OLAF GIVES JUDGMENT
As Martina finished speaking I heard the sound of tramping guards and of
a woman’s dress upon the pavement. Then a voice, that of Irene,
spoke, and though her words were quiet I caught in them the tremble of
smothered rage.
“Be pleased to tell me, Captain Jodd,” she said, “what is happening in
my palace, and why I, the Empress, am haled from my apartment hither by
soldiers under your command?”
“Lady,” answered Jodd, “you are mistaken. Yesterday you were an empress,
to-day you are--well, whatever your son, the Emperor, chooses to name
you. As to what has been and is happening in this palace, I scarcely
know where to begin the tale. First of all your general and chamberlain
Olaf--in case you should not recognise him, I mean that blind man who
stands yonder--was being tricked to death by certain servants of yours
who called themselves judges, and who stated that they were acting by
your orders.”
“Confront me with them,” said Irene, “that I may prove to you that they
lie.”
“Certainly. Ho! you, bring the lady Irene here. Now hold her over that
hole. Nay, struggle not, lady, lest you should slip from their hands.
Look down steadily, and you will see by the light that flows in from the
cave beneath, certain heaps lying on the rocks round which the rising
waters seethe. There are your judges whom you say you wish to meet. If
you desire to ask them any questions, we can satisfy your will. Nay,
why should you turn pale at the mere sight of the place that you thought
good enough to be the bed of a faithful soldier of your own, one high in
your service, whom it has pleased you to blind? Why did it please you to
blind him, Lady?”
“Who are you that dare to ask me questions?” she replied, gathering up
her courage.
“I’ll tell you, Lady. Now that the General Olaf yonder is blinded I am
the officer in command of the Northmen, who, until you tried to murder
the said General Olaf a while ago, were your faithful guard. I am also,
as it chances, the officer in command of this palace, which we took this
morning by assault and by arrangement with most of your Greek soldiers,
having learned from your confidential lady, Martina, of the vile deed
you were about to work on the General Olaf.”
“So it was you who betrayed me, Martina,” gasped Irene; “and I had you
in my power. Oh! I had you in my power!”
“I did not betray you, Augusta. I saved my god-son yonder from torture
and butchery, as by my oath I was bound to do,” answered Martina.
“Have done with this talk of betrayals,” went on Jodd, “for who can
betray a devil? Now, Lady, with your State quarrels we have nothing to
do. You can settle them presently with your son, that is, if you still
live. But with this matter of Olaf we have much to do, and we will
settle that at once. The first part of the business we all know, so let
us get to the next. By whose order were you blinded, General Olaf?”
“By that of the Augusta,” I answered.
“For what reason, General Olaf?”
“For one that I will not state,” I answered.
“Good. You were blinded by the Augusta for a reason you will not state,
but which is well known to all of us. Now, we have a law in the North
which says that an eye should be given for an eye and a life for a life.
Would it not then be right, comrades, that this woman should be blinded
also?”
“What!” screamed Irene, “blinded! I blinded! I, the Empress!”
“Tell me, Lady, are the eyes of one who was an Empress different from
other eyes? Why should you complain of that darkness into which you were
so ready to plunge one better than yourself. Still, Olaf shall judge.
Is it your will, General, that we blind this woman who put out your eyes
and afterwards tried to murder you?”
Now, I felt that all in that place were watching me and hanging on the
words that I should speak, so intently that they never heard others
entering it, as I did. For a while I paused, for why should not Irene
suffer a little of that agony of suspense which she had inflicted upon
me and others?
Then I said, “See what I have lost, friends, through no grave fault of
my own. I was in the way of greatness. I was a soldier whom you trusted
and liked well, one of unstained honour and of unstained name. Also I
loved a woman, by whom I was beloved and whom I hoped to make my wife.
And now what am I? My trade is gone, for how can a maimed man lead in
war, or even do the meanest service of the camp? The rest of my days,
should any be granted to me, must be spent in darkness blacker than that
of midnight. I must live on charity. When the little store I have is
spent, for I have taken no bribe and heaped up no riches, how can I
earn a living? The woman whom I love has been carried away, after this
Empress tried thrice to murder her. Whether I shall ever find her again
in this world I know not, for she has gone to a far country that is full
of enemies to Christian men. Nor do I know whether she would be willing
to take one who is blind and beggared for a husband, though I think this
may be so.”
“Shame on her if she does not,” muttered Martina as I paused.
“Well, friends, that is my case,” I went on; “let the Augusta deny it if
she can.”
“Speak, Lady. Do you deny it?” said Jodd.
“I do not deny that this man was blinded by my order in payment of
crimes for which he might well have suffered death,” answered Irene.
“But I do deny that I commanded him to be trapped in yonder pit. If
those dead men said so, then they lied.”
“And if the lady Martina says so, what then?” asked Jodd.
“Then she lies also,” answered the Empress sullenly.
“Be it so,” replied Jodd. “Yet it is strange that, acting on this lie
of the lady Martina’s, we found the General Olaf upon the very edge of
yonder hole; yes, with not the breadth of a barleycorn between him and
death. Now, General, both parties have been heard and you shall pass
sentence. If you say that yonder woman is to be blinded, this moment
she looks her last upon the light. If you say that she is to die, this
moment she bids farewell to life.”
Again I thought a while. It came into my mind that Irene, who had fallen
from power, might rise once more and bring fresh evil upon Heliodore.
Now she was in my hand, but if I opened that hand and let her free----!
Someone moved towards me, and I heard Irene’s voice whispering in my
ear.
“Olaf,” she said, “if I sinned against you it was because I loved you.
Would you be avenged upon one who has burned her soul with so much
evil because she loved too well? Oh! if so, you are no longer Olaf. For
Christ’s sake have pity on me, since I am not fit to meet Him. Give me
time to repent. Nay! hear me out! Let not those men drag me away as they
threaten to do. I am fallen now, but who knows, I may grow great again;
indeed, I think I shall. Then, Olaf, may my soul shrivel everlastingly
in hell if I try to harm you or the Egyptian more--Jesus be my witness
that I ask no lesser doom upon my head. Keep the men back, Martina, for
what I swear to him and the Egyptian I swear to you as well. Moreover,
Olaf, I have great wealth. You spoke of poverty; it shall be far from
you. Martina knows where my gold is hid, and she still holds my keys.
Let her take it. I say leave me alone, but one word more. If ever it is
in my power I’ll forget everything and advance you all to great honour.
Your brain is not blinded, Olaf; you can still rule. I swear, I swear,
I swear upon the Holy Blood! Ah! now drag me away if you will. I have
spoken.”
“Then perchance, Lady, you will allow Olaf to speak, since we, who have
much to do, must finish this business quickly, before the Emperor comes
with the Armenians,” said Jodd.
“Captain Jodd and his comrades,” I said, “the Empress Irene has been
pleased to make certain solemn vows to me which perchance some of you
may have overheard. At least, God heard them, and whether she keeps
them or no is a matter between her and the God in Whom we both believe.
Therefore I set these vows aside; they draw me neither one way nor the
other. Now, you have made me judge in my own matter and have promised
to abide by my judgment, which you will do. Hear it, then, and let it be
remembered. For long I have been the Augusta’s officer, and of late her
general and chamberlain. As such I have bound myself by great oaths to
protect her from harm in all cases, and those oaths heretofore I have
kept, when I might have broken them and not been blamed by men. Whatever
has chanced, it seems that she is still Empress and I am still her
officer, seeing that my sword has been returned to me, although it is
true she sent it that I might use it on myself. It pleased the Empress
to put out my eyes. Under our soldier’s law the monarch who rules the
Empire has a right to put out the eyes of an officer who has lifted
sword against her forces, or even to kill him. Whether this is done
justly or unjustly again is a matter between that monarch and God above,
to Whom answer must be made at last. Therefore it would seem that I
have no right to pronounce any sentence against the Augusta Irene, and
whatever may have been my private wrongs, I pronounce none. Yet, as I
am still your general until another is named, I order you to free the
Augusta Irene and to work no vengeance on her person for aught that may
have befallen me at her hands, were her deeds just or unjust.”
When I had finished speaking, in the silence that followed I heard Irene
utter something that was half a sob and half a gasp of wonderment. Then
above the murmuring of the Northmen, to whom this rede was strange, rose
the great voice of Jodd.
“General Olaf,” he said, “while you were talking it came into my mind
that one of those knife points which pierced your eyes had pricked the
brain behind them. But when you had finished talking it came into my
mind that you are a great man who, putting aside your private rights and
wrongs and the glory of revenge which lay to your hand, have taught
us soldiers a lesson in duty which I, at least, never shall forget.
General, if, as I trust, we are together in the future as in the past, I
shall ask you to instruct me in this Christian faith of yours, which can
make a man not only forgive but hide his forgiveness under the mask of
duty, for that, as we know well, is what you have done. General, your
order shall be obeyed. Be she Empress or nothing, this lady’s person is
safe from us. More, we will protect her to the best of our power, as you
did in the Battle of the Garden. Yet I tell her to her face that had
it not been for those orders, had you, for example, said that you left
judgment to us, she who has spoilt such a man should have died a death
of shame.”
I heard a sound as of a woman throwing herself upon her knees before me.
I heard Irene’s voice whisper through her tears,
“Olaf, Olaf, for the second time in my life you make me feel ashamed.
Oh! if only you could have loved me! Then I should have grown good like
you.”
There was a stir of feet and another voice spoke, a voice that should
have been clear and youthful, but sounded as though it were thick with
wine. It did not need Martina’s whisper to tell me that it was that of
Constantine.
“Greeting, friends,” he said, and at once there came a rattle of
saluting swords and an answering cry of
“Greeting, Augustus!”
“You struck before the time,” went on the thick, boyish voice. “Yet
as things seem to have gone rather well for us, I cannot blame
you, especially as I see that you hold fast her who has usurped my
birthright.”
Now I heard Irene turn with a swift and furious movement.
“Your birthright, boy,” she cried. “What birthright have you save that
which my body gave?”
“I thought that my father had more to do with this matter of imperial
right than the Grecian girl whom it pleased him to marry for her fair
face,” answered Constantine insolently, adding: “Learn your station,
mother. Learn that you are but the lamp which once held the holy oil,
and that lamps can be shattered.”
“Aye,” she answered, “and oil can be spilt for the dogs to lap, if their
gorge does not rise at such rancid stuff. The holy oil forsooth! Nay,
the sour dregs of wine jars, the outscourings of the stews, the filth
of the stables, of such is the holy oil that burns in Constantine, the
drunkard and the liar.”
It would seem that before this torrent of coarse invective Constantine
quailed, who at heart always feared his mother, and I think never more
so than when he appeared to triumph over her. Or perhaps he scorned to
answer it. At least, addressing Jodd, he said,
“Captain, I and my officers, standing yonder unseen, have heard
something of what passed in this place. By what warrant do you and your
company take upon yourselves to pass judgment upon this mother of mine?
That is the Emperor’s right.”
“By the warrant of capture, Augustus,” answered Jodd. “We Northmen took
the palace and opened the gates to you and your Armenians. Also we took
her who ruled in the palace, with whom we had a private score to settle
that has to do with our general who stands yonder, blinded. Well, it is
settled in his own fashion, and now we do not yield up this woman, our
prisoner, save on your royal promise that no harm shall come to her in
body. As for the rest, it is your business. Make a cook-maid of her
if you will, only then I think her tongue would clear the kitchen. But
swear to keep her sound in life and limb till hell calls her, since
otherwise we must add her to our company, which will make no man
merrier.”
“No,” answered Constantine, “in a week she would corrupt you every one
and breed a war. Well,” he added with a boisterous laugh, “I’m master
now at last, and I’ll swear by any saint that you may name, or all of
them, no harm shall come to this Empress whose rule is done, and who,
being without friends, need not be feared. Still, lest she should
spawn more mischief or murder, she must be kept close till we and our
councillors decide where she shall dwell in future. Ho! guards, take my
royal father’s widow to the dower-palace, and there watch her well. If
she escapes, you shall die beneath the rods. Away with the snake before
it begins to hiss again.”
“I’ll hiss no more,” said Irene, as the soldiers formed up round her,
“yet, perchance, Constantine, you may live to find that the snake still
has strength to strike and poison in its fangs, you and others. Do you
come with me, Martina?”
“Nay, Lady, since here stands one whom God and you together have given
me to guard. For his sake I would keep my life in me,” and she touched
me on the shoulder.
“That whelp who is called my son spoke truly when he said that the
fallen have no friends,” exclaimed Irene. “Well, you should thank me,
Martina, who made Olaf blind, since, being without eyes, he cannot see
how ugly is your face. In his darkness he may perchance mistake you
for the beauteous Egyptian, Heliodore, as I know you who love him madly
would have him do.”
With this vile taunt she went.
“I think I’m crazed,” said the Emperor, as the doors swung to behind
her. “I should have struck that snake while the stick is in my hand. I
tell you I fear her fangs. Why, if she could, she’d make me as that
poor man is, blind, or even butcher me. Well, she’s my mother, and I’ve
sworn, so there’s an end. Now, you Olaf, you are that same captain,
are you not, who dashed the poisoned fig from my lips that this tender
mother of mine would have let me eat when I was in liquor; yes, and
would have swallowed it yourself to save me from my folly?”
“I am that man, Augustus.”
“Aye, you are that man, and one of whom all the city has been talking.
They say, so poor is your taste, that you turned your back upon the
favours of an Empress because of some young girl you dared to love. They
say also that she paid you back with a dagger in the eyes, she who was
ready to set you in my place.”
“Rumour has many tongues, Augustus,” I answered. “At least I fell from
the Empress’s favour, and she rewarded me as she held that I deserved.”
“So it seems. Christ! what a dreadful pit is that. Is this another of
her gifts? Nay, answer not; I heard the tale. Well, Olaf, you saved my
life and your Northmen have set me on the throne, since without them we
could scarcely have won the palace. Now, what payment would you have?”
“Leave to go hence, Augustus,” I answered.
“A small boon that you might have taken without asking, if you can find
a dog to lead you, like other blind wretches. And you, Captain Jodd, and
your men, what do you ask?”
“Such donation as it may please the Augustus to bestow, and after that
permission to follow wherever our General Olaf goes, since he is our
care. Here we have made so many enemies that we cannot sleep at night.”
“The Empress of the World falls from her throne,” mused Constantine,
“and not even a waiting-maid attends her to her prison. But a blinded
captain finds a regiment to escort him hence in love and honour, as
though he were a new-crowned king. Truly Fortune is a jester. If ever
Fate should rob me of my eyes, I wonder, when I had nothing more to give
them, if three hundred faithful swords would follow me to ruin and to
exile?”
Thus he thought aloud. Afterwards he, Jodd and some others, Martina
among them, went aside, leaving me seated on a bench. Presently they
returned, and Constantine said,
“General Olaf, I and your companions have taken counsel. Listen. But
to-day messengers have come from Lesbos, whom we met outside the gates.
It seems that the governor there is dead, and that the accursed Moslems
threaten to storm the isle as soon as summer comes and add it to their
empire. Our Christian subjects there pray that a new governor may be
appointed, one who knows war, and that with him may be sent troops
sufficient to repel the prophet-worshippers, who, not having many ships,
cannot attack in great force. Now, Captain Jodd thinks this task will
be to the liking of the Northmen, and though you are blind, I think that
you would serve me well as governor of Lesbos. Is it your pleasure to
accept this office?”
“Aye, with thankfulness, Augustus,” I answered. “Only, after the Moslems
are beaten back, if it pleases God that it should so befall, I ask leave
of absence for a while, since there is one for whom I must search.”
“I grant it, who name Captain Jodd your deputy. Stay, there’s one more
thing. In Lesbos my mother has large vineyards and estates. As part
payment of her debt these shall be conveyed to you. Nay, no thanks; it
is I who owe them. Whatever his faults, Constantine is not ungrateful.
Moreover, enough time has been spent upon this matter. What say you,
Officer? That the Armenians are marshalled and that you have Stauracius
safe? Good! I come to lead them. Then to the Hippodrome to be
proclaimed.”
BOOK III
EGYPT
CHAPTER I
TIDINGS FROM EGYPT
That curtain of oblivion without rent or seam sinks again upon the
visions of this past of mine. It falls, as it were, on the last of the
scenes in the dreadful chamber of the pit, to rise once more far from
Byzantium.
I am blind and can see nothing, for the power which enables me to
disinter what lies buried beneath the weight and wreck of so many ages
tells me no more than those things that once my senses knew. What I did
not hear then I do not hear now; what I did not see then I do not see
now. Thus it comes about that of Lesbos itself, of the shape of its
mountains or the colour of its seas I can tell nothing more than I
was told, because my sight never dwelt on them in any life that I can
remember.
It was evening. The heat of the sun had passed and the night breeze blew
through the wide, cool chamber in which I sat with Martina, whom the
soldiers, in their rude fashion, called “Olaf’s Brown Dog.” For brown
was her colouring, and she led me from place to place as dogs are
trained to lead blind men. Yet against her the roughest of them never
said an evil word; not from fear, but because they knew that none could
be said.
Martina was talking, she who always loved to talk, if not of one thing,
then of another.
“God-son,” she said, “although you are a great grumbler, I tell you that
in my judgment you were born under a lucky star, or saint, call it which
you will. For instance, when you were walking up and down that Hall of
the Pit in the palace at Constantinople, which I always dream of now if
I sup too late----”
“And your spirit, or double, or whatever you call it, was kindly leading
me round the edge of the death-trap,” I interrupted.
“----and my spirit, or double, making itself useful for once, was doing
what you say, well, who would have thought that before so very long you
would be the governor, much beloved, of the rich and prosperous island
of Lesbos; still the commander, much beloved, of troops, many of them
your own countrymen, and, although you are blind, the Imperial general
who has dealt the Moslems one of the worst defeats they have suffered
for a long while.”
“Jodd and the others did that,” I answered. “I only sat here and made
the plans.”
“Jodd!” she exclaimed with contempt. “Jodd has no more head for plans
than a doorpost! Although it is true,” she added with a softening of the
voice, “that he is a good man to lean on at a pinch, and a very terrible
fighter; also one who can keep such brain as God gave him cool in the
hour of terror, as Irene knows well enough. Yet it was you, Olaf, not
even I, but you, who remembered that the Northmen are seafolk born, and
turned all those trading vessels into war-galleys and hid them in the
little bays with a few of your people in command of each. It was you who
suffered the Moslem fleet to sail unmolested into the Mitylene harbours,
pretending and giving notice that the only defence would be by land.
Then, after they were at anchor and beginning to disembark, it was you
who fell on them at the dawn and sank and slew till none remained save
those of their army who were taken prisoners or spared for ransom. Yes,
and you commanded our ships in person; and at night who is a better
captain than a blind man? Oh! you did well, very well; and you are rich
with Irene’s lands, and sit here in comfort and in honour, with the best
of health save for your blindness, and I repeat that you were born under
a lucky star--or saint.”
“Not altogether so, Martina,” I answered with a sigh.
“Ah!” she replied, “man can never be content. As usual, you are thinking
of that Egyptian, I mean of the lady Heliodore, of whom, of course,
it is quite right that you should think. Well, it is true that we have
heard nothing of her. Still, that does not mean that we may not hear.
Perhaps Jodd has learned something from those prisoners. Hark! he
comes.”
As she spoke I heard the guards salute without and Jodd’s heavy step at
the door of the chamber.
“Greeting, General,” he said presently. “I bring you good news. The
messengers to the Sultan Harun have returned with the ransom. Also this
Caliph sends a writing signed by himself and his ministers, in which he
swears by God and His Prophet that in consideration of our giving up our
prisoners, among whom, it seems, are some great men, neither he nor his
successors will attempt any new attack upon Lesbos for thirty years.
The interpreter will read it to you to-morrow, and you can send your
answering letters with the prisoners.”
“Seeing that these heathen are so many and we are so few, we could
scarcely look for better terms,” I said, “as I hope they will think at
Constantinople. At least the prisoners shall sail when all is in order.
Now for another matter. Have you inquired as to the Bishop Barnabas and
the Egyptian Prince Magas and his daughter?”
“Aye, General, this very day. I found that among the prisoners were
three of the commoner sort who have served in Egypt and left that land
not three months ago. Of these men two have never heard of the bishop or
the others. The third, however, who was wounded in the fight, had some
tidings.”
“What tidings, Jodd?”
“None that are good, General. The bishop, he says, was killed by Moslems
a while ago, or so he had been told.”
“God rest him. But the others, Jodd, what of the others?”
“This. It seems that the Copt, as he called him, Magas, returned from a
long journey, as we know he did, and raised an insurrection somewhere in
the south of Egypt, far up the Nile. An expedition was sent against him,
under one Musa, the Governor of Egypt, and there was much fighting,
in which this prisoner took part. The end of it was that the Copts
who fought with Magas were conquered with slaughter, Magas himself was
slain, for he would not fly, and his daughter, the lady Heliodore, was
taken prisoner with some other Coptic women.”
“And then?” I gasped.
“Then, General, she was brought before the Emir Musa, who, noting her
beauty, proposed to make her his slave. At her prayer, however, being,
as the prisoner said, a merciful man, he gave her a week to mourn her
father before she entered his harem. Still, the worst,” he went on
hurriedly, “did not happen. Before that week was done, as the Moslem
force was marching down the Nile, she stabbed the eunuch who was in
charge of her and escaped.”
“I thank God,” I said. “But, Jodd, how is the man sure that she was
Heliodore?”
“Thus: All knew her to be the daughter of Magas, one whom the Egyptians
held in honour. Moreover, among the Moslem soldiers she was named ‘the
Lady of the Shells,’ because of a certain necklace she wore, which you
will remember.”
“What more?” I asked.
“Only that the Emir Musa was very angry at her loss and because of it
caused certain soldiers to be beaten on the feet. Moreover, he halted
his army and offered a reward for her. For two days they hunted, even
searching some tombs where it was thought she might have hidden, but
there found nothing but the dead. Then the Emir returned down the Nile,
and that is the end of the story.”
“Send this prisoner to me at once, Jodd, with an interpreter. I would
question him myself.”
“I fear he is not fit to come, General.”
“Then I will go to him. Lead me, Martina.”
“If so, you must go far, General, for he died an hour ago, and his
companions are making him ready for burial.”
“Jodd,” I said angrily, “those men have been in our hands for weeks.
How comes it that you did not discover these things before? You had my
orders.”
“Because, General, until they knew that they were to go free none
of these prisoners would tell us anything. However closely they were
questioned, they said that it was against their oath, and that first
they would die. A long while ago I asked this very man of Egypt, and he
vowed that he had never been there.”
“Be comforted, Olaf,” broke in Martina, “for what more could he have
told you?”
“Nothing, perchance,” I answered; “yet I should have gained many days of
time. Know that I go to Egypt to search for Heliodore.”
“Be comforted again,” said Martina. “This you could not have done until
the peace was signed; it would have been against your oath and duty.”
“That is so,” I answered heavily.
“Olaf,” said Martina to me that night after Jodd had left us, “you say
that you will go to Egypt. How will you go? Will the blind Christian
general of the Empire, who has just dealt so great a defeat to the
mighty Caliph of the East, be welcome in Egypt? Above all, will he be
welcomed by the Emir Musa, who rules there, when it is known that he
comes to seek a woman who has escaped from that Emir’s harem? Why,
within an hour he’d offer you the choice between death and the Koran.
Olaf, this thing is madness.”
“It may be, Martina. Still, I go to seek Heliodore.”
“If Heliodore still lives you will not help her by dying, and if she is
dead time will be little to her and she can wait for you a while.”
“Yet I go, Martina.”
“You, being blind, go to Egypt to seek one whom those who rule there
have searched for in vain. So be it. But how will you go? It cannot be
as an open enemy, since then you would need a fleet and ten thousand
swords to back you, which you have not. To take a few brave men, unless
they were Moslems, which is impossible, would be but to give them to
death. How do you go, Olaf?”
“I do not know, Martina. Your brain is more nimble than mine; think,
think, and tell me.”
I heard Martina rise and walk up and down the room for a long time. At
length she returned and sat herself by me again.
“Olaf,” she said, “you always had a taste for music. You have told me
that as a boy in your northern home you used to play upon the harp and
sing songs to it of your own making, and now, since you have been blind,
you have practised at this art till you are its master. Also, my voice
is good; indeed, it is my only gift. It was my voice that first brought
me to Irene’s notice, when I was but the daughter of a poor Greek
gentleman who had been her father’s friend and therefore was given a
small place about the Court. Of late we have sung many songs together,
have we not, certain of them in that northern tongue, of which you have
taught me something?”
“Yes, Martina; but what of it?”
“You are dull, Olaf. I have heard that these Easterns love music,
especially if it be of a sort they do not know. Why, therefore, should
not a blind man and his daughter--no, his orphaned niece--earn an honest
living as travelling musicians in Egypt? These Prophet worshippers, I
am told, think it a great sin to harm one who is maimed--a poor northern
trader in amber who has been robbed by Christian thieves. Rendered
sightless also that he might not be able to swear to them before the
judges, and now, with his sister’s child, winning his bread as best he
may. Like you, Olaf, I have skill in languages, and even know enough of
Arabic to beg in it, for my mother, who was a Syrian, taught it to me as
a child, and since we have been here I have practised. What say you?”
“I say that we might travel as safely thus as in any other way. Yet,
Martina, how can I ask you to tie such a burden on your back?”
“Oh! no need to ask, Olaf, since Fate bound it there when it made me
your--god-mother. Where you go I needs must go also, until you are
married,” she added with a laugh. “Afterwards, perhaps, you will need me
no more. Well, there’s a plan, for what it is worth, and now we’ll sleep
on it, hoping to find a better. Pray to St. Michael to-night, Olaf.”
As it chanced, St. Michael gave me no light, so the end of it was that I
determined to play this part of a blind harper. In those days there
was a trade between Lesbos and Egypt in cedar wood, wool, wine for the
Copts, for the Moslems drank none, and other goods. Peace having been
declared between the island and the Caliph, a small vessel was laden
with such merchandise at my cost, and a Greek of Lesbos, Menas by name,
put in command of it as the owner, with a crew of sailors whom I could
trust to the death.
To these men, who were Christians, I told my business, swearing them
to secrecy by the most holy of all oaths. But, alas! as I shall
show, although I could trust these sailors when they were masters of
themselves, I could not trust them, or, rather, one of them, when
wine was his master. In our northern land we had a saying that “Ale
is another man,” and now its truth was to be proved to me, not for the
first time.
When all was ready I made known my plans to Jodd alone, in whose hands
I left a writing to say what must be done if I returned no more. To the
other officers and the soldiers I said only that I proposed to make
a journey in this trading ship disguised as a merchant, both for my
health’s sake and to discover for myself the state of the surrounding
countries, and especially of the Christians in Egypt.
When he had heard all, Jodd, although he was a hopeful-minded man, grew
sad over this journey, which I could see he thought would be my last.
“I expected no less,” he said; “and yet, General, I trusted that your
saint might keep your feet on some safer path. Doubtless this lady
Heliodore is dead, or fled, or wed; at least, you will never find her.”
“Still, I must search for her, Jodd.”
“You are a blind man. How can you search?”
Then an idea came to him, and he added,
“Listen, General. I and the rest of us swore to protect the lady
Heliodore and to be as her father or her brothers. Do you bide here. I
will go to search for her, either with a vessel full of armed men, or
alone, disguised.”
Now I laughed outright and asked,
“What disguise is there that would hide the giant Jodd, whose fame the
Moslem spies have spread throughout the East? Why, on the darkest night
your voice would betray you to all within a hundred paces. And what use
would one shipload of armed men be against the forces of the Emir of
Egypt? No, no, Jodd, whatever the danger I must go and I alone. If I
am killed, or do not return within eight months, I have named you to
be Governor of Lesbos, as already you have been named my deputy by
Constantine, which appointment will probably be confirmed.”
“I do not want to be Governor of Lesbos,” said Jodd. “Moreover, Olaf,”
he added slowly, “a blind beggar must have his dog to lead him, his
brown dog. You cannot go alone, Olaf. Those dangers of which you speak
must be shared by another.”
“That is so, and it troubles me much. Indeed, it is in my mind to seek
some other guide, for I think this one would be safest here in your
charge. You must reason with her, Jodd. One can ask too much, even of a
god-mother.”
“Of a god-mother! Why not say of a grandmother? By Thor! Olaf, you are
blind indeed. Still, I’ll try. Hush! here she comes to say that our
supper is ready.”
At our meal several others were present, besides the serving folk, and
the talk was general. After it was done I had an interview with some
officers. These left, and I sat myself down upon a cushioned couch, and,
being tired, there fell asleep, till I was awakened, or, rather, half
awakened by voices talking in the garden without. They were those of
Jodd and Martina, and Martina was saying,
“Cease your words. I and no one else will go on this Egyptian quest with
Olaf. If we die, as I dare say we shall, what does it matter? At least
he shall not die alone.”
“And if the quest should fail, Martina? I mean if he should not find the
lady Heliodore and you should happen both to return safe, what then?”
“Why, then--nothing, except that as it has been, so it will be. I shall
continue to play my part, as is my duty and my wish. Do you not remember
that I am Olaf’s god-mother?”
“Yes, I remember. Still, I have heard somewhere that the Christian
Church never ties a knot which it cannot unloose--for a proper fee, and
for my part I do not know why a man should not marry one of different
blood because she has been named his god-mother before a stone vessel
by a man in a broidered robe. You say I do not understand such matters.
Perhaps, so let them be. But, Martina, let us suppose that this strange
search were to succeed, and Olaf has a way of succeeding where others
would fail. For instance, who else could have escaped alive out of the
hand of Irene and become governor of Lesbos, and, being blind, yet have
planned a great victory? Well, supposing that by the help of gods or
men--or women--he should find this beautiful Heliodore, unwed and still
willing, and that they should marry. What then, Martina?”
“Then, Captain Jodd,” she answered slowly, “if you are yet of the same
mind we may talk again. Only remember that I ask no promises and make
none.”
“So you go to Egypt with Olaf?”
“Aye, certainly, unless I should die first, and perhaps even then. You
do not understand? Oh! of course you do not understand, nor can I stop
to explain to you. Captain Jodd, I am going to Egypt with a certain
blind beggar, whose name I forget at the moment, but who is my uncle,
where no doubt I shall see many strange things. If ever I come back I
will tell you about them, and, meanwhile, good night.”
CHAPTER II
THE STATUES BY THE NILE
The first thing that I remember of this journey to Egypt is that I was
sitting in the warm morning sunshine on the deck of our little trading
vessel, that went by the name of the heathen goddess, Diana. We were
in the port of Alexandria. Martina, who now went by the name of Hilda,
stood by my side describing to me the great city that lay before us.
She told me of the famous Pharos still rising from its rock, although in
it the warning light no longer burned, for since the Moslems took Egypt
they had let it die, as some said because they feared lest it should
guide a Christian fleet to attack them. She described also the splendid
palaces that the Greeks had built, many of them now empty or burned
out, the Christian churches, the mosques, the broad streets and the
grass-grown quays.
As we were thus engaged, she talking and I listening and asking
questions, she said,
“The boat is coming with the Saracen officers of the port, who must
inspect and pass the ship before she is allowed to discharge her cargo.
Now, Olaf, remember that henceforth you are called Hodur.” (I had taken
this name after that of the blind god of the northern peoples.) “Play
your part well, and, above all, be humble. If you are reviled, or even
struck, show no anger, and be sure to keep that red sword of yours close
hidden beneath your robe. If you do these things we shall be safe, for I
tell you that we are well disguised.”
The boat came alongside and I heard men climbing the ship’s ladder. Then
someone kicked me. It was our captain, Menas, who also had his part to
play.
“Out of the road, you blind beggar,” he said. “The noble officers of the
Caliph board our ship, and you block their path.”
“Touch not one whom God has afflicted,” said a grave voice, speaking
in bad Greek. “It is easy for us to walk round the man. But who is he,
captain, and why does he come to Egypt? By their looks he and the woman
with him might well have seen happier days.”
“I know not, lord,” answered the captain, “who, after they paid their
passage money, took no more note of them. Still they play and sing well,
and served to keep the sailors in good humour when we were becalmed.”
“Sir,” I broke in, “I am a Northman named Hodur, and this woman is my
niece. I was a trader in amber, but thieves robbed me and my companions
of all we had as we journeyed to Byzantium. Me, who was the leader of
our band, they held to ransom, blinding me lest I should be able to
swear to them again, but the others they killed. This is the only child
of my sister, who married a Greek, and now we get our living by our
skill in music.”
“Truly you Christians love each other well,” said the officer. “Accept
the Koran and you will not be treated thus. But why do you come to
Egypt?”
“Sir, we heard that it is a rich land where the people love music, and
have come hoping to earn some money here that we may put by to live on.
Send us not away, sir; we have a little offering to make. Niece Hilda,
where is the gold piece I gave you? Offer it to this lord.”
“Nay, nay,” said the officer. “Shall I take bread out of the mouth of
the poor? Clerk,” he added in Arabic to a man who was with him, “make
out a writing giving leave to these two to land and to ply their
business anywhere in Egypt without question or hindrance, and bring it
to me to seal. Farewell, musicians. I fear you will find money scarce in
Egypt, for the land has been stricken with a famine. Yet go and prosper
in the name of God, and may He turn your hearts to the true faith.”
Thus it came about that through the good mind of this Moslem, whose
name, as I learned when we met again, was Yusuf, our feet were lifted
over many stumbling-blocks. Thus it seems that by virtue of his office
he had power to prevent the entry into the land of such folk as we
seemed to be, which power, if they were Christians, was almost always
put in force. Yet because he had seen the captain appear to illtreat me,
or because, being a soldier himself, he guessed that I was of the same
trade, whatever tale it might please me to tell, this rule was not
enforced. Moreover, the writing which he gave me enabled me to go where
we wished in Egypt without let or hindrance. Whenever we were stopped
or threatened, which happened to us several times, it was enough if we
presented it to the nearest person in authority who could read, after
which we were allowed to pass upon our way unhindered.
Before we left the ship I had a last conversation with the captain,
Menas, telling him that he was to lie in the harbour, always pretending
that he waited for some cargo not yet forthcoming, such as unharvested
corn, or whatever was convenient, until we appeared again. If after a
certain while we did not appear, then he was to make a trading journey
to neighbouring ports and return to Alexandria. These artifices he must
continue to practise until orders to the contrary reached him under my
own hand, or until he had sure evidence that we were dead. All this the
man promised that he would do.
“Yes,” said Martina, who was with me, “you promise, Captain, and we
believe you, but the question is, can you answer for the others? For
instance, for the sailor Cosmas there, who, I see, is already drunken
and talking loudly about many things.”
“Henceforth, lady, Cosmas shall drink water only. When not in his cups
he is an honest fellow, and I do answer for him.”
Yet, alas! as the end showed, Cosmas was not to be answered for by
anyone.
We went ashore and took up our abode in a certain house, where we were
safe. Whether the Christian owners of that house did or did not know who
we were, I am not certain. At any rate, through them we were introduced
at night into the palace of Politian, the Melchite Patriarch of
Alexandria. He was a stern-faced, black-bearded man of honest heart but
narrow views, of whom the Bishop Barnabas had often spoken to me as his
closest friend. To this Politian I told all under the seal of our Faith,
asking his aid in my quest. When I had finished my tale he thought a
while. Then he said,
“You are a bold man, General Olaf; so bold that I think God must be
leading you to His own ends. Now, you have heard aright. Barnabas, my
beloved brother and your father in Christ, has been taken hence. He was
murdered by some fanatic Moslems soon after his return from Byzantium.
Also it is true that the Prince Magas was killed in war by the Emir
Musa, and that the lady Heliodore escaped out of his clutches. What
became of her afterwards no man knows, but for my part I believe that
she is dead.”
“And I believe that she is alive,” I answered, “and therefore I go to
seek her.”
“Seek and ye shall find,” mused the Patriarch; “at least, I hope so,
though my advice to you is to bide here and send others to seek.”
“That I will not do,” I answered again.
“Then go, and God be with you. I’ll warn certain of the faithful of your
coming, so that you may not lack a friend at need. When you return, if
you should ever return, come to me, for I have more influence with these
Moslems than most, and may be able to serve you. I can say no more,
and it is not safe that you should tarry here too long. Stay, I forget.
There are two things you should know. The first is that the Emir Musa,
he who seized the lady Heliodore, is about to be deposed. I have the
news from the Caliph Harun himself, for with him I am on friendly terms
because of a service I did him through my skill in medicine. The second
is that Irene has beguiled Constantine, or bewitched him, I know not
which. At least, by his own proclamation once more she rules the Empire
jointly with himself, and that I think will be his death warrant, and
perhaps yours also.”
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” I said. “Now if I live I
shall learn whether any oaths are sacred to Irene, as will Constantine.”
Then we parted.
Leaving Alexandria, we wandered first to the town of Misra, which stood
near to the mighty pyramids, beneath whose shadow we slept one night in
an empty tomb. Thence by slow marches we made our way up the banks of
the Nile, earning our daily bread by the exercise of our art. Once
or twice we were stopped as spies, but always released again when I
produced the writing that the officer Yusuf had given me upon the ship.
For the rest, none molested us in a land where wandering beggars were
so common. Of money it is true we earned little, but as we had gold
in plenty sewn into our garments this did not matter. Food was all we
needed, and that, as I have said, was never lacking.
So we went on our strange journey, day by day learning more of the
tongues spoken in Egypt, and especially of Arabic, which the Moslems
used. Whither did we journey? We know not for certain. What I sought to
find were those two huge statues of which I had dreamed at Aar on the
night of the robbing of the Wanderer’s tomb. We heard that there were
such figures of stone, which were said to sing at daybreak, and that
they sat upon a plain on the western bank of the Nile, near to the ruins
of the great city of Thebes, now but a village, called by the Arabs
El-Uksor, or “the Palaces.” So far as we could discover, it was in the
neighbourhood of this city that Heliodore had escaped from Musa, and
there, if anywhere, I hoped to gain tidings of her fate. Also something
within my heart drew me to those images of forgotten gods or men.
At length, two months or more after we left Alexandria, from the deck of
the boat in which we had hired a passage for the last hundred miles of
our journey, Martina saw to the east the ruins of Thebes. To the west
she saw other ruins, and seated in front of them _two mighty figures of
stone_.
“This is the place,” she said, and my heart leapt at her words. “Now let
us land and follow our fortune.”
So when the boat was tied up at sunset, to the west bank of the river,
as it happened, we bade farewell to the owner and went ashore.
“Whither now?” asked Martina.
“To the figures of stone,” I answered.
So she led me through fields in which the corn was growing, to the edge
of the desert, meeting no man all the way. Then for a mile or more we
tramped through sand, till at length, late at night, Martina halted.
“We stand beneath the statues,” she said, “and they are awesome to look
on; mighty, seated kings, higher than a tall tree.”
“What lies behind them?” I asked.
“The ruins of a great temple.”
“Lead me to that temple.”
So we passed through a gateway into a court, and there we halted.
“Now tell me what you see,” I said.
“We stand in what has been a hall of many columns,” she answered, “but
the most of them are broken. At our feet is a pool in which there is
a little water. Before us lies the plain on which the statues sit,
stretching some miles to the Nile, that is fringed with palms. Across
the broad Nile are the ruins of old Thebes. Behind us are more ruins and
a line of rugged hills of stone, and in them, a little to the north,
the mouth of a valley. The scene is very beautiful beneath the moon, but
very sad and desolate.”
“It is the place that I saw in my dream many years ago at Aar,” I said.
“It may be,” she answered, “but if so it must have changed, since, save
for a jackal creeping among the columns and a dog that barks in some
distant village, I neither see nor hear a living thing. What now, Olaf?”
“Now we will eat and sleep,” I said. “Perhaps light will come to us in
our sleep.”
So we ate of the food we had brought with us, and afterwards lay down to
rest in a little chamber, painted round with gods, that Martina found in
the ruins of the temple.
During that night no dreams came to me, nor did anything happen to
disturb us, even in this old temple, of which the very paving-stones
were worn through by the feet of the dead.
Before the dawn Martina led me back to the colossal statues, and we
waited there, hoping that we should hear them sing, as tradition said
they did when the sun rose. Yet the sun came up as it had done from the
beginning of the world, and struck upon those giant effigies as it had
done for some two thousand years, or so I was told, and they remained
quite silent. I do not think that ever I grieved more over my blindness
than on this day, when I must depend upon Martina to tell me of the
glory of that sunrise over the Egyptian desert and those mighty ruins
reared by the hands of forgotten men.
Well, the sun rose, and, since the statues would not speak, I took my
harp and played upon it, and Martina sang a wild Eastern song to my
playing. It seemed that our music was heard. At any rate, a few folk
going out to labour came to see by whom it was caused, and finding only
two wandering musicians, presently went away again. Still, one remained,
a woman, Coptic by her dress, with whom I heard Martina talk. She
asked who we were and why we had come to such a place, whereon Martina
repeated to her the story which we had told a hundred times. The woman
answered that we should earn little money in those parts, as the famine
had been sore there owing to the low Nile of the previous season. Until
the crops were ripe again, which in the case of most of them would not
be for some weeks, even food, she added, must be scarce, though few were
left to eat it, since the Moslems had killed out most of those who dwelt
in that district of Upper Egypt.
Martina replied that she knew this was so, and therefore we had proposed
either to travel on to Nubia or to return north. Still, as I, her blind
uncle, was not well, we had landed from a boat hoping that we might find
some place where we could rest for a week or two until I grew stronger.
“Yet,” she continued meaningly, “being poor Christian folk we know not
where to look for such a place, since Cross worshippers are not welcome
among those who follow the Prophet.”
Now, when the woman heard that we were Christians her voice changed. “I
also am a Christian,” she said; “but give me the sign.”
So we made the sign of the Cross on our breasts, which a Moslem will die
rather than do.
“My husband and I,” went on the woman, “live yonder at the village of
Kurna, which is situated near to the mouth of the valley that is called
Biban-el-Meluk, or Gate of the Kings, for there the monarchs of old
days, who were the forefathers or rulers of us Copts, lie buried. It is
but a very small village, for the Moslems have killed most of us in a
war that was raised a while ago between them and our hereditary prince,
Magas. Yet my husband and I have a good house there, and, being poor,
shall be glad to give you food and shelter if you can pay us something.”
The end of it was that after some chaffering, for we dared not show that
we had much money, a bargain was struck between us and this good woman,
who was named Palka. Having paid her a week’s charges in advance, she
led us to the village of Kurna, which was nearly an hour’s walk away,
and here made us known to her husband, a middle-aged man named Marcus,
who took little note of anything save his farming.
This he carried on upon a patch of fertile ground that was irrigated by
a spring which flowed from the mountains; also he had other lands near
to the Nile, where he grew corn and fodder for his beasts. In his house,
that once had been part of some great stone building of the ancients,
and still remained far larger than he could use, for this pair had no
children, we were given two good rooms. Here we dwelt in comfort, since,
notwithstanding the scarcity of the times, Marcus was richer than he
seemed and lived well. As for the village of Kurna, its people all told
did not amount to more than thirty souls, Christians every one of them,
who were visited from time to time by a Coptic priest from some distant
monastery in the mountains.
By degrees we grew friendly with Palka, a pleasant, bustling woman of
good birth, who loved to hear of the outside world. Moreover, she was
very shrewd, and soon began to suspect that we were more than mere
wandering players.
Pretending to be weak and ill, I did not go out much, but followed her
about the house while she was working, talking to her on many matters.
Thus I led up to the subject of Prince Magas and his rebellion, and
learned that he had been killed at a place about fifty miles south from
Kurna. Then I asked if it were true that his daughter had been killed
with him.
“What do you know of the lady Heliodore?” she asked sharply.
“Only that my niece, who for a while was a servant in the palace at
Byzantium before she was driven away with others after the Empress fell,
saw her there. Indeed, it was her business to wait upon her and her
father the Prince. Therefore, she is interested in her fate.”
“It seems that you are more interested than your niece, who has never
spoken a word to me concerning her,” answered Palka. “Well, since you
are a man, I should not have thought this strange, had you not been
blind, for they say she was the most beautiful woman in Egypt. As for
her fate, you must ask God, since none know it. When the army of Musa
was encamped yonder by the Nile my husband, Marcus, who had taken
two donkey-loads of forage for sale to the camp and was returning by
moonlight, saw her run past him, a red knife in her hand, her face set
towards the Gateway of the Kings. After that he saw her no more, nor did
anyone else, although they hunted long enough, even in the tombs, which
the Moslems, like our people, fear to visit. Doubtless she fell or threw
herself into some hole in the rocks; or perhaps the wild beasts ate her.
Better so than that a child of the old Pharaohs should become the woman
of an infidel.”
“Yes,” I answered, “better so. But why do folk fear to visit those tombs
of which you speak, Palka?”
“Why? Because they are haunted, that is all, and even the bravest dread
the sight of a ghost. How could they be otherwise than haunted, seeing
that yonder valley is sown with the mighty dead like a field with corn?”
“Yet the dead sleep quietly enough, Palka.”
“Aye, the common dead, Hodur; but not these kings and queens and
princes, who, being gods of a kind, cannot die. It is said that they
hold their revels yonder at night with songs and wild laughter, and that
those who look upon them come to an evil end within a year. Whether this
be so I cannot say, since for many years none have dared to visit that
place at night. Yet that they eat I know well enough.”
“How do you know, Palka?”
“For a good reason. With the others in this village I supply the
offerings of their food. The story runs that once the great building, of
which this house is a part, was a college of heathen priests whose
duty it was to make offerings to the dead in the royal tombs. When the
Christians came, those priests were driven away, but we of Kurna who
live in their house still make the offerings. If we did not, misfortune
would overtake us, as indeed has always happened if they were forgotten
or neglected. It is the rent that we pay to the ghosts of the kings.
Twice a week we pay it, setting food and milk and water upon a certain
stone near to the mouth of the valley.”
“Then what happens, Palka?”
“Nothing, except that the offering is taken.”
“By beggar folk, or perchance by wild creatures!”
“Would beggar folk dare to enter that place of death?” she answered with
contempt. “Or would wild beasts take the food and pile the dishes neatly
together and replace the flat stones on the mouths of the jars of milk
and water, as a housewife might? Oh! do not laugh. Of late this has
always been done, as I who often fetch the vessels know well.”
“Have you ever seen these ghosts, Palka?”
“Yes, once I saw one of them. It was about two months ago that I passed
the mouth of the valley after moonrise, for I had been kept out late
searching for a kid which was lost. Thinking that it might be in the
valley, I peered up it. As I was looking, from round a great rock glided
a ghost. She stood still, with the moonlight shining on her, and gazed
towards the Nile. I, too, stood still in the shadow, thirty or forty
paces away. Then she threw up her arms as though in despair, turned and
vanished.”
“She!” I said, then checked myself and asked indifferently: “Well, what
was the fashion of this ghost?”
“So far as I could see that of a young and beautiful woman, wearing
such clothes as we find upon the ancient dead, only wrapped more loosely
about her.”
“Had she aught upon her head, Palka?”
“Yes, a band of gold or a crown set upon her hair, and about her neck
what seemed to be a necklace of green and gold, for the moonlight
flashed upon it. It was much such a necklace as you wear beneath your
robe, Hodur.”
“And pray how do you know what I wear, Palka?” I asked.
“By means of what you lack, poor man, the eyes in my head. One night
when you were asleep I had need to pass through your chamber to reach
another beyond. You had thrown off your outer garment because of the
heat, and I saw the necklace. Also I saw a great red sword lying by your
side and noted on your bare breast sundry scars, such as hunters and
soldiers come by. All of these things, Hodur, I thought strange, seeing
that I know you to be nothing but a poor blind beggar who gains his
bread by his skill upon the harp.”
“There are beggars who were not always beggars, Palka,” I said slowly.
“Quite so, Hodur, and there are great men and rich who sometimes appear
to be beggars, and--many other things. Still, have no fear that we shall
steal your necklace or talk about the red sword or the gold with which
your niece Hilda weights her garments. Poor girl, she has all the ways
of a fine lady, one who has known Courts, as I think you said was the
case. It must be sad for her to have fallen so low. Still, have no fear,
Hodur,” and she took my hand and pressed it in a certain secret fashion
which was practised among the persecuted Christians in the East when
they would reveal themselves to each other. Then she went away laughing.
As for me, I sought Martina, who had been sleeping through the heat, and
told her everything.
“Well,” she said when I had finished, “you should give thanks to God,
Olaf, since without doubt this ghost is the lady Heliodore. So should
Jodd,” I heard her add beneath her breath, for in my blindness my ears
had grown very quick.
CHAPTER III
THE VALLEY OF THE DEAD KINGS
Martina and I had made a plan. Palka, after much coaxing, took us with
her one evening when she went to place the accustomed offerings in the
Valley of the Dead. Indeed, at first she refused outright to allow us
to accompany her, because, she said, only those who were born in
the village of Kurna had made such offerings since the days when the
Pharaohs ruled, and that if strangers shared in this duty it might bring
misfortune. We answered, however, that if so the misfortune would fall
on us, the intruders. Also we pointed out that the jars of water and
milk were heavy, and, as it happened, there was no one from the hamlet
to help to carry them this night. Having weighed these facts, Palka
changed her mind.
“Well,” she said, “it is true that I grow fat, and after labouring all
day at this and that have no desire to bear burdens like an ass. So come
if you will, and if you die or evil spirits carry you away, do not
add yourselves to the number of the ghosts, of whom there are too many
hereabouts, and blame me afterwards.”
“On the contrary,” I said, “we will make you our heirs,” and I laid a
bag containing some pieces of money upon the table.
Palka, who was a saving woman, took the money, for I heard it rattle in
her hand, hung the jars about my shoulders, and gave Martina the meat
and corn in a basket. The flat cakes, however, she carried herself on a
wooden trencher, because, as she said, she feared lest we should break
them and anger the ghosts, who liked their food to be well served. So
we started, and presently entered the mouth of that awful valley which,
Martina told me, looked as though it had been riven through the mountain
by lightning strokes and then blasted with a curse.
Up this dry and desolate place, which, she said, was bordered on either
side by walls of grey and jagged rock, we walked in silence. Only I
noted that the dog which had followed us from the house clung close to
our heels and now and again whimpered uneasily.
“The beast sees what we cannot see,” whispered Palka in explanation.
At last we halted, and I set down the jars at her bidding upon a flat
rock which she called the Table of Offerings.
“See!” she exclaimed to Martina, “those that were placed here three
days ago are all emptied and neatly piled together by the ghosts. I told
Hodur that they did this, but he would not believe me. Now let us pack
them up in the baskets and begone, for the sun sets and the moon rises
within the half of an hour. I would not be here in the dark for ten
pieces of pure gold.”
“Then go swiftly, Palka,” I said, “for we bide here this night.”
“Are you mad?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I answered. “A wise man once told me that if one who is
blind can but come face to face with a spirit, he sees it and thereby
regains his sight. If you would know the truth, that is why I have
wandered so far from my own country to find some land where ghosts may
be met.”
“Now I am sure that you are mad,” exclaimed Palka. “Come, Hilda, and
leave this fool to make trial of his cure for blindness.”
“Nay,” answered Martina, “I must stay with my uncle, although I am very
much afraid. If I did not, he would beat me afterwards.”
“Beat you! Hodur beat a woman! Oh! you are both mad. Or perhaps you are
ghosts also. I have thought it once or twice, who at least am sure that
you are other than you seem. Holy Jesus! this place grows dark, and
I tell you it is full of dead kings. May the Saints guard you; at
the least, you’ll keep high company at your death. Farewell; whate’er
befalls, blame me not who warned you,” and she departed at a run, the
empty vessels rattling on her back and the dog yapping behind her.
When she had gone the silence grew deep.
“Now, Martina,” I whispered, “find some place where we may hide whence
you can see this Table of Offerings.”
She led me to where a fallen rock lay within a few paces, and behind it
we sat ourselves down in such a position that Martina could watch the
Table of Offerings by the light of the moon.
Here we waited for a long while; it may have been two hours, or three,
or four. At least I knew that, although I could see nothing, the
solemnity of that place sank into my soul. I felt as though the dead
were moving about me in the silence. I think it was the same with
Martina, for although the night was very hot in that stifling, airless
valley, she shivered at my side. At last I felt her start and heard her
whisper:
“I see a figure. It creeps from the shadow of the cliff towards the
Table of Offerings.”
“What is it like?” I asked.
“It is a woman’s figure draped in white cloths; she looks about her; she
takes up the offerings and places them in a basket she carries. It is
a woman--no ghost--for she drinks from one of the jars. Oh! now the
moonlight shines upon her face; it is _that of Heliodore!_”
I heard and could restrain myself no longer. Leaping up, I ran towards
where I knew the Table of Offerings to be. I tried to speak, but my
voice choked in my throat. The woman saw or heard me coming through the
shadows. At least, uttering a low cry, she fled away, for I caught the
sound of her feet on the rocks and sand. Then I tripped over a stone and
fell down.
In a moment Martina was at my side.
“Truly you are foolish, Olaf,” she said. “Did you think that the lady
Heliodore would know you at night, changed as you are and in this garb,
that you must rush at her like an angry bull? Now she has gone, and
perchance we shall never find her more. Why did you not speak to her?”
“Because my voice choked within me. Oh! blame me not, Martina. If you
knew what it is to love as I do and after so many fears and sorrows----”
“I trust that I should know also how to control my love,” broke in
Martina sharply. “Come, waste no more time in talk. Let us search.”
Then she took me by the hand and led me to where she had last seen
Heliodore.
“She has vanished away,” she said, “here is nothing but rock.”
“It cannot be,” I answered. “Oh! that I had my eyes again, if for an
hour, I who was the best tracker in Jutland. See if no stone has been
stirred, Martina. The sand will be damper where it has lain.”
She left me, and presently returned.
“I have found something,” she said. “When Heliodore fled she still held
her basket, which from the look of it was last used by the Pharaohs. At
least, one of the cakes has fallen from or through it. Come.”
She led me to the cliff, and up it to perhaps twice the height of a man,
then round a projecting rock.
“Here is a hole,” she said, “such as jackals might make. Perchance it
leads into one of the old tombs whereof the mouth is sealed. It was
on the edge of the hole that I found the cake, therefore doubtless
Heliodore went down it. Now, what shall we do?”
“Follow, I think. Where is it?”
“Nay, I go first. Give me your hand, Olaf, and lie upon your breast.”
I did so, and presently felt the weight of Martina swinging on my arm.
“Leave go,” she said faintly, like one who is afraid.
I obeyed, though with doubt, and heard her feet strike upon some floor.
“Thanks be the saints, all is well,” she said. “For aught I knew this
hole might have been as deep as that in the Chamber of the Pit. Let
yourself down it, feet first, and drop. ’Tis but shallow.”
I did so, and found myself beside Martina.
“Now, in the darkness you are the better guide,” she whispered. “Lead
on, I’ll follow, holding to your robe.”
So I crept forward warily and safely, as the blind can do, till
presently she exclaimed,
“Halt, here is light again. I think that the roof of the tomb, for by
the paintings on the walls such it must be, has fallen in. It seems
to be a kind of central chamber, out of which run great galleries that
slope downwards and are full of bats. Ah! one of them is caught in
my hair. Olaf, I will go no farther. I fear bats more than ghosts, or
anything in the world.”
Now, I considered a while till a thought struck me. On my back was my
beggar’s harp. I unslung it and swept its chords, and wild and sad they
sounded in that solemn place. Then I began to sing an old song that
twice or thrice I had sung with Heliodore in Byzantium. This song told
of a lover seeking his mistress. It was for two voices, since in the
song the mistress answered verse for verse. Here are those of the lines
that I remember, or, rather, the spirit of them rendered into English. I
sang the first verse and waited.
“Dear maid of mine,
I bid my strings
Beat on thy shrine
With music’s wings.
Palace or cell
A shrine I see,
If there thou dwell
And answer me.”
There was no answer, so I sang the second verse and once more waited.
“On thy love’s fire
My passion breathes,
Wind of Desire
Thy incense wreathes.
Greeting! To thee,
Or soon or late,
I, bond or free,
Am dedicate.”
And from somewhere far away in the recesses of that great cave came the
answering strophe.
“O Love sublime
And undismayed,
No touch of Time
Upon thee laid.
Take that is thine;
Ended the quest!
I seek _my_ shrine
Upon _thy_ breast.”
Then I laid down the harp.
At last a voice, the voice of Heliodore speaking whence I knew not,
asked,
“Do the dead sing, or is it a living man? And if so, how is that man
named?”
“A living man,” I replied, “and he is named Olaf, son of Thorvald,
or otherwise Michael. That name was given him in the cathedral at
Byzantium, where first his eyes fell on a certain Heliodore, daughter of
Magas the Egyptian, whom now he seeks.”
I heard the sound of footsteps creeping towards me and Heliodore’s voice
say,
“Let me see your face, you who name yourself Olaf, for know that in
these haunted tombs ghosts and visions and mocking voices play strange
tricks. Why do you hide your face, you who call yourself Olaf?”
“Because the eyes are gone from it, Heliodore. Irene robbed it of the
eyes from jealousy of you, swearing that never more should they behold
your beauty. Perchance you would not wish to come too near to an eyeless
man wrapped in a beggar’s robe.”
She looked--I felt her look. She sobbed--I heard her sob, and then her
arms were about me and her lips were pressed upon my own.
So at length came joy such as I cannot tell; the joy of lost love found
again.
A while went by, how long I know not, and at last I said,
“Where is Martina? It is time we left this place.”
“Martina!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean Irene’s lady, and is she here? If
so, how comes she to be travelling with you, Olaf?”
“As the best friend man ever had, Heliodore; as one who clung to him
in his ruin and saved him from a cruel death; as one who has risked her
life to help him in his desperate search, and without whom that search
had failed.”
“Then may God reward her, Olaf, for I did not know there were such women
in the world. Lady Martina! Where are you, lady Martina?”
Thrice she cried the words, and at the third time an answer came from
the shadows at a distance.
“I am here,” said Martina’s voice with a little yawn. “I was weary and
have slept while you two greeted each other. Well met at last, lady
Heliodore. See, I have brought you back your Olaf, blind it is true, but
otherwise lacking nothing of health and strength and station.”
Then Heliodore ran to her and kissed first her hand and next her lips.
In after days she told me that for those of one who had been sleeping
the eyes of Martina seemed to be strangely wet and red. But if this were
so her voice trembled not at all.
“Truly you two should give thanks to God,” she said, “Who has brought
you together again in so wondrous a fashion, as I do on your behalf from
the bottom of my heart. Yet you are still hemmed round by dangers many
and great. What now, Olaf? Will you become a ghost also and dwell here
in the tomb with Heliodore; and if so, what tale shall I tell to Palka
and the rest?”
“Not so,” I answered. “I think it will be best that we should return to
Kurna. Heliodore must play her part as the spirit of a queen till we can
hire some boat and escape with her down the Nile.”
“Never,” she cried, “I cannot, I cannot. Having come together we must
separate no more. Oh! Olaf, you do not know what a life has been mine
during all these dreadful months. When I escaped from Musa by stabbing
the eunuch who was in charge of me, for which hideous deed may I be
forgiven,” and I felt her shudder at my side, “I fled I knew not whither
till I found myself in this valley, where I hid till the night was gone.
Then at daybreak I peeped out from the mouth of the valley and saw the
Moslems searching for me, but as yet a long way off. Also now I knew
this valley. It was that to which my father had brought me as a child
when he came to search for the burying-place of his ancestor, the
Pharaoh, which records he had read told him was here. I remembered
everything: where the tomb should be, how we had entered it through a
hole, how we had found the mummy of a royal lady, whose face was covered
with a gilded mask, and on her breast the necklace which I wear.