shall companion you
though it be unseen, to receive you at the last on the threshold of the
underworld.”
Aziel turned his head away, and said presently:—
“If that be so, may it receive me soon.”
“Have no fear, Prince,” replied Metem with a grim laugh, “look yonder,”
and he pointed to the advancing hosts.
“These walls are strong and we shall beat them back,” said Aziel.
“Nay, Prince, for strong walls do not avail without strong hearts to
guard them, and those of the womanish citizens of Zimboe and their
hired soldiers are white with fear. I tell you that the prophecies of
Issachar the Levite, made yonder in the temple on the day of the
sacrifice, and again in the hour of his death, have taken hold of the
people, and by eating out their valour, fulfil themselves.
“Men hint at them, the women whisper them in closets, and the very
children cry them in the streets.
“More—one man last night pointed to the skies and shrieked that in them
he saw that fiery sword of doom of which the prophet spoke hanging
point downwards above the city, whereon all present vowed they saw it
too, though, as I think, it was but a cross of stars. Another tells how
that he met the very spirit of Issachar stalking through the
market-place, and that peering into the eyes of the wraith, as in a
mirror, he saw a great flame wrapping the temple walls, and by the
light of it his own dead body. This man was the priest who first struck
down the holy Levite yonder in the place of judgment.
“Again, when the lady Mesa did sacrifice last night on behalf of the
Baaltis who has fled, the child they offered, an infant of six months,
stirred on the altar after it was dead and cried with a loud voice that
before three suns had set, its blood should be required at their hands.
That is the story, and if I do not believe it, this at least is true,
that the priestesses fled fast from the secret chamber of death, for I
met them as they ran shrieking in their terror and tearing at their
robes. But what need is there to dwell on omens, true or false, when
cowards man the walls, and the spears of Ithobal shine yonder like all
the stars of heaven? Prince, I tell you that this ancient city is
doomed, and in it, as I fear, we must end our wanderings upon earth.”
“So be it, if it must be,” answered Aziel, “at the least I will die
fighting.”
“And I also will die fighting, Prince, not because I love it, but
because it is better than being butchered in cold blood by a savage
with a spear. Oh! why did you ever chance to stumble upon the lady
Elissa making her prayer to Baaltis, and what evil spirit was it which
filled your brains with this sudden madness of love towards each other?
That was the beginning of the trouble, which, but for those eyes of
hers, would have held off long enough to see us safe at Tyre, though
doubtless soon or late it must have come. But see, yonder marches
Ithobal at the head of his guard. Give me a bow, the flight is long,
but perchance I can reach his black heart with an arrow.”
“Save your strength,” answered Aziel, “the range is too great, and
presently you will have enough of shooting,” and he turned to talk to
the officers of the guard.