THE LOOSING OF NOMA
When Owen heard that it was Hokosa who had poisoned him, he groaned and
hid his face in his hands, and thus he remained till the evil tale was
finished. Now he lifted his head and spoke, but not to Hokosa.
“O God,” he said, “I thank Thee that at the cost of my poor life Thou
hast been pleased to lead this sinner towards the Gate of Righteousness,
and to save alive those whom Thou hast sent me to gather to Thy Fold.”
Then he looked at Hokosa and said:--
“Unhappy man, is not your cup full enough of crime, and have you not
sufficiently tempted the mercy of Heaven, that you would add to all your
evil deeds that of self-murder?”
“It is better to die to-day by my own hand,” answered Hokosa, “than
to-morrow among the mockery of the people to fall a victim to your
vengeance, Messenger.”
“Vengeance! Did I speak to you of vengeance? Who am I that I should take
vengeance upon one who has repented? Hokosa, freely do I forgive you
all, even as in some few days I hope to be forgiven. Freely and fully
from my heart do I forgive you, nor shall my lips tell one word of the
sin that you have worked against me.”
Now, when Hokosa heard those words, for a moment he stared stupefied;
then he fell upon his knees before Owen, and bowing his head till it
touched the teacher’s feet, he burst into bitter weeping.
“Rise and hearken,” said Owen gently. “Weep not because I have shown
kindness to you, for that is my duty and no more, but for your sins in
your own heart weep now and ever. Yet for your comfort I tell you that
if you do this, of a surety they shall be forgiven to you. _Hokosa, you
have indeed lost that which you loved, and henceforth you must follow
after that which you did not desire. In the very grave of error you have
found truth, and from the depths of sin you shall pluck righteousness.
Ay, that Cross which you deemed accursed shall lift you up on high, for
by it you shall be saved._”
Hokosa heard and shivered.
“Who set those words between your lips, Messenger?” he whispered.
“Who set them, Hokosa? Nay, I know not--or rather, I know well. He set
them Who teaches us to speak all things that are good.”
“It must be so, indeed,” replied Hokosa. “Yet I have heard them before;
I have heard them from the lips of the dead, and with them went this
command: that when they fell upon my ears again I should ‘take them for
a sign, and let my heart be turned.’”
“Tell me that tale,” said Owen.
So he told him, and this time it was the white man who trembled.
“Horrible has been your witchcraft, O Son of Darkness!” said Owen, when
he had finished; “yet it would seem that it was permitted to you to find
truth in the pit of sorcery. Obey, obey, and let your heart be turned.
The dead told you that you should be set high above the nation and its
king, and that saying I cannot read, though it may be fulfilled in some
fashion of which to-day you do not think. At the least, the other saying
is true, that in the end comes judgment, and that there shall the
sin and the atonement strive together; therefore for judgment prepare
yourself. And now depart, for I must talk with the king as to this
matter of the onslaught of Hafela.”
“Then, that will be the signal for my death, for what king can forgive
one who has plotted such treachery against him?” said Hokosa.
“Fear not,” answered Owen, “I will soften his heart. Go you into the
church and pray, for there you shall be less tempted; but before you go,
swear to me that you will work no evil on yourself.”
“I swear it, Messenger, since now I desire to live, if only for awhile,
seeing that death shuts every door.”
Then he went to the church and waited there. An hour later he was
summoned, and found the king seated with Owen.
“Man,” said Nodwengo, “I am told by the Messenger here that you have
knowledge of a plot which my brother the Prince Hafela has made to fall
treacherously upon me and put me and my people to the spear. How you
come to be acquainted with the plot, and what part you have played
in it, I will not now inquire, for so much have I promised to the
Messenger. Yet I warn you it will be well that you should tell me all
you know, and that should you lie to me or attempt to deceive me, then
you shall surely die.”
“King, hear all the truth,” answered Hokosa in a voice of desperate
calm. “I have knowledge of the plot, for it was I who wove it; but
whether or not Hafela will carry it out altogether I cannot say, for
as yet no word has reached me from him. King, this was the plan that I
made.” And he told him everything.
“It is fortunate for you, Hokosa,” said Nodwengo grimly when he had
finished, “that I gave my word to the Messenger that no harm should come
to you, seeing that you have repented and confessed. This is certain,
that Hafela has listened to your evil counsels, for I gave my consent to
his flight from this land with all his people, and already his women
and children have crossed the mountain path in thousands. Well, this
I swear, that their feet shall tread it no more, for where they are
thither he shall go to join them, should he chance to live to do so.
Hokosa, begone, and know that day and night you will be watched. Should
you so much as dare to approach one of the gates of the Great Place,
that moment you shall die.”
“Have no fear, O King,” said Hokosa humbly, “for I have emptied all my
heart before you. The past is the past, and cannot be recalled. For the
future, while it pleases you to spare me, I am the most loyal of your
servants.”
“Can a man empty a spring with a pitcher?” asked the king
contemptuously. “By to-morrow this heart of yours may be full again
with the blackest treachery, O master of sin and lies. Many months ago I
spared you at the prayer of the Messenger; and now at his prayer I spare
you again, yet in doing so I think that I am foolish.”
“Nay, I will answer for him,” broke in Owen. “Let him stay here with me,
and set your guard without my gates.”
“How do I know that he will not murder you, friend?” asked the king.
“This man is a snake whom few can nurse with safety.”
“He will not murder me,” said Owen smiling, “because his heart is turned
from evil to good; also, there is little need to murder a dying man.”
“Nay, speak not so,” said the king hastily; “and as for this man, be it
as you will. Come, I must take counsel with my captains, for our danger
is near and great.”
So it came about that Hokosa stayed in the house of Owen.
On the morrow the Great Place was full of the bustle of preparation, and
by dawn of the following day an _impi_ of some seventeen thousand spears
had started to ambush Hafela and his force in a certain wooded defile
through which he must pass on his way to the mountain pass where his
women and children were gathered. The army was not large, at least in
the eyes of the People of Fire who, before the death of Umsuka and the
break up of the nation, counted their warriors by tens of thousands.
But after those events the most of the regiments had deserted to Hafela,
leaving to Nodwengo not more than two-and-twenty thousand spears upon
which he could rely. Of these he kept less than a third to defend the
Great Place against possible attacks, and all the rest he sent to fall
upon Hafela far away, hoping there to make an end of him once and for
all. This counsel the king took against the better judgment of many of
his captains, and as the issue proved, it was mistaken.
When Owen told Hokosa of it, that old general shrugged his shoulders.
“The king would have done better to keep his regiments at home,” he
said, “and fight it out with Hafela here, where he is well prepared.
Yonder the country is very wide, and broken, and it may well chance that
the _impi_ will miss that of Hafela, and then how can the king defend
this place with a handful, should the prince burst upon him at the head
of forty thousand men? But who am I that I should give counsel for which
none seek?”
“As God wills, so shall it befall,” answered Owen wearily; “but oh! the
thought of all this bloodshed breaks my heart. I trust that its beatings
may be stilled before my eyes behold the evil hour.”
On the evening of that day Hokosa was baptised. The ceremony took place,
not in the church, for Owen was too weak to go there, but in the
largest room of his house and before some few witnesses chosen from the
congregation. Even as he was being signed with the sign of the cross,
a strange and familiar attraction caused the convert to look up, and
behold, before him, watching all with mocking eyes, stood Noma his wife.
At length the rite was finished, and the little audience melted away,
all save Noma, who stood silent and beautiful as a statue, the light of
mockery still gleaming in her eyes. Then she spoke, saying:--
“I greet you, Husband. I have returned from doing your business afar,
and if this foolishness is finished, and the white man can spare you, I
would talk with you alone.”
“I greet you, Wife,” answered Hokosa. “Say out your say, for none are
present save us three, and from the Messenger here I have no secrets.”
“What, Husband, none? Do you ever talk to him of certain fruit that you
ripened in a garden yonder?”
“From the Messenger I have no secrets,” repeated Hokosa in a heavy
voice.
“Then his heart must be full of them indeed, and it is little wonder
that he seems sick,” replied Noma, gibing. “Tell me, Hokosa, is it true
that you have become a Christian, or would you but fool the white man
and his following?”
“It is true.”
At the words her graceful shape was shaken with a little gust of silent
laughter.
“The wizard has turned saint,” she said. “Well, then, what of the
wizard’s wife?”
“You were my wife before I became Christian; if the Messenger permits
it, you can still abide with me.”
“If the Messenger permits it! So you have come to this, Hokosa, that you
must ask the leave of another man as to whether or no you should keep
your own wife! There is no other thing that I could not have thought of
you, but this I would never have believed had I not heard it from your
lips. Say now, do you still love me, Hokosa?”
“You know well that I love you, now and always,” he answered, in a voice
that sounded like a groan; “as you know that for love of you I have done
many sins from which otherwise I should have turned aside.”
“Grieve not over them, Hokosa; after all, in such a count as yours they
will make but little show. Well, if you love me, I hate you, though
through your witchcraft your will yet has the mastery of mine. I demand
of you now that you should loose that bond, for I do not desire to
become a Christian; and surely, O most good and holy man, having one
wife already, it will not please you henceforth to live in sin with a
heathen woman.”
Now Hokosa turned to Owen:--
“In the old days,” he said, “I could have answered her; but now I am
fallen; or raised up--at the least I am changed and cannot. O prophet of
Heaven, tell me what I shall do.”
“Sever the bond that you have upon her and let her go,” answered Owen.
“This love of yours is unnatural, unholy and born of witchcraft; have
done with it, or if you cannot, at the least deny it, for such a woman,
a woman who hates you, can work you no good. Moreover, since she is a
second wife, you being a Christian, are bound to free her should she so
desire.”
“She can work me no good, Messenger, that I know; but I know also that
while she struggles in the net of my will she can work me no evil. If I
loose the net and the fish swims free, it may be otherwise.”
“Loose it,” answered Owen, “and leave the rest to Providence.
Henceforth, Hokosa, do right, and take no thought for the morrow, for
the morrow is with God, and what He decrees, that shall befall.”
“I hear you,” said Hokosa, “and I obey.” For a while he rocked himself
to and fro, staring at the ground, then he lifted his head and spoke:--
“Woman,” he said, “the knot is untied and the spell is broken. Begone,
for I release you and I divorce you. Flesh of my flesh have you been,
and soul of my soul, for in the web of sorceries are we knit together.
Yet be warned and presume not too far, for remember that which I have
laid down I can take up, and that should I choose to command, you must
still obey. Farewell, you are free.”
Noma heard, and with a sigh of ecstasy she sprang into the air as a
slave might do from whom the fetters have been struck off.
“Ay,” she cried, “I am free! I feel it in my blood, I who have lain in
bondage, and the voice of freedom speaks in my heart and the breath of
freedom blows in my nostrils. I am free from you, O dark and accursed
man; but herein lies my triumph and revenge--_you_ are not free from me.
In obedience to that white fool whom you have murdered, you have loosed
me; but you I will not loose and could not if I would. Listen now,
Hokosa: you love me, do you not?--next to this new creed of yours, I am
most of all to you. Well, since you have divorced me, I will tell you, I
go straight to another man. Now, look your last on me; for you love me,
do you not?” and she slipped the mantle from her shoulders and except
for her girdle stood before him naked, and smiled.
“Well,” she went on, resuming her robe, “the last words of those we love
are always dear to us; therefore, Hokosa, you who were my husband, I
leave mine with you. You are a coward and a traitor, and your doom shall
be that of a coward and a traitor. For my sake you betrayed Umsuka, your
king and benefactor; for your own sake you betrayed Nodwengo, who spared
you; and now, for the sake of your miserable soul, you have betrayed
Hafela to Nodwengo. Nay, I know the tale, do not answer me, but the end
of it--ah! that is yet to learn. Lie there, snake, and lick the hand
that you have bitten, but I, the bird whom you have loosed, I fly
afar--taking your heart with me!” and suddenly she turned and was gone.
Presently Hokosa spoke in a thick voice:--
“Messenger,” he said, “this cross that you have given me to bear is
heavy indeed.”
“Yes, Hokosa,” answered Owen, “for to it your sins are nailed.”