The Wisdom of Hubla
At first, after the Queen had spoken thus, I answered nothing. The light
in her eyes dazzled me, and the new tone of her voice echoed in my
heart. But when a second time she broke the silence, a certain menace
lurked beneath the sweetness of her words, and that acted as a spur to
my faltering impulse.
So I wrestled with temptation and forgot not the peril of my friends,
and indeed I spoke sternly, demanding to be told their fate.
“For I have searched, and they are gone from here,” I said. “This is no
hour for idle dalliance. Your Palace, O Queen! has much that I mislike.
In which of its many dungeons shall I look for these two, Astolba and
Lestrade?”
At my words the quick color surged to the face of Lah, but she answered
calmly. “Question Agno and his servants. In this matter I have no part.”
“To believe you is to doubt your power,” I said. “Do you tell me that
the High Priest has dared—”
But here she stopped me with uplifted hand. “I pray thee, anger me not.
O my Dering,” and marvellously tender was that wondrous voice, “I am not
as other women, even as thou art beyond and above the horde of courtiers
and of warriors to whom my word is law, who kiss my sandal’s print,
rejoicing when I smile, trembling before my frown. Yet even to the
meanest of these, comes love. To thy lips, beloved, I hold in my turn
the golden cup. Drink deep and forget all care, all sorrow. Together we
will stand before Edba’s altar. There shalt thou be crowned on the third
day, with me, ruler of the people of the Walled City. Agno himself shall
bless our union, nor dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon thy garment’s
hem.
“Thus shalt thou escape death and gain great glory, and length of years,
and fulness of power. Thus, O my Dering, Hubla the red witch hath seen
it written in the magic vapor, and behold mine own eyes have been
unsealed, and I too have seen us there—we two encircled by the serpent
sacred to Hed. And for this day, I thank the gods, and thank them too
that I am fair and that I come not empty handed to my lord. Speak
quickly, for I bear not pain with patience, and indeed my soul hungers
for the love light in thine eyes, and the touch of thy lips on mine.
Speak then, my lord. Lah, the Queen, awaits thy answer.”
Then it was that I said a cruel thing. In truth, between her beauty and
her proffered love, her tempting and the bond of my own oath, I was as a
man distraught. Before me rose the sweet, pale face of her whom I had
come to save. The vision of Astolba came between me and the Queen, and
being made savage by my own misery, I answered bitterly: “Is it thus in
thy country? The woman woos the man?”
For a moment’s space she looked at me, and that look is branded forever
on my memory. The next, her hand leaped to her dagger’s hilt. I did not
move. In truth, death held for me then no terrors. The flash of the
blade passed before my eyes. The point struck through the flesh to the
bone and glanced off. Slowly the red stain spread upon the fold of my
white tunic. The Queen’s eyes, wide with horror, followed it in silence.
Then with a wild cry, Lah flung herself at my feet. She wept not as a
woman weeps, but as a man—not easily, but with low, strangling sobs that
caught and tore at the throat.
Then because hers was no fit place for a woman I raised her up. Well, I
can bear most things, but I cannot bear to hear a woman cry. So I
comforted her with words: “Your tears against my blood; then we are
quits.” And kissed her once, and with the kiss I signed away my freedom
and my honor, for I said:—
“Save but my friends, and on the third day, if we both live, then will I
meet you at Edba’s altar, and you shall have your will with me, for at
your bidding I am prisoner of yours until the end.”
“Nay, not my prisoner, but my lord,” Lah answered, and she plucked from
her girdle the centre ring, that one which bore the signet stone, and
this by a chain of gold she hung about my neck, saying, “Nor yet my lord
alone, but master also of the people of the Walled City.”
But I was silent, for I knew too well that I was but fate’s plaything,
and master not even of my plighted word. Thus Hubla’s dark wisdom
triumphed, and I being but a man,—on my head be the shame,—seeing the
Queen’s beauty, was not wholly sad.
Then it was that a strange thing happened. Lah bade me take up the ring
that held the signet, and obedient to her wish in the matter, I fixed my
eyes upon the centre jewel. This was a ruby as large as a hazel nut, and
as I looked into its glorious depth I thought a crimson flame leaped
from its heart, a flame that waxed and waned, and changed from violet to
scarlet; a flame that, even as I gazed spellbound upon it, ceased
suddenly as it had come.
Then the Queen took my hand in hers, and like a child I followed whither
she led me, for the dancing flame was still before my eyes; I felt the
jewel pulsing as it lay upon my breast, and I had no will but her will,
and no thought for anything in this world or the next, save of the ruby,
the wondrous jewel that was mine. So, in unbroken silence we went
together, out from the empty chambers that had held my lost love, lost
and too soon forgotten; out through the long winding corridors, and then
ever downward.
At length Lah pushed aside a heavy curtain, and we stood, still hand in
hand, within the Burial Hall of Kings. You have heard already Lestrade’s
account of this same fearsome sepulchre. Now to his word I add my own,
for as I am a living man, thus I, too, crossed the threshold of that
awful place and stood within.
The dead Kings stirred not as we came; neither spoke they word of
welcome. But had they risen one and all to repel the stranger whose
footfall thus boldly broke the peace of centuries, I should still have
been unsurprised and unafraid. For it was of the ruby, and of the ruby
alone, that I thought, and so I put forth no claim to bravery, other
than is natural to me, but relate the simple truth of what then
followed.
Without pausing, Lah drew me forward until we reached the single empty
throne, and there, by a sign, she bade me sit. So, at her command, I, a
living man, as yet uncrowned, took my place with these, the monarchs of
the past. Then, with averted face, the Queen withdrew, and I, save for
the awful presence of the dead, was quite alone.
A curious drowsiness clouded my brain and lulled to rest my every sense.
I thought the ruby’s fire scorched my flesh, and the pain of it was not
all pain, but pleasure, too, intermingled in a way of which I now find
it hard to rightly tell, though to this day I bear upon my breast a scar
which up to that strange hour was not there.
Thus for a time I sat, and then the dead King at my right spoke, though
his lips moved not, and his words fell coldly on the silence.
“O my brethren, the hour is at hand; the curse is fallen. The glory of
Edba and of Hed is darkened, and our bodies, reverenced throughout the
ages, shall crumble to dust, and be scattered through the world by every
varying wind. A woman hath wrought great things for the Walled City. A
woman shall pluck down even that which she hath set up. Speak, O my
brothers! What price shall the stranger pay?”
Then a low, wrathful murmur filled that ancient Hall, to which I, still
gloating over my treasure, my ruby without price, listened without fear.
“_He shall taste of love and die athirst_,” said one.
“_He shall hold in the hollow of his hand great wealth, and behold it
shall avail him not_,” answered a third.
“_Woe! woe!_” cried another; “_Death shall stay from him afar off. The
weariness of years and the coldness of friends be his portion._”
Then again there was silence, and as I waited, lo! a great light filled
the Burial Hall, and from a distance came a glorious voice not mortal,
wholly sweet, yet full of power. And before it the dead Kings bent their
heads, and at its sound I forgot the jewel that I wore, and the voice
spoke to me, and of me, and with it both joy and sorrow overflowed my
heart. As for the words it spoke I know them not.
But this I know, that it called me both blessed and cursed in the love
that raised me above my fellows; and bade me be of good cheer, for of
the blackness of the night is born the glory of the dawn, and both the
darkness and the light were to be mine throughout the years; and in the
latter end, peace, unknowable in time, endless throughout eternity.
Then the voice was stilled, and I awoke, and descending from the throne
I sought the Queen’s presence. But all these things I kept close locked
in my heart, nor at her eager questioning would I tell my dream.