THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
I stared at the great wheeling, swooping forms till I thought my eyes
would have dropped out of my head. We moved on, but I was still gazing
when the low gable of a building came between and shut them from our
view, yet not by any manner of means could I bring myself to believe
I'd been looking at men. That could only mean men flying on artificial
wings. The flight of those creatures was, on a grand scale, the
graceful, easy, perfectly poised flight of a gull or a swallow, which
no human ingenuity could imitate. Clearly Poyning had mistaken what the
attendant said to him--an explanation credible enough when I remembered
that he himself admitted there were words in the language of this
people that he could merely guess. And there, for the time being, I had
to be content to let the mystery rest.
The crowd had steadily grown denser as we advanced, and our bodyguard
had more and more difficulty in screening us from close scrutiny. The
cumulative effect of these ranks upon ranks of gigantic folk was most
peculiar: it gave me the impression that I was of dumpy stature, while
Poyning, as I noticed from my place on the litter, looked a downright
dwarf against such a background. In all that throng I saw no full-grown
man under six feet, many stood well above, and giants of seven feet
were by no means rare. Everywhere we saw the bare heads of dark brown
or black hair, the wonderfully chiselled clean-shaven faces, and the
penetrating black eyes of the men who had first met us on the hillside.
There were women in the crowd, too, clad not greatly unlike the men,
but whereas the hair of the latter usually reached no lower than the
shoulders and was sometimes even shorter, the women wore theirs in
luxuriant coils bound over the nape of the neck. It was impressive and
profoundly fascinating to watch these people. Not only was there on
every face a dignity which, while it never became solemn, broke into
lighter shades very seldom indeed, but the whole concourse moved with a
superb, willowy grace that to my mind was poetry itself.
At length we came to a halt. Philipson's litter detached itself
from the procession and disappeared through the pillared portals of
a broad-faced building that reminded me of "restorations" of the
Erechtheum of Athens, while we passed on to a house of similar cast,
but smaller and plainly of less importance. The building was of one
tallish storey, approached by a flight of low steps in white marble;
Ionic columns supported the massive portico, with its blank cornice and
gently gabled roof, and behind this, in the wall proper, a door of
some dark wood gave entrance to the interior.
The tall greyhead, whose name we had discovered to be Kalliboas--that
is the nearest I can get in our letters to the very musical way we
always heard it pronounced--now led through to rooms that had been made
ready for us. They were severe and undecorated, these chambers, but
after the barbarisms of camp life in the Tibetan mountains they seemed
absolutely luxurious. The walls were all plain marble, built in great
blocks beautifully smoothed and united by a white cream-like mortar,
very little of which appeared, however, as the blocks fitted almost
face to face. The floor was likewise marble, bare except for here and
there a rug about half an inch thick, made of a fabric that was put to
a variety of uses in the valley. It seemed to me to be a sort of linen,
extremely soft and fine in texture, and so woven and interwoven as to
give it the stoutness of felt. This same lawn-like material was used to
upholster the couches, the only furniture, which were built of the same
dark wood as the house door. We discovered afterwards that chairs were
unknown, and that the tables used for meals consisted of low platforms
placed between the couches, the diners always reclining to take their
food.
It seemed strange there should be no tables of our pattern, if only
for writing purposes, but the explanation was stranger than the fact.
Writing was comparatively neglected. I found out before I had been in
the valley long that there was a drama among that community, and an
exuberant literary art, but these were practised for the greater part
orally and in public; and so keen were the powers of memory commonly
possessed, that writing for the sake of recording accurately was hardly
necessary. What writing was done mainly took the form of decorative
carving on stone. We had passed close by several examples of this on
our way into the city, and if we still harboured any doubt as to the
true origin of the language, those inscriptions finally dispelled it.
The styles of chisel-writing were many, from straight-lined majuscules
to the most ornate and flowing hand, but the base of it all was
unquestionably the alphabet known to the world at large as Greek.
Two sandalled attendants appeared, crossing the marble floor with
scarcely a sound, and to these Kalliboas turned us over with orders
to see to our wants. We were taken to one side of the building, where
we found a row of baths, each built into the floor and filled with
enough warm water to float a grown man--even one of the giants of the
valley--comfortably. The attendants relieved us of the rest of our
travel-smirched rags, laid down a pile of towels of the ubiquitous
linen-like stuff, and with a word to Poyning, whom they had discovered
to be our linguist, they went.
Poyning crowed with delight as he stared at the water. I am open to
admit that I was grinning--at Poyning. I couldn't help it. When I
remembered the dandy figure he'd cut during the earlier stages of the
expedition, and saw him now after weeks of forced abstention from
washing, the contrast was irresistibly absurd. His hide was scaly with
filth.
Poyning glared at me. 'They don't appear to go in for mirrors here,
Mirlees,' he said rather severely, 'or you'd see you are in a pretty
loathsome condition yourself.'
I looked round the bathing chamber. 'They don't seem to go in for soap
either,' I said, 'and that's worse.'
'Eh? No, apparently not. The fellow made no mention of what we were to
wash with. I suppose the idea is to lie and soak. Here goes!'
He flung himself into the water and stretched his limbs with renewed
crows of delight.
I watched him for a moment or two, until something in his appearance
attracted my gaze more insistently, and I stared with such intentness
that Poyning demanded what was up.
'What does the water feel like?' said I.
'Gorgeous. Why?'
'Look at yourself, man!'
Poyning looked. He jumped out of the water as if he had been stung,
then stared down at his own limbs and up at me in bewilderment.
Ye gods!' he gasped. 'You saw me before I got in, Mirlees. I'm not
dreaming, am I?'
'If you are, I am too. You were filthy as any Tibetan. It must be
something in the water.'
I got into one of the other baths, and saw the same startling
purification overtake my own grimy limbs. I am convinced, too, the
water had not only the trick of cleansing like magic, but some strange
healing virtue; it left the body with a sense of supreme comfort, the
skin soft and smooth; and if there was any unpleasant after-effect, I
never observed it, though I used these baths daily from that time on.
As I lay there, the dull throb of my injured ankle melted gradually
away, not to return. And perhaps the queerest part of it all was that
the water looked as clean when we got out as when we got in.
At the very moment we had dried ourselves the attendants reappeared
without being summoned, in a way that reminded me strongly of the way
the litter-bearers turned up on the hillside; and we were taken into
an adjoining chamber and helped off with the formidable stubble then
disfiguring our chins. Here again that strange healing water took
the place of soap. A white marble basin of it was given us, together
with a curious sort of vegetable sponge and half a dozen razors with
straight handles of rock crystal, looking more like surgical knives
than an outfit to shave with. Yet we had to admit that the operation,
which one of the attendants performed for us, was swift, painless, and
effective. The servants now brought us each a suit of the very simple
lawn garments and sandals we had seen everywhere, which having put on,
we were taken back to the main hall to eat.
The meal was simple in the extreme, consisting only of delicate white
birds and plain vegetables, yet I had never in my life eaten tastier
food. The birds were rather larger than pigeons, and the vegetables,
though I couldn't give a name to one of them, seemed not greatly unlike
the lettuces and artichokes and what not that figure in our European
bills of fare. In the method of cooking, however, there must have been
a wide divergence, for though the stuff was presented quite plain,
somehow or other a most exquisite flavour had been imparted to it. I
may say here that every meal we afterwards ate in the valley was hardly
less simple than this one, and that we throve mightily on the plain
diet. The natives themselves regarded anything in the way of elaborate
food with absolute detestation, and even their banquets were what we
should call Spartan in their simplicity.
After the discomforts of camp life we made no bones about eating a meal
lying down, but it took us aback to find nothing was given us to eat
with. Even in the roughest stages of our tramp across the mountains
we'd never been reduced to less than a clasp-knife. The food now laid
before us, however, had already been divided into handy mouthfuls,
and was moreover totally free from grease, and we soon got over our
scruples at adopting what appeared to be the custom of the valley--to
eat with the fingers. We ate, and continued eating in a fashion that
must have startled the attendants, for they had to reload our platters
three or four times before we were satisfied. There was no other
course, or anything else at all except a white wine, which was mildly
intoxicating but didn't arouse, so far as I could ever detect, any
inclination to drink more.
Poyning pushed away his platter with a long sigh. 'So much for the
belly-need,' he said. 'I would the hunger for knowledge could be as
easily sated. It's about time the elderly gentleman who calls himself
Kalliboas came back to enlighten us a little on this valley of the
Grecians.'
'I can't get it comfortably settled in my mind they are Greek,' said I,
'or how in Hades they got here, or how long they've been in residence.'
'For that matter,' replied Poyning, 'I can't altogether rid myself of
an idea that we shall wake up on those ghastly mountains in a minute.
But if it is real, these people are certainly Greek. I'm an honours
man, Mirlees, but I may tell you I little expected ever to meet my
old Olympians in the flesh. We must ply the ancient Kalliboas when he
comes. I'd also be glad to hear how Philipson finds himself.'
But we were to make no more discoveries that day. The long-delayed
reaction against our tremendous exertions and perils of the past few
days was hard upon us. We must have fallen asleep simultaneously, and
been carried to bed by the attendants, in a log-like insensibility; and
then we slept the clock round _twice_. Whether it was wholly a natural
sleep, or in part prolonged by artificial means for our benefit, I
don't know; I have a very shadowy recollection of coming half awake
once and seeing Kalliboas beside my couch and hearing him speak to me,
but I didn't wake fully till the sun was high, and then I learned on
the indisputable testimony of the servants that it was the third day
from our falling asleep.
We were now both as full of energy as we had been at the beginning
of the expedition, to say nothing of ravenously hungry again; and we
breakfasted on food similar to that of our first meal. Hardly had we
finished eating when Kalliboas appeared.
The old man saluted us with the stern courtesy he invariably showed,
and began to talk to Poyning, slowly, in the language of the valley.
The conversation had to be translated to me sentence by sentence,
but by the end of it I was already beginning to get a hint of the
modifications I must make in _my_ Greek to follow the speech of these
people. I may say that within a week I was able to stumble along with
it myself a little, and before the month was out I could understand
most of what was said to me.
Our first inquiry was, of course, for Philipson.
'You will see him to-day,' said Kalliboas.
'Is he well?' demanded Poyning.
The old man made some answer at which Poyning started slightly.
'What does he say?' I cried.
'Philipson's perfectly well, according to him. But I notice _he speaks
of him as the Prince_.'
We remained staring at one another for an instant. 'And I have more
than a notion the old gentleman does not welcome questions on the
subject,' continued Poyning quietly. 'We must go slow.'
I too had noticed an enhanced stiffness in the old man's manner, as if
he was a little scandalised, and he had certainly looked very straight
at us when the name Philipson caught his ear. Why this should be so I
couldn't guess, but there was very palpably something about him that
warned us to drop the subject. Poyning accordingly did so, and began
asking the old man questions about himself and the city in general. He
answered frankly enough for the most part, though we didn't take long
to grasp that there was a point beyond which we weren't going to get
enlightenment from him. What we did learn was this.
All the people of the valley bore names which, like his own, would
be recognised easily enough as Grecian by any student of classical
antiquity. Kalliboas was headman of a ward of the city, and as such
wielded considerable power. He was responsible to the rulers--Poyning
told me he used a plural here, but omitted to specify who the rulers
were--for the education of all children and for the administration
of the laws. It was astonishing to us to hear him describe this
legal system. No copy of the statutes, said Kalliboas, existed in
writing. They were carried in the memories of the people--not only
of the rulers and headmen of wards, but also of the common people,
being taught to children as soon as they came to a comprehending age,
so that most citizens could repeat the laws of the city by heart.
It seemed incredible that any state, however small, could be run on
such lines, but Kalliboas assured us the system worked smoothly and
well. The laws, he said, were not a whit the less existent for being
unwritten, and they were backed by a very strong public opinion; each
child received such education and training in matters of conduct that
when he grew up he knew better than to transgress against what the
general sense held to be fitting behaviour. If he did, officers were
detailed to remonstrate with him, and Kalliboas told us that on more
than one occasion in the history of the community the delinquent had
been able to bring forward such valid reasons for his unorthodox act
as to cause the law to be altered. From a sort of grim horror the old
fellow betrayed when he spoke of wrong-doing I inferred that crime in
our sense of the word was very rare; and he left on our minds a vague,
fearful impression as to what happened when the state was driven, in
the last resort, to enforce its will.
I had at first been inclined to picture Kalliboas as a priest, but I
soon found that was a misconception. In this community there was no
priesthood strictly on all fours with that of the outer world, for the
very simple reason that there was no religion--or at least nothing
in the way of religious dogma imposed upon the people. Absolute free
thought regarding the position of man in the universe was enjoyed and
encouraged, and though, as we found when we were able to go into the
subject more deeply, the great mass of the people held unanimous views
on such matters, it was only because the wonderful knowledge possessed
by their scientists and commonly shared by the whole community tended
to lead them in the one direction. I shall write more about that
scientific knowledge later on.
Kalliboas startled us a good deal when he told us he was ninety-seven
years old, but there could be no doubt about the figure, for Poyning
got him to repeat it. Though grey-haired, he stood as straight and
moved as supply as an active man of middle age.
'There were many old men among the people you saw when you were
brought here,' he said. 'Some well beyond one hundred years. We are
born into this valley in health, and live in harmony with nature, and
are without sickness.'
It occurred to me afterwards to wonder why the people, if they were
such a healthy race as Kalliboas represented, had never overflowed the
margins of the valley; and I hadn't studied them long before I came to
suspect they had some very effective method of keeping the population
stationary, though what it actually was I never discovered.
'What do you call your state?' inquired Poyning.
'We call it Hellas.'
'That is what in our country we call Greece. But there is still a
Greece, far beyond the mountains, which is the same country as the
Hellas of old.'
I saw Poyning's face suddenly fixed in a gape of amazement.
'What is it?' I cried.
'He says,' replied Stephen Poyning, '_that they are well aware of
that_.'
There were two of us open-mouthed now. It was our first inkling that
this hidden race had knowledge of the outer world. Had we known then
how that knowledge was obtained, I make no doubt we should have gaped
more.
'How did your people come here in the first place?' asked Poyning at
length.
'Our forefathers came over the mountains,' replied Kalliboas.
'And are we the first strangers who have ever penetrated into the
valley?'
It seemed to me that Kalliboas was looking very queerly into Poyning's
face when he said this. Also, the old man's manner had grown suddenly
stiff, and he now rose as if ignoring the question or not hearing it at
all.
'Come,' he said. 'It is commanded that to-day you shall witness an
important event in our history. We will depart.'
It was a day of brilliant sunshine. Outside the guest-house we found
the broad streets thickly lined with city folk, who presented a
distinctly imposing effect with their universal white robes and bare
heads. The crowd was plainly excited, yet there was always that air
of grave restraint about them, and though conversation was general it
never rose above a loud hum. We followed Kalliboas to a point where
the buildings fell away on all sides, leaving a big circular space
paved with marble and ornamented in the centre by a statue I took
to represent the Winged Victory. Thus far, but not a step farther,
the crowd came. I saw no cordon barring the way, and heard no order
given: they simply seemed to stop of their own accord, and I could
only suppose it was one of those strange unwritten laws we had heard
about that forbade them to advance. We ourselves passed on into a
neighbourhood where the architecture increased in size and splendour,
and at last came to a halt before the largest, certainly the most
magnificent building we had yet seen. Like all the others, it was pure
white marble, of perfect proportion and design, yet the carving of
its Corinthian capitals and friezes in high relief distinguished it
even in a city of superb architecture. I would say, without fear of
exaggeration, that it was the greatest masterpiece of chisel-work now
extant upon this earth.
A large throng had ranged themselves on the steps before the building,
and from their age and imposing mien I inferred these men to be the
dignitaries of the city; yet even among persons of such obvious
consideration the arrival of Kalliboas created a stir. Our coming was
the signal for the whole body to mount the steps and into the building.
We found ourselves in a large hall filled with soft light from windows
of wonderful carven tracery at the sides, and floored with marble slabs
so broad that for some time I couldn't detect a join. There was a
solemn hush in this chamber, where all remained in perfect stillness.
Never have I felt so lost as then, when we stood, Poyning and I, in the
midst of this levée of giants, many of whom topped me by a head, while
Poyning could hardly have reached to the level of their breasts. There
was a long wait, then, at some sign I couldn't see, the assembly moved
forward with a curious whisper of soft leather sandals over the marble
floor.
We filtered through a cloister of marble pillars into an inner hall,
larger than the first and dimmer. Each man now dropped to his knees,
whereupon we, at a sign from Kalliboas, did likewise; and as everybody
remained kneeling, I was able by leaning to one side to see across the
hall where two thrones, both occupied, faced us. There advanced from
one side an immensely tall figure, whom I shall call the high priest,
though as I have already noted in the case of Kalliboas the term
priest is really a misnomer. The seated forms rose and knelt before
the thrones, still facing us. I caught the gleam of something bright
against one of the dark heads. It was a circlet of gold. The man who
wore it raised both hands and removed this from his head, handing it
to the high priest, who straightway laid it on the brow of the other.
There could be no doubt what we were looking at. It was a ceremony of
abdication.
At this point the scene became wrapped in a curious mistiness, to which
for some moments I couldn't assign a cause. Then I saw it was a very
fine gauze curtain that had swung silently across the building between
us and the two thrones. I was so engrossed in this that I didn't notice
what was happening behind, but when I looked again, one of the figures
had vanished, leaving the throne empty. The high priest now withdrew to
the side of the hall, whence he returned leading by the hand a woman,
tall and queenly, as could be seen even at that distance and in that
twilight, who mounted the vacant throne. The pair stood together, then
knelt, when once again I saw the gleaming circlet of gold removed and
proffered to the high priest, who laid it on the brow of the woman.
Then came across the dead silence a mutter of words solemnly intoned,
which continued for some minutes, after which the kneeling pair resumed
their thrones.
Of that much I have written confidently, but of what followed I cannot
be so sure, though I have striven my hardest to extract a coherent
picture of it from my jumbled recollection. Somewhere in the great hall
arose an elusive, solemn music, like instruments played with muted
strings. Then not only did the scene before us grow clearer by reason
of the lifting of the gauze curtain, but in some mysterious way the
whole place was suffused with brighter light. For perhaps ten seconds
those two magnificent figures were clearly visible to our eyes. I
remained staring, fascinated, until I realised that all the rest of the
assembly had laid their foreheads on the cold marble floor.
I have a confused sense of pacing back towards the doorway and the
brilliant outer sunlight, and of Poyning's dumbfounded look as he
walked beside me in the middle of the crowd. I knew that he, like
myself, had recognised the newly throned prince as the man we had known
as Saunders Philipson, but the other and more startling recognition
he couldn't have made. It was that, I imagine, that caused me to need
Poyning's supporting arm on the way out: things were swimming round me.
In the brief interval of light, before I bowed my head with the rest, I
had looked upon and remembered the countenance of that glorious woman.
And unless I had gone blind or mad, _she was Philipson's mysterious
visitor of Nanking_.