The White Dove’s Flight
Now I had gone from Astolba in the full belief that she had dreamed this
thing, yet such is the strangeness of life, an hour had not passed by,
when I gave fullest credence both to her story and her danger. For in
that hour the mask of womanly gentleness had dropped from the Queen, and
with it, the blindness from my eyes. I saw, as long ago I should have
seen, had the charm of her great beauty been less, that the Palace of
the Walled City was no fit resting-place, and that there was a brave
man’s work to be done, and by me.
Astolba’s story had made me a little late, and Lah loved not to wait the
coming of either subject or lover. A dozen slave girls were seated on a
rug in the room’s centre; as I took my tardy place beside the Queen,
they, at the royal word, began a love chant that was strangely sweet and
plaintive. Perhaps I praised their voices over much; perhaps the jealous
humor that had seized their mistress had not yet been spent. However
this may be, I know the musicians were, at a word, dismissed, while, at
Lah’s command, one of the slaves attending on the Queen’s person took
the vacant place.
Soft strains of wild, sad music came from a room beyond, and at the
royal signal the girl began to dance. Hers was a slender, jewelled
figure, and it floated hither and thither, like some gaudy tropical
blossom blown by the wind. Her whole body responded to the half-savage
harmonies; her arms wreathed themselves to the measures of the melody;
her bracelets and anklets tinkled as she swayed.
Then as the strains grew wilder, discordant and yet strangely sweet, I
know not how it happened, but the veil that covered the girl’s face was
thrown back. I saw that she was beautiful, despite her red-bronze skin;
saw for an instant only, it is true, but in that instant the Queen
beside me was changed from a woman to a wild beast that springs upon its
prey.
At the first words I saw the poor girl sink before the feet of Lah, in a
mute agony of supplication and of fear,—while from behind the throne two
burly blacks came forth to do the Queen’s bidding. I do not know how I
had wit to use the words I did. Perhaps Astolba’s story furnished me the
key. But I will say that never was human life in more deadly peril. I
thank Heaven that I have not its ending, in some measure, to lay at my
door. Trembling from head to foot the maid passed from the royal
presence, to disgrace and imprisonment indeed, but not to death.
The sound of her weeping had not died away before Lah had become her
same, sweet, gentle self of the last five days. But I had seen that
which could not be forgotten. Astolba’s anguish was branded upon my
mind. Her white face came between the Queen and me, yet I had learned
dark wisdom in that same Palace, and I think I showed not the change
that had come upon me.
Nevertheless, I turned over and over in my mind every device that could
lead to freedom. But I had now to guard against an enemy more potent and
subtle than Agno or any of his priest-ridden mob. I walked slowly, with
bent head, towards the women’s apartments, and there was little profit
in my musing.
Then the thought came to me to match Astolba’s wit against the Queen’s;
and even, as half-smiling I pondered the conceit, a hand fell lightly on
my arm, and there before me stood the maid herself.
Now the mild sweetness, even the fears of my gentle fellow-captive held
for me a new charm in the light of the tigress’s fury of her whose side
I had but lately left. It won me the more that she should lean on me.
And remorse burned within me that I had laughed at her terrors and left
her, hardly more than an hour since, in heaviness of spirit, well nigh
in tears.
So I took in my two great hands her little one, and it nestled
unresisting but trembling like a bird ensnared by the fowler. Then I
looked into the depths of her innocent eyes, and they drew me nearer
with a strange power. So near that my lips had in another moment touched
hers, and the words that began “Forgive me”—ended with “I love you.”
It was pretty to see the pink roses bloom again in that sweet face,
raised in perfect trust to mine, and to myself I swore that, come what
might, I would do a man’s part to keep them there.
“Where is Lestrade?” I asked, and Astolba looking up, I added, “because
we prisoners must hold a counsel. I have seen that which makes this
Palace no fit shelter for my future wife.”
At this she blushed, but after a few moments’ dalliance the seriousness
of my business urged me to action, and at my repeated question Astolba
drew me to a further room, where sat my comrade.
I greeted him with frankness as is my way, and because we had been more
like brothers than mere friends, I told him bluntly at once of the
good-fortune that had befallen me.
It grieved me then, the more that I had so little expected it, that
Lestrade should act as he did. For at my first words the smile left his
face, and with one long, and I could have sworn reproachful, look at
Astolba, he rushed by me and was gone.
The maid, too, was strangely pale again. Well, I was hurt and puzzled
also. Astolba I could see had felt deeply the manner in which Gaston had
treated my announcement. But it was no time for idle questioning. The
hour to act had struck, and I passed over, in silence, my friend’s new
mood, and bade Astolba think on that which should best lead to our
escape.
And with a woman’s instinct she put her finger at once upon the plan
most like to aid us.
I had spoken of the dangers round about, and of the new and great danger
that was ours in acting thus in secret without the knowledge of the
Queen.
“In all this city we have not a friend,” I said, when she with a new
impatience and insufficient deference cut short the thread of my
discourse.
“You have one both willing and powerful. Zobo, the Captain of the
Queen’s guard, shall aid us.”
“Zobo!” cried I, in amazement at her folly. “Zobo! the best friend of
Lah!”
“And so yours,” she answered. “Can it be you have not seen? He loves the
Queen. He fears you as he fears not death. And he is a true man. He will
find a way to lead us from the Palace, yet neither will he deliver us to
the mob without. Have speech with him at once. For your friend Gaston
Lestrade, have no fear. Make your plan, and tell me but the time and
place and manner of your going. He and I will follow.”
It was thus Astolba spoke, and there was so much wit in what she said,
and so much new-born energy and strength in the manner of the saying,
that I was convinced of the justice of her words.
Thus she left me, going out by the door through which Lestrade had fled,
while I turned my steps to the guard-room of the Palace. Here a piece of
good-luck awaited me, for I found Zobo, and alone.
He looked not over pleased at my coming, but with grave courtesy bade me
sit.
Then I, with what craft I might, began the task before me, and Zobo
stood after the first few words motionless,—a giant statue of bronze.
Only his eyes were alive, and they glowed with a strange and savage
fire.
When my plan began to unfold, I saw him start, and the great corded
muscles of his bare arms knotted as his hands gripped tight the rod of
metal that he held. When his fingers relaxed their hold, I saw that he
had bent the inch-wide bar, as a child bends a pliant twig. But I was
then in the midst of my discourse, and could not be turned aside by
trifles.
When I had done, there was silence, the kind of silence that a man
feels, like to that which comes upon the face of nature before the
tempest breaks. I saw that but a very little thing was needed to turn
the unfailing loyalty of the man into its accustomed channel. Then we
should be dragged before the Queen to meet the reward of our treachery,
for such would be our attempted escape in the eyes of her who reigned
over the Walled City. Of that I had no single doubt.
Perhaps a man grows used to danger. Perhaps my nerves were dulled by
what had gone before. At least, I can say this with truth, I thought in
that moment more on the pattern of the rug at my feet than on the chance
of life or death that trembled in the balance. The crucial moment
passed. Love triumphed. Zobo was ours.
An hour later I had left the place. We were to make the attempt that
night,—Lestrade and myself disguised as priests, and Astolba dressed as
a singing-boy attached to Edba’s Temple. According to a blessed, if
heathenish, custom, we could go veiled. We should leave the Palace by
one of the many-tangled secret ways beneath it. The entrance to this, as
to all, was of course guarded, but Zobo held the Queen’s warrant, and
with that we might hope to pass.
Once in the City, a friendly guide should meet us. We should be to him
inmates of the royal household fallen under Lah’s displeasure, to be
saved by Zobo’s contrivance. We were to make our way through our foes as
best we might, protected by our priestly garb, and wait in hiding in a
deserted hut to which our guide would conduct us. There we should be
left. And then it was that Zobo showed the greatest proof of friendship.
He held with the Queen alone the knowledge of a hidden door within the
City’s wall. One by one, we three swore by all that was sacred never to
reveal the secret.
Through this door we were to pass, and once without, the wilderness
stretched before us. Save for famine, drouth, wild beasts, and roaming
savages, we should be safe.
It was a wild and perilous enterprise, but we caught at it with
eagerness. The very air of the Palace had grown heavy in my nostrils. I
longed for freedom, as a shipwrecked mariner dying of thirst longs for
water. Despite the thousand risks we ran, my heart beat high with hope.
In secret I helped to pack the little store of food and drink that we
were to take with us, and with due care I made our choice of weapons.
Then the hour came. The common danger knit us all closer together.
Lestrade and I once more, as in the old days, clasped hands and wished
each other luck. Astolba moved before us clad all in white. Zobo the
Mighty led the way, his flickering torch casting grotesque shadows on
the walls and floor of the underground passage. Sometimes this corridor
narrowed suddenly, so that we had to crawl beast-like upon all fours for
as much as fifty paces; then it arched high above our heads. I think we
were all three captives strangely lighthearted. There was no
presentiment of evil. We reached the outer entrance in safety, and in
safety passed.
Smoothly, as runs a play, we escaped the multiform dangers that beset
our every step. The guide was not too curious; the people of the Walled
City gave way with respect before our priestly garments.
We found the hut without misadventure; and his duty done, our guide
departed. A little later we had passed from its friendly shelter. A
double line of overhanging trees screened us from the curious, but
indeed, at that hour, there was none to question us. We were in an old
garden, and it reached well-nigh to the City wall. When the sentinel
should have passed, we in turn would step from beneath the shadow of the
trees, and then the opened door and freedom!
My blood pulsed fast in my veins at the thought. I heard the guard go
slowly onward. I whispered to Lestrade, “The White Dove has brought us
liberty.”
Then I stepped out from the tree’s shelter, and at the same moment
something dropped from the branches above my head. Two arms gripped me
about the throat and a hoarse chuckle sounded in my ears.
“I am thy friend Hubla,” said the voice. “Back, you three! back to your
kennel, or I call the guard!”