THE ‘SILENT PRIEST.’
During the earthquake, Hellen had tried to force his way to Æole and
Electra in face of the panic-stricken throng pressing toward the portal.
He would have been crushed had not the people quieted under the
magnetism of the ‘Silent Priest.’
Æole and Electra were standing close to the statue of Poseidon when the
queen became prostrated because of the king’s baleful looks. And they
could not hope to get beside her, so great was the surging of the
people.
Then appeared this ‘Silent Priest.’ From the first glance, Æole had
stood motionless, fascinated; and aroused only when her companions began
to sing and march. During the evolutions, her eyes were continually
turning to him. When in her place again beside the statue, she saw only
him, heard not Oltis when he attempted his speech. Then came the shock
of the mysterious voice.
“Ah, Electra, it speaketh again,” she whispered: “It is the voice of our
friend.”
“Yea, but not the voice of a friend to these Atlanteans. Look at the
queen!”
Æole turned to perceive both king and queen gazing stonily at the
statue. She responded:
“Electra, I fear for her. Let us get to her.”
Desperately they tried to make their way, but vain was their puny
strength. It was some relief when the queen sat down; but again she
arose when the voice came from the rear; and was as marble until the
earthquake when she fell in Rica’s arms.
Æole, of her dizziness, would have fallen also, had not a strong arm
upheld her, and a tender voice whispered:
“Æole, strength. The worst is over.”
It was Sensel, and he was offering his other arm to Electra; whilst
about him were flocking the nearest handmaids, as though he alone could
save them.
It was at this moment that Hellen succeeded in getting sight of the two.
Reaching an aperture, he sprang up among its clustering papyrus plumes
to perceive them with Sensel. By this time, the people were quieting,
and Queen Atlana was being borne out. As the throng pressed after her,
Hellen was the better able to watch. Great was his relief when Sensel
began marshaling the handmaids to their door. “If he can but get them to
the air,” he thought, “before more evil cometh.”
Hid among the papyrus, he waited until all had passed out even to the
priest and handmaids in attendance upon the altar fire.
For once the great temple was deserted. Hellen was alone. As he realized
this, an idea came that he was quick to act upon. Springing from the
aperture, he darted across the great space toward the door of the
handmaids, opened this, and beheld, stretching deep, the passage through
which Sensel had conducted him to the priests’ gathering room; and knew
that some distance down, was the side passage leading to the cell where
he had seen the red-garbed figure. At the very end was a door leading,
probably, to the building of the handmaids. If he could but run down
this long passage, and come upon Æole and Electra!
As if urged by a force uncontrollable, he sped onward—his eyes, his
thoughts on the door at the end. But, when midway, was arrested, and by
a voice. It was as though a wall had sprung up in front of him. Low,
strong in fear, it warned.
“Rash youth, thou wilt ruin all. Go back ere the priests come. Wouldst
thou die?”
Hellen still would have pressed on.
“Call to mind thy promise. If here thou art found, at an end are the
meetings with thy sister—the hope of freedom.”
Hellen, now irresolute, was looking about him for the red-garbed figure,
when Sensel appeared through the far door. For one moment, the latter
stood motionless. Then he bounded toward Hellen. Seizing his wrist, he
cried:
“If thou lovest thy sister, out of this. Fly!”
But Hellen shook off his hand as he answered:
“Touch me not. I will go of my own will.”
Sensel, holding with the more strength, began to draw him along as with
the force of the wind. On—on—they sped, and into the temple. Here it was
still empty, but voices could be heard in the passage leading to the
inner sanctuary. Sensel cried:
“On to the portal!” still holding fast. And Hellen, at last realizing
his rashness, complied. But not to escape. The sanctuary door opened as
they neared the portal; and in came Oltis and Urgis.
The former’s assurance had returned. But he paused in dismay at
beholding the temple thus deserted, and Hellen and Sensel by the portal.
The former was freeing himself; the latter looked worsted, conquered
rather than conquering.
Hurriedly the priests approached them. And Oltis asked:
“Sensel, what doeth the youth here with thee?”
“He went not with the others. I would have forced him away.”
“The place of a messenger is in the outer court,” said Urgis sternly.
“He is the brother of Æole the handmaid.” Oltis’ tone was meaningful;
and his glare boded such evil that Hellen was roused to resentment.
Though he returned with surprising calm:
“Yea, I am the brother of Æole—her wretched brother. When all fled the
temple, I staid that I might follow her. I was making my way through the
passage when set upon by Sensel, and carried back as if by the wind.”
Oltis looked at Urgis. Triumph was in his eye. And triumph responded.
Though Urgis, in hypocritical tone said:
“The temple doth pride itself upon this strength of Sensel.”
“I thought I was strong,” continued Hellen, as he regarded Sensel.
“Thou wilt find thy strength as naught here. Tell me—how far was he,
Sensel?”
“Most Honored and High Priest, he was well in the passage. But I seized
him, and speeded him here.”—Sensel’s tone was very low.
“Didst thou see aught?” demanded Oltis of Hellen.
“I saw naught but doors and Sensel. Those doors are the same I saw when
brought before thee, Priest Urgis.”
“Thou shouldst say, ‘Chief of the Priests,’” corrected Urgis, angrily.
“Then,—‘Chief of the Priests, Urgis.’” And Hellen bowed to the ground,
but with little of reverence.
His manner was not lost upon Oltis. Though smooth his tones, his eyes
emitted a lurid satisfaction.
“He who cometh into that passage not bidden, mocketh the holy laws of
the temple. There is sore pain for this sin.”
“There should be sore pain, then, for other sins. The presence of the
handmaids is a sin. Are the gods waiting?”
Sensel’s eyes were piercing the rash Hellen, in their indignation.
Further, did they contain warning? It seemed as though the latter
predominated as Hellen looked from Oltis to him. As for Oltis, he was
exultant; though most grave was his expression.
“The youth would chide us of the great temple—would even chide the gods.
For such sin there is worse than pain. He will go to the
‘Deeps.’—Sensel, the guards!”
Sensel turned as if to obey, and then paused to arrange his sandal.
“Hasten, Sensel. Every moment he doth stay bringeth taint to the
temple.”
“Taint!” returned Hellen. “It is ye—thyself and Oltis—who bring taint
upon the temple!—Thou, Oltis, hast brought upon its face the black look
of guile, the slime of sense, the marring of every line of that pure
grace so long its own.—Tell me, where are the handmaids thou didst
thrust into thine inner holy place? Are they to be my neighbors in thy
‘Deeps’?”
It was a revelation, the shrinking back of the two. Never before had
been such braving, such questioning! Sensel and Hellen read but the one
thing from their cowering attitude.
As the four stood mute, the door of the gathering room was heard to
open; and there entered the ‘Silent Priest’ and several other priests.
The latter at once resumed their neglected duties; but the silent one
hastened toward the group by the portal.
Oltis and Urgis were again breathing. And, strangely, a great hope
possessed Hellen as the ‘Silent Priest’ came opposite him. Eloquent was
the mysterious priest’s glance from one to the other, so eloquent that
Oltis, as if against his will, explained:
“This youth hath sinned. He pressed within the west passage in search of
his sister, the handmaid Æole. Further, he hath scorned, mocked, Urgis
and myself. For these, he will go to the ‘Deeps.’”
By a gesture, the ‘Silent Priest’ deprecated this going to the ‘Deeps.’
But Oltis, though with less of determination in voice and manner,
iterated:
“He will go to the ‘Deeps.’”
Merely by the movement of his expressive hands, the silent one referred
to the earthquake and the mysterious voice, and advised clemency as the
youth had erred from love of his sister. All Hellen was as quick to
comprehend as the priests, so ably did the gestures speak. But Oltis
continued:
“He hath chided the gods. It is the crowning sin. Sensel, the guards!”
Sensel still hesitated. The ‘Silent Priest’ had glanced at him, his
glance expressing negation. As he stood irresolute, unmindful of the
indignation of Oltis. The ‘Silent Priest’ took from an inside pocket a
small roll of papyrus, and signed to Sensel for reed and ink.
When these were brought, he wrote in large Atlantean characters swiftly:
“It is the Festival of Poseidon. On this day, mercy is ever shown all
sinners. It is one of the oldest laws, the law of King Atlas.”
Oltis and Urgis read. And Oltis, with exceeding reluctance, replied:
“We know it. It hath ever been kept.”
The silent one wrote again:
“There is an olden prophecy—‘_When the stranger from a far land would
seek his own within the temple, the high priest is safe in forbearing of
the heart._’”
“A prophecy I laugh at,” sneered Oltis. Though his uncertain looks
testified to the opposite.
He of silence again wrote:
“Putting the olden law beside the olden prophecy meaneth much on this
day.”
Oltis and Urgis looked at each other in doubt, more than in doubt. For
fear lurked behind the doubt—the fear that comes of dread of penalty—the
fear that will attack the stoutest, most reckless villains, at times.
What was there in this mysterious priest that served to tongue-tie them,
as it were—yet loosened every evil and falsity of their souls until
their minds beholding, shrank from such as though they were ghastly
phantoms? Finally, Urgis, in his quality of lesser villain, broke
silence.
“Oltis, it would be well to think upon it. Let us speak together.”
“I will speak here,” vociferated Oltis. “There needeth no meddling
priest, no speaking together to show me my duty. If olden law and olden
prophecy join, I must obey. The youth can go free. But woe to him should
he sin again!”
Well was it for Sensel that the two saw not the glad light that came
into his eyes, the happy color that swept over his face. As for the
silent one, the expression that irradiated him was not detected, either,
as, at the beginning of Oltis’ words to Urgis, he had turned as if to
walk away. Yet again, and instantly, did he face them, for Hellen’s
voice was ringing:
“O ‘Silent Priest’ I thank thee, I bow to thee. In truth art thou of the
gods—as the islanders say!”
The silent one stretched out his hands to him in blessing; and then,
with a peculiar look at Oltis, moved away. Oltis, with a strange
drooping about him, turned to Sensel with the order, “See the youth well
away.”
Then to Hellen, he added, “Youth, go. But forget not—that olden laws and
olden prophecies will not ever be at hand to save thee.”
When Hellen had bowed to each, he turned after Sensel; and followed his
gliding, quivering, dust-colored self to the gateway of the outer court.
After Sensel, without one word, had left him, Hellen went on to the
palace as if in a dream, absorbed over the ‘Silent Priest.’ Wonderful
was the power of this grand man, amazing the hopefulness that possessed
him when this being came opposite him! Was he, indeed, more than mortal
as the islanders hinted? Or were his powers natural in themselves, but
seldom bestowed upon man?
That evening, it was evident to Æole and Electra that Hellen was unduly
disturbed, for his voice was husky, his eyes and color feverish. As to
themselves, they were very pale; and Æole owned to a feeling of
weakness, even looking in apprehension at the hill they were about to
mount. Perceiving this, Hellen, as he took an arm of each, whispered:
“Let us not climb the tower. We will go to the alley on its right. There
no one cometh this late. Though, there are ears in the air.”
“It is not so safe as the tower, Hellen.”
“There is still the noise of the bulls, Æole.”
“I forgot. May their zeal be great!”
Electra laughed; and a little color came into her face. “How I thank
those bulls,” she said naively. “Well are they worthy to be held in
honor, and to be kept about the temple!”
The three laughed, their spirits lightening in accordance; and they
began to walk with briskness towards the northern slope. As they neared
the broad leafy alley that extended downward to the right of the tower,
Æole paused to regard this distrustfully.
“We could be followed, and not know it because of the trees.”
“My eyes and ears will be well open,” said Hellen.
Down the alley they hurried to come upon a thicket: and here paused to
listen. But no sounds could be heard save the songs of the night birds
and the faint chanting of the priests—when the bulls permitted.
As they were about to pass around the thicket, Hellen thought to look
backward up the alley—just as a tall slender shape showed itself in
entering; and darted for this only to see it vanish. Vainly did he
search on all sides, thereupon returning scant of breath, but yet with
voice to air his indignation.
“It could but be that Sensel—so fast did he fly. He is an evil spirit!”
“Say not so, Hellen. He is good. Often doth he aid Electra and myself.
And the other handmaids never tire of speaking of his kind deeds.”
“Æole, I forget not that he came upon me without noise when I met the
red shape.”
“Hellen, I have the thought that good will come of those two,” insisted
Electra.
They were around the thicket; and had come upon one of the streams
flowing down the mountain side. By this they sat so as to face the
thicket; and, under cover of the noise of the bulls, Hellen began with
this:
“Æole, Electra, I have seen the queen.”
The two jumped to their feet, and as quickly sat down again. “Tell
us!”—“Tell us!” they chorused.
Hellen recounted all save the terrible part concerning the handmaids.
When he finished, they were weeping.
“Thinkest thou the queen will get well?” asked Æole, finally.
“Her spirit is mighty. She feeleth she should live to help us. I fear
not she will die.”
“Great is the wonder that she found strength to come to the temple.”
“Yea, but it is herself,” said Electra. “And well did Atlano and Oltis
cower before her. It passeth belief that Oltis should thus deck himself
when the law is strong the priests shall ever wear white linen.”
“But, the ‘Silent Priest,’” interposed Æole, “was he not as beyond
earth? How did Oltis pale before him! What shame did his pure raiment
and silver circlet cast upon the purple and gems of the high priest!
And, even at my first look, what a spell took hold of me. Hard was it to
draw from him mine eyes.”
“He is a power,” added Hellen. “The other priests fear him while they
look up to him. And, he doth cause me to thrill with hope and strength
at the first glance. What is it?—Ah—never can I forget how he came
before these islanders!”
“Tell us of it, Hellen,” said Electra. “I, also, am drawn to him. He
seemeth more than man.”
“Yea, Hellen—tell us—and hasten. The time doth fly.”
“It is a year since. One morning, while I was on the sands, I chanced to
see far off on the water a moving speck. As it drew on, it proved to be
a boat, and a boat of strange behavior—for long it hovered far, as if it
feared to draw nigher. The islanders also noting this, watched with me.
After two hours, it began to near us a little. Then it stopped.
“So we on the sands beckoned. Thus on it came again. And soon we saw
that it was of odd shape, and held two persons, one being clothed in
white. Slow, very slow was it in nearing us; but at length drew up on
the sands, amid our loud greetings.
“Then stepped among us this grand man robed in shining white, and
wearing about his head a circlet of silver studded with golden stars.
His was the garb of the priests of Poseidon, save that he wore soft
folds of white about his brow beneath the circlet. So we pressed about
him to know whence he came. To our sorrow he answered not by speech;
but, by signs, made the king, high priest, and all, to know that Amen
had sent him to serve in the temple, and that he would speak at such
time as the gods willed.”
“How chanced the king and high priest on the sands?” inquired Electra.
“When we had watched the strange behavior of the boat for a while, we
sent for them.”
“But—the figure behind him?” asked Æole.
“He sat still until the ‘Silent Priest’ signed for him to come. It was
Sensel.”
“Now I call it to mind, Hellen. I heard thee tell of it, but had
forgotten.”
“Yea, I told thee. This second figure was Sensel. Out he glided, tall,
slender, shining of eye, the color of dust, and swaying. We fell back as
though he was a serpent; and watched him, charmed, as he took his place
beside the ‘Silent Priest.’”
“I think he is fair, noble,” urged Electra, “in spite of his ugly dust
garments and wavy walk. How his eyes shine beneath that low cap he ever
weareth!”
This pleased Æole much. But Hellen looked severe. In grimmest tone, he
said:
“Look to it that he throweth not his spells about you. Such charming is
death!”
“Hellen, thou hast need of more heart,” warned Æole. “Thou art getting
to look but for the evil in people.” And she turned from him.
This, coming from her, was a blow. Hellen was so smitten, that Electra
entreated:
“Æole, thou hast wounded him. But—look upon him with thy fond eyes.”
Æole obeyed to soften. Taking his hand, she said in her loving way:
“Dear Hellen, how could I thus hurt thee. Forgive me.”
He kissed her. “Dear Æole, how can I forgive when naught doth need it. I
am wrong to speak evil of Sensel when he is kind to thee and Electra.”
The last sentence though somewhat lacking in firmness, yet was strong in
its concession. In appreciation, sweet peace hovered over them again;
and Electra, that the gentle presence might not go on the wing, hastened
to say:
“But, Hellen, thou hast not told us all. And soon should we go back.”
“There is little more. As to the ‘Silent Priest’ already were we looking
upon him as a higher being. And this strange Sensel but added to our
awe. When the king and high priest had spoken further, by their signs,
we followed them to the temple. Here the new priest was given place. Now
he is a power, checking even Atlano and Oltis. But few animals have been
yielded on the altar; and no handmaids have been called to the inner
holy place, since he hath been in the temple.”
Æole and Electra shuddered. The latter whispered:
“Hellen, we are getting a dread of the inner holy place.”
“What meanest thou?”
“The other handmaids tremble and grow pale at name of it.”
“We found it thus the first day,” added Æole. “Why is it?”
“Ask me not, Æole. But pray that no more handmaids may go in there.”
They looked at him in fear.
“Hellen, much have we seen and heard that causeth us to believe evil
goeth on in the inner parts. I feel as if the air, even, is not pure.”
“Dwell not upon such thoughts. I am sure that it groweth brighter for
us. Let me tell you what happened after the earth quaked, after Sensel
had led you from the temple.”
Hastily he recounted the whole, not omitting Sensel’s perturbation. When
he had finished, the two, of their doubt and anxiety, were silent.
Finally, Æole murmured:
“Hellen, what a risk was thine to go in that passage. And thine awful
words to the high priest.”
“I have been smitten ever since. But the words would come.”
“I know, Hellen. But, take cheer. Be not so cast down.”
“I fear it will bring evil to thee and Electra.”
“But—there are the ‘Silent Priest’ and Sensel,” urged Electra.
“If Sensel is our friend. Though he came with the ‘Silent Priest,’ he
hath gained favor with Atlano and Oltis. Both look to him; and both may
have weight with him. It may be it was at their order that he came after
us in the alley. He may be beyond that thicket now.”—He pointed to the
nearest clump.
“I will see,” returned Electra.
Scarce had they accepted her words than she was speeding off to the
place designated, hopeful of convincing Hellen of his injustice.
But, when almost there, paused because of a significant rustling. Though
the pause was only for the instant. Bravely she resumed her way; and was
at the thicket just as a tall form showed itself before vanishing!
Poor Electra, overcome, could only turn and look to Hellen, who had fast
followed her. Pitiful was it to witness her trembling. Hellen, in his
loving commiseration, put his arm about her, nay, both arms; and thus
supported her.
“Come, dear Electra, come away. Thou wilt be sick.”
She burst into tears; and was emulated by the approaching Æole. As she
sobbed, she said:
“I grieve not to believe him our friend.”
“It doth not make him the less our friend that he hath done this,” spoke
Æole, with head held high. “How know we but he is the more our friend in
thus doing. It is plain he was not there to hearken. It is too far from
the place where we sat.” Sweet was her majesty.
“Why, then, didst thou weep?” asked the keen Hellen.
“I know not,” she faltered, her head lowering. “Unless it was
because—everything was so sudden—and Electra was trembling and weeping.”
“Wert thou in fear, Electra?”
“Nay, Hellen, but I became without hope.”
“And I am, likewise. I fear he is not for us.” Hellen was gloomily
looking down.
“I have it,” exclaimed Æole. “He came to warn us!”
“Thou hast it, Æole!”—Glad was Electra to clutch at this straw.
“Why ran he then?” asked Hellen.
This was unanswerable. The two lovely heads bent, disconsolate, thus
causing softening in Hellen. In gentlest tones, he said:
“Let us not question it. And, it is time to go back.”
As they went, he thought to ask: “Where are those ‘Deeps’?”
“They are beneath the temple. The handmaids whisper of them in horror,”
replied Electra.
Nothing further was said until they reached the hillside door, when they
bade each other good-night dejectedly. As the door was opening, Hellen
whispered:
“Beware of him!”