_The Fall of Alroy_
SHE comes not yet! her cheerful form, not yet it sparkles in our
mournful sky. She comes not yet! the shadowy stars seem sad and
lustreless without their Queen. She comes not yet!’
‘_WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON,[78] AND LIVE IN LONELINESS TO HERALD
LIGHT._’
‘She comes not yet! her sacred form, not yet it summons to our holy
feast. She comes not yet! our brethren far wait mute and motionless the
saintly beam. She comes not yet!’
‘_WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON, AND LIVE IN LONELINESS TO HERALD
LIGHT_.’
‘She comes, she comes! her beauteous form sails with soft splendour in
the glittering air. She comes, she comes! The beacons fire, and tell the
nation that the month begins! She comes, she comes!’
‘_WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON, TO TELL THE NATION THAT THE MONTH
BEGINS_.’
Instantly the holy watchers fired the beacons on the mountain top, and
anon a thousand flames blazed round the land. From Caucasus to Lebanon,
on every peak a crown of light.
‘Sire! a Tatar has arrived from Hamadan, who will see none but thyself.
I have told him your Highness was engaged, and sent him to the Lord
Honain; but all denial is lost upon him. And as I thought perhaps the
Lady Miriam----’
‘From Hamadan? You did well, Pharez. Admit him.’
The Tatar entered.
‘Well, Sir; good news, I hope!’
‘Sire, pardon me, the worst. I come from the Lord Abner, with orders to
see the Caliph, and none else.’
‘Well, Sir, you see the Caliph. Your mission? What of the Viceroy?’
‘Sire, he bade me tell thee, that, the moment the beacon that announced
the Feast of the New Moon was fired on Caucasus, the dreaded monarch of
Karasmé, the great Alp Arslan, entered thy kingdom, and now overruns all
Persia.’
‘Hah! and Abner?’
‘Is in the field, and prays for aid.’
‘He shall have it. This is indeed great news! When left you Hamadan?’
‘Night and day I have journeyed upon the swiftest dromedary. The third
morn sees me at Bagdad.’
‘You have done your duty. See this faithful courier be well tended,
Pharez. Summon the Lord Honain.’
‘Alp Arslan! Hah! a very famous warrior. The moment the beacon was
fired. No sudden impulse then, but long matured. I like it not.’
‘Sire,’ said Pharez, re-entering, ‘a Tatar has arrived from the
frontiers of the province, who will see none but thyself. I have told
him your Highness was deeply busied, and as methinks he brings but the
same news, I----’
‘‘Tis very likely; yet never _think_, good Pharez. I’ll see the man.’
The Tatar entered.
‘Well, Sir, how now! from whom?’
‘From Mozul. The Governor bade me see the Caliph and none else, and tell
your Highness that the moment the beacon that announced the Feast of the
New Moon was fired on the mountains, the fell rebel Abidan raised the
standard of Judah in the province, and proclaimed war against your
Majesty.’
‘In any force?’
‘The royal power keeps within their walls.’
‘Sufficient answer. Part of the same movement. We shall have some
trouble. Hast summoned Honain?’
‘I have, Sire.’
‘Go, see this messenger be duly served, and, Pharez, come hither: let
none converse with them. You understand?’
‘Your Highness may assure yourself.’
‘Abidan come to life. He shall not escape so well this time. I must see
Scherirah. I much suspect----what’s this? More news!’
A third Tatar entered.
‘May it please your Highness, this Tatar has arrived from the Syrian
frontier.’
‘Mischief in the wind, I doubt not. Speak out, knave!’
‘Sire! pardon me; I bear but sad intelligence.’
‘Out with the worst!’
‘I come from the Lord Medad.’
‘Well! has he rebelled? It seems a catching fever.’
‘Ah! no, dread Sire, Lord Medad has no thought but for thy glory. Alas!
alas! he has now to guard it against fearful odds. Lord Medad bade me
see the Caliph and none else, and tell your Highness, that the moment
the beacon which announced the Feast of the New Moon was fired on
Lebanon, the Sultan of Roum and the old Arabian Caliph unfurled the
standard of their Prophet, in great array, and are now marching towards
Bagdad.’
‘A clear conspiracy! Has Honain arrived? Summon a council of the Vizirs
instantly. The world is up against me. Well! I’m sick of peace. They
shall not find me napping!’
‘You see, my lords,’ said Alroy, ere the council broke up, ‘we must
attack them singly. There can be no doubt of that. If they join, we must
combat at great odds. ‘Tis in detail that we must route them. I will
myself to Persia. Ithamar must throw himself between the Sultan and
Abidan, Medad fall back on Ithamar. Scherirah must guard the capital.
Honain, you are Regent. And so farewell. I shall set off to-night.
Courage, brave companions. ‘Tis a storm, but many a cedar survives the
thunderbolt.’
The council broke up.
‘My own Scherirah!’ said the Caliph, as they retired, ‘stay awhile.
I would speak with you alone. Honain,’ continued Alroy, following the
Grand Vizir out of the chamber, and leaving Scherirah alone, ‘Honain, I
have not yet interchanged a word with you in private. What think you of
all this?’
‘Sire, I am prepared for the worst, but hope the best.’
‘‘Tis wise. If Abner could only keep that Karasmian in check! I am about
to speak with Scherirah alone. I do suspect him much.’
‘I’ll answer for his treason.’
‘Hah! I do suspect him. Therefore I give him no command. I would not
have him too near his old companion, eh? We will garrison the city with
his rebels.’
‘Sire, these are not moments to be nice. Scherirah is a valiant captain,
a very valiant captain, but lend me thy signet ring, I pray thee, Sire.’
Alroy turned pale.
‘No, Sir, it has left me once, and never shall again. You have touched
upon a string that makes me sad. There is a burden on my conscience,
why, or what, I know not. I am innocent, you know I am innocent,
Honain!’
‘I’ll answer for your Highness. He who has enough of the milk of human
kindness to spare a thing like Scherirah, when he stands in his way, may
well be credited for the nobler mercy that spared his better.’
‘Ah me! there’s madness in the thought. Why is he not here? Had I
but followed; tush! tush! Go see the Queen, and tell her all that has
happened. I’ll to Scherirah.’
The Caliph returned.
‘Thy pardon, brave Scherirah; in these moments my friends will pardon
lapse of courtesy.’
‘Your Highness is too considerate.’
‘You see, Scherirah, how the wind blows, brave heart. There’s much to
do, no doubt. I am in sad want of some right trusty friend, on whose
devoted bosom I can pillow all my necessities. I was thinking of sending
you against this Arslan, but perhaps ‘tis better that I should go
myself. These are moments one should not seem to shrink, and yet we know
not how affairs may run; no, we know not. The capital, the surrounding
province: one disaster and these false Moslemin may rise against us. I
should stay here, but if I leave Scherirah, I leave myself. I feel that
deeply; ‘tis a consolation. It may be that I must fall back upon the
city. Be prepared, Scherirah. Let me fall back upon supporting friends.
You have a great trust. Oh! use it wisely! Worthily I am sure you must
do.’
‘Your Highness may rest assured I have no other thought but for your
weal and glory. Doubt not my devotion, Sire. I am not one of those
mealy-mouthed youths, full of their own deeds and lip-worship, Sire, but
I have a life devoted to your service, and ready at all times to peril
all things.’
‘I know that, Scherirah, I know it; I feel it deeply. What think you of
these movements?’
‘They are not ill combined, and yet I doubt not your Majesty will prove
your fortunes most triumphant.’
‘Think you the soldiery are in good cue?’ ‘I’ll answer for my own.
They are rough fellows, like myself, a little too blunt, perhaps, your
Highness. We are not holiday guards, but we know our duty, and we will
do it.’
‘That’s well, that’s all I want. I shall review the troops before I
go. Let a donative be distributed among them; and, ‘by-the-bye, I have
always forgotten it, your legion should be called the Legion of Syria.
We owe our fairest province to their arms.’
‘I shall convey to them your Highness’ wish. Were it possible, ‘twould
add to their devotion.’
‘I do not wish it. They are my very children. Sup at the Serail
to-night, Scherirah. We shall be very private. Yet let us drink together
ere we part. We are old friends, you know. Hast not forgotten our ruined
city?’
Alroy entered the apartment of Schirene. ‘My soul! thou knowest all?’
She sprang forward and threw her arms around his neck.
‘Fear not, my life, we’ll not disgrace our Queen. ‘Twill be quick work.
Two-thirds of them have been beaten before, and for the new champion,
our laurels must not fade, and his blood shall nourish fresh ones.’
‘Dearest, dearest Alroy, go not thyself, I pray thee. May not Asriel
conquer?’
‘I hope so, in my company. For a time we part, a short one. ‘Tis our
first parting: may it be our last!’
‘Oh! no, no, no: oh! say not we must part.’
‘The troops are under arms; to-morrow’s dawn will hear my trumpet.’
‘I will not quit thee, no! I will not quit thee. What business
has Schirene without Alroy? Hast thou not often told me I am thy
inspiration? In the hour of danger shall I be wanting? Never! I will not
quit thee; no, I will not quit thee.’
‘Thou art ever present in my thoughts, my soul. In the battle I shall
think of her for whom alone I conquer.’
‘Nay, nay, I’ll go, indeed I must, Alroy. I’ll be no hindrance, trust
me, sweet boy, I will not. I’ll have no train, no, not a single maid.
Credit me, I know how a true soldier’s wife should bear herself. I’ll
watch thee sleeping, and I’ll tend thee wounded, and when thou goest
forth to combat I’ll gird thy sabre round thy martial side, and whisper
triumph with victorious kisses.’
‘My own Schirene, there’s victory in thine eyes. We’ll beat them, girl.’
‘Abidan, doubly false Abidan! would he were doubly hanged! Ere she
died, the fatal prophetess foretold this time, and gloated on his future
treachery.’
‘Think not of him.’
‘And the Karasmian; think you he is very strong?’ ‘Enough, love, for our
glory. He is a potent warrior: I trust that Abner will not rob us of our
intended victory.’
‘So you triumph, I care not by whose sword. Dost go indeed to-morrow?’
‘At break of dawn. I pray thee stay, my sweet!’ ‘Never! I will not quit
thee. I am quite prepared. At break of dawn? ‘Tis near on midnight now.
I’ll lay me down upon this couch awhile, and travel in my litter. Art
sure Alp Arslan is himself in the field?’
‘Quite sure, my sweet.’
‘Confusion on his crown! We’ll conquer. Goes Asriel with us?’ ‘Ay!’
‘That’s well; at break of dawn. I’m somewhat drowsy. Methinks I’ll sleep
awhile.’
‘Do, my best heart; I’ll to my cabinet, and at break of dawn I’ll wake
thee with a kiss.’
The Caliph repaired to his cabinet, where his secretaries were occupied
in writing. As he paced the chamber, he dictated to them the necessary
instructions.
‘Who is the officer on guard?’
‘Benaiah, Sire.’
‘I remember him. He saved me a broken skull upon the Tigris. This is for
him. The Queen accompanies us. She is his charge. These papers for the
Vizir. Let the troops be under arms by daybreak. This order of the
day for the Lord Asriel. Send this instantly to Hamadan. Is the Tatar
despatched to Medad? ‘Tis well. You have done your duty. Now to rest.
Pharez?’
‘My lord.’
‘I shall not sleep to-night. Give me my drink. Go rest, good boy. I have
no wants. Good night.’
‘Good night, my gracious lord!’
‘Let me ponder! I am alone. I am calm, and yet my spirit is not quick.
I am not what I was. Four-and-twenty hours ago who would have dreamed of
this? All at stake again! Once more in the field, and struggling at once
for empire and existence! I do lack the mighty spirit of my former days.
I am not what I was. I have little faith. All about me seems changed,
and dull, and grown mechanical. Where are those flashing eyes and
conquering visages that clustered round me on the battle eve, round me,
the Lord’s anointed? I see none such. They are changed, as I am. Why!
this Abidan was a host, and now he fights against me. She spoke of the
prophetess; I remember that woman was the stirring trumpet of our ranks,
and now where is she? The victim of my justice! And where is he, the
mightier far, the friend, the counsellor, the constant guide, the master
of my boyhood; the firm, the fond, the faithful guardian of all my
bright career; whose days and nights were one unbroken study to make me
glorious? Alas! I feel more like a doomed and desperate renegade than
a young hero on the eve of battle, flushed with the memory of unbroken
triumphs!
‘Hah! what awful form art thou that risest from the dusky earth before
me? Thou shouldst be one I dare not name, yet will: the likeness of
Jabaster. Away! why frownest thou upon me? I did not slay thee. Do I
live, or dream, or what? I see him, ay! I see thee. I fear thee not, I
fear nothing. I am Alroy.
‘Speak, oh speak! I do conjure thee, mighty spectre, speak. By all the
memory of the past, although ‘tis madness, I do conjure thee, let me
hear again the accents of my boyhood.’
‘_Alroy, Alroy, Alroy_!’
‘I listen, as to the last trump.’
‘_Meet me on the plain of Nehauend._’
‘‘Tis gone! As it spoke it vanished. It was Jabaster! God of my fathers,
it was Jabaster! Life is growing too wild. My courage is broken! I
could lie down and die. It was Jabaster! The voice sounds in my ear like
distant thunder: “_Meet me on the plain of Nehauend_.” I’ll not fail
thee, noble ghost, although I meet my doom. Jabaster! Have I seen
Jabaster! Indeed! indeed! Methinks I’m mad. Hah! What’s that?’
An awful clap of thunder broke over the palace, followed by a strange
clashing sound that seemed to come from one of the chambers. The walls
of the Serail rocked.
‘An earthquake!’ exclaimed Alroy. ‘Would that the earth would open and
swallow all! Hah! Pharez, has it roused thee, too? Pharez, we live in
strange times.’
‘Your Highness is very pale.’
‘And so art thou, lad! Wouldst have me merry? Pale! we may well be pale,
didst thou know all. Hah! that awful sound again! I cannot bear it,
Pharez, I cannot bear it. I have borne many things, but this I cannot.’
‘My lord, ‘tis in the Armoury.’
‘Run, see. No, I’ll not be alone. Where’s Benaiah? Let him go. Stay with
me, Pharez, stay with me. I pray thee stay, my child.’
Pharez led the Caliph to a couch, on which Alroy lay pale and trembling.
In a few minutes he inquired whether Benaiah had returned.
‘Even now he comes, Sire.’
‘Well, how is it?’
‘Sire! a most awful incident. As the thunder broke over the palace, the
sacred standard fell from its resting-place, and has shivered into a
thousand pieces. Strange to say, the sceptre of Solomon can neither be
found nor traced.’
‘Say nothing of the past, as ye love me, lads. Let none enter the
Armoury. Leave me, Benaiah, leave me, Pharez.’
They retired. Alroy watched their departure with a glance of
inexpressible anguish. The moment that they had disappeared, he flew to
the couch, and throwing himself upon his knees, and, covering his face
with his hands, burst into passionate tears, and exclaimed, ‘O! my God,
I have deserted thee, and now thou hast deserted me!’
Sleep crept over the senses of the exhausted and desperate Caliph. He
threw himself upon the divan, and was soon buried in profound repose. He
might have slept an hour; he awoke suddenly. From the cabinet in which
he slept, you entered a vast hall, through a lofty and spacious
arch, generally covered with drapery, which was now withdrawn. To the
astonishment of Alroy, this presence-chamber appeared at this moment
to blaze with light. He rose from his couch, he advanced; he perceived,
with feelings of curiosity and fear, that the hall was filled with
beings, terrible indeed to behold, but to his sight more terrible than
strange. In the colossal and mysterious forms that lined the walls
of the mighty chamber, and each of which held in its extended arm a
streaming torch, he recognised the awful Afrites. At the end of the
hall, upon a sumptuous throne, surrounded by priests and courtiers,
there was seated a monarch, on whom Alroy had before gazed, Solomon the
Great! Alroy beheld him in state and semblance the same Solomon, whose
sceptre the Prince of the Captivity had seized in the royal tombs of
Judah.
The strange assembly seemed perfectly unconscious of the presence of the
child of Earth, who, with a desperate courage, leant against a column of
the arch, and watched, with wonder, their mute and motionless society.
Nothing was said, nothing done. No one moved, no one, even by gesture,
seemed sensible of the presence of any other apparition save himself.
Suddenly there advanced from the bottom of the hall, near unto Alroy,
a procession. Pages and dancing girls, with eyes of fire and voluptuous
gestures, warriors with mighty arms, and venerable forms with ample
robes and flowing beards. And, as they passed, even with all the
activity of their gestures, they made no sound; neither did the
musicians, whereof there was a great band playing upon harps and
psalteries, and timbrels and cornets, break, in the slightest degree,
the almighty silence.
This great crowd poured on in beautiful order, the procession never
terminating, yet passing thrice round the hall, bowing to him that was
upon the throne, and ranging themselves in ranks before the Afrites.
And there came in twelve forms, bearing a great seal: the stone green,
and the engraven characters of living flame, and the characters were
those on the talisman of Jabaster, which Alroy still wore next to his
heart. And the twelve forms placed the great seal before Solomon, and
humbled themselves, and the King bowed. At the same moment Alroy was
sensible of a pang next to his heart. He instantly put his hand to the
suffering spot, and lo! the talisman crumbled into dust.
The procession ceased; a single form advanced. Recent experience alone
prevented Alroy from sinking before the spectre of Jabaster. Such was
the single form. It advanced, bearing the sceptre. It advanced, it knelt
before the throne, it offered the sceptre to the crowned and solemn
vision. And the form of Solomon extended its arm, and took the sceptre,
and instantly the mighty assembly vanished!
Alroy advanced immediately into the chamber, but all was dark and
silent. A trumpet sounded. He recognised the note of his own soldiery.
He groped his way to a curtain, and, pulling it aside, beheld the first
streak of dawn.
Once more upon his charger, once more surrounded by his legions, once
more his senses dazzled and inflamed by the waving banners and the
inspiring trumpets, once more conscious of the power still at his
command, and the mighty stake for which he was about to play, Alroy in a
great degree recovered his usual spirit and self-possession. His energy
returned with his excited pulse, and the vastness of the impending
danger seemed only to stimulate the fertility of his genius.
He pushed on by forced marches towards Media, at the head of fifty
thousand men. At the end of the second day’s march, fresh couriers
arrived from Abner, informing him that, unable to resist the valiant
and almost innumerable host of the King of Karasmé, he had entirely
evacuated Persia, and had concentrated his forces in Louristan. Alroy,
in consequence of this information, despatched orders to Scherirah, to
join him with his division instantly, and leave the capital to its fate.
They passed again the mountains of Kerrund, and joined Abner and the
army of Media, thirty thousand strong, on the river Abzah. Here Alroy
rested one night, to refresh his men, and on the ensuing morn pushed on
to the Persian frontier, unexpectedly attacked the advanced posts of Alp
Arslan, and beat them back with great loss into the province. But the
force of the King of Karasmé was so considerable, that the Caliph did
not venture on a general engagement, and therefore he fell back, and
formed in battle array upon the neighbouring plain of Nehauend, the
theatre of one of his earliest and most brilliant victories, where he
awaited the hourly-expected arrival of Scherirah.
The King of Karasmé, who was desirous of bringing affairs to an issue,
and felt confident in his superior force, instantly advanced. In two or
three days at farthest, it was evident that a battle must be fought that
would decide the fate of the East.
On the morn ensuing their arrival at Nehauend, while the Caliph was out
hunting, attended only by a few officers, he was suddenly attacked by
an ambushed band of Karasmians. Alroy and his companions defended
themselves with such desperation that they at length succeeded in
beating off their assailants, although triple their number. The leader
of the Karasmians, as he retreated, hurled a dart at the Caliph, which
must have been fatal, had not a young officer of the guard interposed
his own breast, and received the deadly wound. The party, in confusion,
returned with all speed to the camp, Alroy himself bearing the expiring
victim of desperate loyalty and military enthusiasm.
The bleeding officer was borne to the royal pavilion, and placed upon
the imperial couch. The most skilful leech was summoned; he examined the
wound, but shook his head. The dying warrior was himself sensible of his
desperate condition. His agony could only be alleviated by withdrawing
the javelin, which would occasion his immediate decease. He desired to
be left alone with his Sovereign.
‘Sire!’ said the officer, ‘I must die; and I die without a pang. To die
in your service, I have ever considered the most glorious end. Destiny
has awarded it to me;, and if I have not met my fate upon the field
of battle, it is some consolation that my death has preserved the most
valuable of lives. Sire! I have a sister.’
‘Waste not thy strength, dear friend, in naming her. Rest assured I
shall ever deem thy relatives my own.’
‘I doubt it not. Would I had a thousand lives for such a master! I have
a burden on my conscience, Sire, nor can I die in peace unless I speak
of it.’
‘Speak, speak freely. If thou hast injured any one, and the power or
wealth of Alroy can redeem thy oppressed spirit, he will not spare, he
will not spare, be assured of that.’
‘Noble, noble master, I must be brief; for, although, while this javelin
rests within my body, I yet may live, the agony is great. Sire, the deed
of which I speak doth concern thee.’
‘Ay!’
‘I was on guard the day Jabaster died.’
‘Powers of heaven! I am all ear. Speak on, speak on!’
‘He died self-strangled, so they say?’
‘So they ever told me.’
‘Thou art innocent, thou art innocent! I thank my God, my King is
innocent!’
‘Rest assured of that, as there is hope in Israel. Tell me all.’
‘The Queen came with the signet ring. To such authority I yielded way.
She entered, and after her, the Lord Honain. I heard high words! I heard
Jabaster’s voice. He struggled, yes! he struggled; but his mighty form,
wounded and fettered, could not long resist. Foul play, foul play, Sire!
What could I do against such adversaries? They left the chamber with
a stealthy step. Her eyes met mine. I never could forget that fell and
glittering visage.’
‘Thou ne’er hast spoken of this awful end?’
‘To none but thee. And why I speak it now I cannot tell, save that it
seems some inspiration urges me; and methinks they who did this may do
even feller works, if such there be.’
‘Thou hast robbed me of all peace and hope of peace; and yet I thank
thee. Now I know the worth of life. I have never loved to think of that
sad day; and yet, though I have sometimes dreamed of villainous work,
the worst were innocence to thy dread tale.’
‘Tis told; and now I pray thee secure thy secret, by drawing from my
agonised frame this javelin.’
‘Trusty heart, ‘tis a sad office.’
‘I die with joy if thou performest it.’
‘‘Tis done.’
‘God save Alroy.’
While Alroy, plunged in thought, stood over the body of the officer,
there arose a flourish of triumphant music, and a eunuch, entering
the pavilion, announced the arrival of Schirene from Kerrund. Almost
immediately afterwards, the Princess descending from her litter, entered
the tent; Alroy tore off his robe, and threw it over the corpse.
‘My own,’ exclaimed the Princess, as she ran up to the Caliph. ‘I have
heard all. Be not alarmed for me. I dare look upon a corpse. You know I
am a soldier’s bride. I am used to blood.’
‘Alas!’
‘Why so pale? Thou dost not kiss me! Has this unhinged thee so? ‘Tis a
sad deed; and yet tomorrow’s dawn may light up thousands to as grim a
fate. Why? thou tremblest! Alas! kind soul! The single death of this
fond, faithful heart hath quite upset my love. Yet art thou used to
battle. Why! this is foolishness. Art not glad to see me? What, not one
smile! And I have come to fight for thee! I will be kissed!’
She flung herself upon his neck. Alroy faintly returned her embrace, and
bore her to a couch. He clapped his hands, and two soldiers entered and
bore away the corpse.
‘The pavilion, Schirene, is now fitter for thy presence. Rest thyself; I
shall soon return.’ Thus speaking, he quitted her.
He quitted her; but her humbled look of sorrowful mortification pierced
to his heart. He thought of all her love and all her loveliness, he
called to mind all the marvellous story of their united fortunes. He
felt that for her and her alone he cared to live, that without her quick
sympathy, even success seemed unendurable. His judgment fluctuated in
an eddy of passion and reason. Passion conquered. He dismissed from his
intelligence all cognizance of good and evil; he determined, under all
circumstances, to cling ever to her; he tore from his mind all memory
of the late disclosure. He returned to the pavilion with a countenance
beaming with affection; he found her weeping, he folded her in his arms,
he kissed her with a thousand kisses, and whispered between each kiss
his ardent love.
‘Twas midnight. Schirene reposed in the arms of Alroy. The Caliph, who
was restless and anxious for the arrival of Scherirah, was scarcely
slumbering when the sound of a voice thoroughly aroused him. He looked
around; he beheld the spectre of Jabaster. His hair stood on end, his
limbs seemed to loosen, a cold dew crept over his frame, as he gazed
upon the awful form within a yard of his couch. Unconsciously he
disembarrassed his arms of their fair burden, and, rising on the couch,
leant forward.
‘_Alroy, Alroy, Alroy_!’
‘I am here.’
‘_To-morrow Israel is avenged!_’
‘Who is that?’ exclaimed the Princess, wakening.
In a frenzy of fear, Alroy, quite forgetting the spectre, turned
and pressed his hand over her eyes. When he again looked round the
apparition was invisible.
‘What wouldst thou, Alroy?’
‘Nothing, sweet! A soldier’s wife must bear strange sights, yet I would
save you some. One of my men, forgetful you were here, burst into my
tent in such a guise as scarce would suit a female eye. I must away, my
child. I’ll call thy slaves. One kiss! Farewell! but for a time.’
‘“To-morrow Israel will be avenged.” What! in Karasmian blood? I have
no faith. No matter. All is now beyond my influence. A rushing destiny
carries me onward. I cannot stem the course, nor guide the vessel. How
now! Who is the officer on guard?’
‘Benomi, Sire, thy servant.’
‘Send to the Viceroy. Bid him meet me here. Who is this?’
‘A courier from the Lord Scherirah, Sire, but just arrived. He passed
last night the Kerrund mountains, Sire, and will be with you by the
break of day.’
‘Good news. Go fetch Abner. Haste! He’ll find me here anon. I’ll visit
the camp awhile. Well, my brave fellows, you have hither come to conquer
again with Alroy. You have fought before, I warrant, on the plain of
Nehauend. ‘Tis a rich soil, and shall be richer with Karasmian gore.’
‘God save your Majesty! Our lives are thine.’
‘Please you, my little ruler,’ said a single soldier, addressing Alroy;
‘pardon my bluntness, but I knew you before you were a Caliph.’
‘Stout heart, I like thy freedom. Pr’ythee say on.’
‘I was a-saying, I hope you will lead us in the charge to-morrow. Some
say you will not.’
‘They say falsely.’
‘I thought so. I’ll ever answer for my little ruler, but then the
Queen?’
‘Is a true soldier’s wife, and lives in the camp.’
‘That’s brave! There, I told you so, comrades; you would not believe
me, but I knew our little ruler before you did. I lived near the gate at
Hamadan, please your Highness: old Shelomi’s son.’
‘Give me thy hand; a real friend. What is’t ye eat here, boys? Let me
taste your mess. I’faith I would my cook could dress me such a pilau!
Tis admirable!’
The soldiers gathered round their chieftain with eyes beaming with
adoration. ‘Twas a fine picture, the hero in the centre, the various
groups around, some conversing with him, some cooking, some making
coffee, all offering him by word or deed some testimonial of their
devotion, and blending with that devotion the most perfect frankness.
‘We shall beat them, lads!’
‘There is no fear with you, you always conquer.’
‘I do my best, and so do you. A good general without good troops is
little worth.’
‘I’faith that’s true. One must have good troops. What think you of Alp
Arslan?’
‘I think he may give us as much trouble as all our other enemies
together, and that’s not much.’
‘Brave, brave! God save Alroy!’
Benomi approached, and announced that the Viceroy was in attendance.
‘I must quit you, my children,’ said Alroy. ‘We’ll sup once more
together when we have conquered.’
‘God save you, Sire; and we will confound your enemies.’
‘Good night, my lads. Ere the dawn break we may have hot work.’
‘We are ready, we are ready. God save Alroy.’
‘They are in good cue, and yet ‘twas a different spirit that inspired
our early days. That I strongly feel. These are men true to a leader who
has never failed them, and confident in a cause that leads to plunder.
They are but splendid mercenaries.
No more. Oh! where are now the fighting men of Judah! Where are the men
who, when they drew their scimitars, joined in a conquering psalm of
holy triumph! Last eve of battle you would have thought the field a
mighty synagogue. Priests and altars, flaming sacrifices, and smoking
censers, groups of fiery zealots hanging with frenzy on prophetic lips,
and sealing with their blood and holiest vows a solemn covenant to
conquer Canaan. All is changed, as I am. How now, Abner? You are well
muffled!’
‘Is it true Scherirah is at hand?’
‘I doubt not all is right. Would that the dawn would break!’
‘The enemy is advancing. Some of their columns are in sight. My scouts
have dodged them. They intend doubtless to form upon the plain.’
‘They are in sight, eh! Then we will attack them at once ere they
are formed. Rare, rare! We’ll beat them yet. Courage, dear brother.
Scherirah will be here at dawn in good time, very good time: very, very
good time.’
‘I like the thought’
‘The men are in good heart. At break of dawn, charge with thirty
thousand cavalry upon their forming ranks. I’ll take the right, Asriel
the left. It shall be a family affair, dear Abner. How is Miriam?’
‘I heard this morn, quite well. She sends you her love and prayers. The
Queen is here?’
‘She came this eve. Quite well.’
‘She must excuse all courtesy.’
‘Say nothing. She is a soldier’s wife. She loves thee well, dear Abner.’
‘I know that. I hope my sword may guard her children’s throne.’
‘Well, give thy orders. Instant battle, eh?’
‘Indeed I think so.’
‘I’ll send couriers to hurry Scherirah. All looks well. Reserve the
guard.’
‘Ay, ay! Farewell, dear Sire. When we meet again, I trust your enemies
may be your slaves!’
At the first streak of dawn the Hebrew cavalry, with the exception
of the Guard, charged the advancing columns of the Karasmians with
irresistible force, and cut them in pieces. Alp Arslan rallied his
troops, and at length succeeded in forming his main body in good order.
Alroy and Asriel led on their divisions, and the battle now became
general. It raged for several hours, and was on both sides well
maintained. The slaughter of the Karasmians was great, but their stern
character and superior numbers counterbalanced for a time all the
impetuosity of the Hebrews and all the energy of their leaders. This
day Alroy threw into the shade all his former exploits. Twelve times he
charged at the head of the Sacred Guard, and more than once penetrated
to the very pavilion of Alp Arslan.
In vain he endeavoured singly, and hand to hand, to meet that famous
chieftain. Both monarchs fought in the ranks, and yet Fate decided
that their scimitars should never cross. Four hours before noon, it was
evident to Alroy, that, unless Scherirah arrived, he could not prevail
against the vast superiority of numbers. He was obliged early to call
his reserve into the field, and although the number of the slain on
the side of Arslan exceeded any in the former victories of the Hebrews,
still the Karasmians maintained an immense front, which was constantly
supplied by fresh troops. Confident in his numbers, and aware of the
weakness of his antagonists, Arslan contented himself with acting on the
defensive, and wearying his assailants by resisting their terrible and
repeated charge.
For a moment, Alroy at the head of the Sacred Guard had withdrawn from
the combat. Abner and Asriel still maintained the fight, and the Caliph
was at the same time preparing for new efforts, and watching with
anxiety for the arrival of Scherirah. In the fifth hour, from an
eminence he marked with exultation the advancing banners of his
expected succours. Confident now that the day was won, he announced the
exhilarating intelligence to his soldiers; and, while they were excited
by the animating tidings, led them once more to the charge. It was
irresistible; Scherirah seemed to have arrived only for the pursuit,
only in time to complete the victory. What then was the horror, the
consternation of Alroy, when Benaiah, dashing up to him, informed
him that the long-expected succours consisted of the united forces of
Scherirah and Abidan, and had attacked him in the rear. Human genius
could afford no resource. The exhausted Hebrews, whose energies had been
tasked to the utmost, were surrounded. The Karasmians made a general and
simultaneous advance. In a few minutes the Hebrew army was thrown into
confusion. The stoutest warriors threw away their swords in despair.
Every one thought only of self-preservation. Even Abner fled towards
Hamadan. Asriel was slain. Alroy, finding it was all over, rushed to his
pavilion at the head of about three hundred of the guards, seized the
fainting Schirene, threw her before him on his saddle, and cutting his
way through all obstacles, dashed into the desert.
For eight-and-forty hours they never stopped. Their band was soon
reduced one-third. On the morning of the third day they dismounted
and refreshed themselves at a well. Half only regained their saddles.
Schirene never spoke. On they rushed again, each hour losing some
exhausted co-mate. At length, on the fifth day, about eighty strong,
they arrived at a grove of palm-trees. Here they dismounted. And Alroy
took Schirene in his arms, and the shade seemed to revive her. She
opened her eyes, and pressed his hand and smiled. He gathered her some
dates, and she drank some water.
‘Our toils will soon be over, sweetest,’ he whispered to her; ‘I have
lost everything but thee.’
Again they mounted, and, proceeding at a less rapid pace, they arrived
towards evening at the ruined city, whither Alroy all this time had
been directing his course. Dashing down the great street, they at length
entered the old amphitheatre. They dismounted. Alroy made a couch with
their united cloaks for Schirene. Some collected fuel, great store
of which was found, and kindled large fires. Others, while it was yet
light, chased the gazelles, and were sufficiently fortunate to provide
their banquet, or fetched water from the well known to their leader.
In an hour’s time, clustering round their fires in groups, and sharing
their rude fare, you might have deemed them, instead of the discomfited
and luxurious guards of a mighty monarch, the accustomed tenants of this
wild abode.
‘Come, my lads,’ said Alroy, as he rubbed his hands over the ascending
flame, ‘at any rate, this is better than the desert.’
After all his exertions, Alroy fell into profound and dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, the sun had been long up. Schirene was still slumbering.
He embraced her, and she opened her eyes and smiled.
‘You are now a bandit’s bride,’ he said. ‘How like you our new life?’
‘Well! with thee.’
‘Rest here, my sweetest: I must rouse our men, and see how fortune
speeds.’ So saying, and tripping lightly over many a sleeping form, he
touched Benaiah.
‘So! my brave captain of the guard, still napping! Come! stir, stir.’
Benaiah jumped up with a cheerful face. ‘I am ever ready, Sire.’
‘I know it; but remember I am no more a king, only a co-mate. Away with
me, and let us form some order.’
The companions quitted the amphitheatre and reconnoitred the adjoining
buildings. They found many stores, the remains of old days, mats, tents,
and fuel, drinking-bowls, and other homely furniture. They fixed upon
a building for their stable, and others for the accommodation of their
band. They summoned their companions to the open place, the scene of
Hassan Subah’s fate, where Alroy addressed them and explained to them
his plans. They were divided into companies; each man had his allotted
duty. Some were placed on guard at different parts; some were sent out
to the chase, or to collect dates from the Oasis; others led the horses
to the contiguous pasture, or remained to attend to their domestic
arrangements. The amphitheatre was cleared out. A rude but convenient
pavilion was formed for Schirene. They covered its ground with
mats, and each emulated the other in his endeavours to study her
accommodation. Her kind words and inspiring smiles animated at the same
time their zeal and their invention.
They soon became accustomed to their rough but adventurous life. Its
novelty pleased them, and the perpetual excitement of urgent necessity
left them no time to mourn over their terrible vicissitudes. While Alroy
lived, hope indeed never deserted their sanguine bosoms. And such was
the influence of his genius, that the most desponding felt that to be
discomfited with him, was preferable to conquest with another. They were
a faithful and devoted band, and merry faces were not wanting when at
night they assembled in the amphitheatre for their common meal.
No sooner had Alroy completed his arrangements than he sent forth
spies in all directions to procure intelligence, and especially to
communicate, if possible, with Ithamar and Medad, provided that they
still survived and maintained themselves in any force.
A fortnight passed away without the approach of any stranger; at the end
of which, there arrived four personages at their haunt, not very welcome
to their chief, who, however, concealed his chagrin at their appearance.
These were Kisloch the Kourd, and Calidas the Indian, and their
inseparable companions, the Guebre and the Negro.
‘Noble Captain,’ said Kisloch, ‘we trust that you will permit us to
enlist in the band. This is not the first time we have served under your
orders in this spot. Old co-mates, i’faith, who have seen the best and
the worst. We suspected where you might be found, although, thanks to
the ever felicitous invention of man, it is generally received that you
died in battle. I hope your Majesty is well,’ added Kisloch, bowing to
Schirene.
‘You are welcome, friends,’ replied Alroy; ‘I know your worth. You have
seen, as you say, the best and the worst, and will, I trust, see better.
Died in battle, eh! that’s good.’
‘‘Tis so received,’ said Calidas.
‘And what news of our friends?’
‘Not over good, but strange.’
‘How so?’
‘Hamadan is taken.’
‘I am prepared; tell me all.’
‘Old Bostenay and the Lady Miriam are borne prisoners to Bagdad.’
‘Prisoners?’
‘But so; all will be well with them, I trow. The Lord Honain is in high
favour with the conqueror, and will doubtless protect them.’
‘Honain in favour?’
‘Even so. He made terms for the city, and right good ones.’
‘Hah! he was ever dexterous. Well! if he save my sister, I care not for
his favour.’
‘There is no doubt. All may yet be well, Sir.’
‘Let us act, not hope. Where’s Abner?’
‘Dead.’
‘How?’
‘In battle.’
‘Art sure?’
‘I saw him fall, and fought beside him.’
‘A soldier’s death is all our fortune now. I am glad he was not
captured. Where’s Medad, Ithamar?’
‘Fled into Egypt.’
‘We have no force whatever, then?’
‘None but your guards here.’
‘They are strong enough to plunder a caravan. Honain, you say, in
favour?’
‘Very high. He’ll make good terms for us.’
‘This is strange news.’
‘Very, but true.’
‘Well! you are welcome! Share our fare; ‘tis rough, and somewhat scanty;
but we have feasted, and may feast again. Fled into Egypt, eh?’
‘Ay! Sir.’
‘Schirene, shouldst like to see the Nile?’
‘I have heard of crocodiles.’
If the presence of Kisloch and his companions were not very pleasing
to Alroy, with the rest of the band they soon became great favourites.
Their local knowledge, and their experience of desert life, made them
valuable allies, and their boisterous jocularity and unceasing merriment
were not unwelcome in the present monotonous existence of the fugitives.
As for Alroy himself, he meditated an escape to Egypt. He determined
to seize the first opportunity of procuring some camels, and then,
dispersing his band, with the exception of Benaiah and a few faithful
retainers, he trusted that, disguised as merchants, they might succeed
in crossing Syria, and entering Africa by Palestine. With these plans
and prospects, he became each day more cheerful and more sanguine as
to the future. He had in his possession some valuable jewels, which he
calculated upon disposing of at Cairo for a sum sufficient for all his
purposes; and having exhausted all the passions of life while yet a
youth, he looked forward to the tranquil termination of his existence in
some poetic solitude with his beautiful companion.
One evening, as they returned from the Oasis, Alroy guiding the camel
that bore Schirene, and ever and anon looking up in her inspiring face,
her sanguine spirit would have indulged in a delightful future.
‘Thus shall we pass the desert, sweet,’ said Schirene. ‘Can this be
toil?’
‘There is no toil with love,’ replied Alroy.
‘And we were made for love, and not for empire,’ rejoined Schirene.
‘The past is a dream,’ said Alroy. ‘So sages teach us; but, until we
act, their wisdom is but wind. I feel it now. Have we ever lived in
aught but deserts, and fed on aught but dates? Methinks ‘tis very
natural. But that I am tempted by the security of distant lands, I could
remain here a free and happy outlaw. Time, custom, and necessity form
our natures. When I first met Scherirah in these ruins, I shrank with
horror from degraded man; and now I sigh to be his heir. We must not
think!’
‘No, love, we’ll only hope,’ replied Schirene; and they passed through
the gates.
The night was beautiful, the air was still warm and sweet. Schirene
gazed upon the luminous heavens. ‘We thought not of these skies when
we were at Bagdad,’ she exclaimed; ‘and yet, my life, what was the
brightness of our palaces compared to these? All is left to us that man
should covet, freedom, beauty, and youth. I do believe, ere long, Alroy,
we shall look back upon the wondrous past as on another and a lower
world. Would that this were Egypt! Tis my only wish.’
‘And it shall soon be gratified. All will soon be arranged. A few brief
days, and then Schirene will mount her camel for a longer ride than just
to gather dates. You’ll make a sorry traveller, I fear!’
‘Not I; I’ll tire you all.’
They reached the circus, and seated themselves round the blazing fire.
Seldom had Alroy, since his fall, appeared more cheerful. Schirene sang
an Arab air to the band, who joined in joyous chorus. It was late
ere they sought repose; and they retired to their rest, sanguine and
contented.
A few hours afterwards, at the break of dawn, Alroy was roused from
his slumbers by a rude pressure on his breast. He started; a ferocious
soldier was kneeling over him; he would have spurned him; he found his
hand manacled. He would have risen; his feet were bound. He looked round
for Schirene, and called her name; he was answered only by a shriek.
The amphitheatre was filled with Karasmian troops. His own men were
surprised and overpowered. Kisloch and the Guebre had been on guard. He
was raised from the ground, and flung upon a camel, which was instantly
trotted out of the circus. On every side he beheld a wild scene of
disorder and dismay. He was speechless from passion and despair.
The camel was dragged into the desert. A body of cavalry instantly
surrounded it, and they set off at a rapid pace. The whole seemed the
work of an instant.
How many days had passed Alroy knew not. He had taken no account of
time. Night and day were to him the same. He was in a stupor. But the
sweetness of the air and the greenness of the earth at length partially
roused his attention. He was just conscious that they had quitted the
desert. Before him was a noble river; he beheld the Euphrates from
the very spot he had first viewed it in his pilgrimage. The strong
association of ideas called back his memory. A tear stole down his
cheek; the bitter drop stole to his parched lips; he asked the nearest
horseman for water. The guard gave him a wetted sponge, with which he
contrived with difficulty to wipe his lips, and then he let it fall to
the ground. The Karasmian struck him.
They arrived at the river. The prisoner was taken from the camel and
placed in a covered boat. After some hours they stopped and disembarked
at a small village. Alroy was placed upon an ass with his back to its
head. His clothes were soiled and tattered. The children pelted him with
mud. An old woman, with a fanatic curse, placed a crown of paper on
his brow. With difficulty his brutal guards prevented their victim
from being torn to pieces. And in such fashion, towards noon of the
fourteenth day, David Alroy again entered Bagdad.
The intelligence of the capture of Alroy spread through the agitated
city. The Moolahs bustled about as if they had received a fresh
demonstration of the authenticity of the prophetic mission. All the
Dervishes began begging. The men discussed affairs in the coffee-houses,
and the women chatted at the fountains.[79]
‘They may say what they like, but I wish him well,’ said a fair Arab,
as she arranged her veil. ‘He may be an impostor, but he was a very
handsome one.’
‘All the women are for him, that’s the truth,’ responded a companion;
‘but then we can do him no good.’
‘We can tear their eyes out,’ said a third.
‘And what do you think of Alp Arslan, truly?’ inquired a fourth.
‘I wish he were a pitcher, and then I could break his neck,’ said a
fifth.
‘Only think of the Princess!’ said a sixth.
‘Well! she has had a glorious time of it,’ said a seventh.
‘Nothing was too good for her,’ said an eighth.
‘I like true love,’ said a ninth.
‘Well! I hope he will be too much for them all yet,’ said a tenth.
‘I should not wonder,’ said an eleventh.
‘He can’t,’ said a twelfth, ‘he has lost his sceptre.’
‘You don’t say so?’ said a thirteenth.
‘It is too true,’ said a fourteenth.
‘Do you think he was a wizard?’ said a fifteenth. ‘I vow, if there be
not a fellow looking at us behind those trees.’
‘Impudent scoundrel!’ said a sixteenth. ‘I wish it were Alroy. Let us
all scream, and put down our veils.’
And the group ran away.
Two stout soldiers were playing chess[80] in a coffee-house.
‘May I slay my mother,’ said one, ‘but I cannot make a move. I fought
under him at Nehauend; and though I took the amnesty, I have half a mind
now to seize my sword and stab the first Turk that enters.’
‘‘Twere but sheer justice,’ said his companion. ‘By my father’s
blessing, he was the man for a charge. They may say what they like, but
compared with him, Alp Arslan is a white-livered Giaour.’
‘Here is confusion to him and to thy last move. There’s the dirhem, I
can play no more. May I slay my mother, though, but I did not think he
would let himself be taken.’
‘By the blessing of my father, nor I; but then he was asleep.’
‘That makes a difference. He was betrayed.’
‘All brave men are. They say Kisloch and his set pocket their fifty
thousand by the job.’
‘May each dirhem prove a plague-spot!’
‘Amen! Dost remember Abner?’
‘May I slay my mother if I ever forget him. He spoke to his men like so
many lambs. What has become of the Lady Miriam?’
‘She is here.’
‘That will cut Alroy.’
‘He was ever fond of her. Dost remember she gained Adoram’s life?’
‘Oh! she could do anything next to the Queen.’
‘Before her, I say, before her. He has refused the Queen, he never
refused the Lady Miriam.’
‘Because she asked less.’
‘Dost know it seemed to me that things never went on so well after
Jabaster’s death?’
‘So say I. There was a something, eh?’
‘A sort of a peculiar, as it were, kind of something, eh?’
‘You have well described it. Every man felt the same. I have often
mentioned it to my comrades. Say what you like, said I, but slay my
mother if ever since the old man strangled himself, things did not seem,
as it were, in their natural propinquity. ‘Twas the phrase I used.’
‘A choice one. Unless there is a natural propinquity, the best-arranged
matters will fall out. However, the ass sees farther than his rider, and
so it was with Alroy, the best commander I ever served under, all the
same.’
‘Let us go forth and see how affairs run.’
‘Ay, do. If we hear any one abuse Alroy, we’ll cleave his skull.’
‘That will we. There are a good many of our stout fellows about; we
might do something yet.’
‘Who knows?’
A subterranean dungeon of the citadel of Bagdad held in its gloomy
limits the late lord of Asia. The captive did not sigh, or weep, or
wail. He did not speak. He did not even think. For several days he
remained in a state of stupor. On the morning of the fourth day, he
almost unconsciously partook of the wretched provision which his gaolers
brought him. Their torches, round which the bats whirled and flapped
their wings, and twinkled their small eyes, threw a ghastly glare over
the nearer walls of the dungeon, the extremity of which defied the
vision of the prisoner; and, when the gaolers retired, Alroy was in
complete darkness.
The image of the past came back to him. He tried in vain to penetrate
the surrounding gloom. His hands were manacled, his legs also were
loaded with chains. The notion that his life might perhaps have been
cruelly spared in order that he might linger on in this horrible state
of conscious annihilation filled him with frenzy. He would have dashed
his fetters against his brow, but the chain restrained him. He flung
himself upon the damp and rugged ground. His fall disturbed a thousand
obscene things. He heard the quick glide of a serpent, the creeping
retreat of the clustering scorpions, and the swift escape of the dashing
rats. His mighty calamities seemed slight when compared with these petty
miseries. His great soul could not support him under these noisome and
degrading incidents. He sprang, in disgust, upon his feet, and stood
fearful of moving, lest every step should introduce him to some new
abomination. At length, exhausted nature was unable any longer to
sustain him. He groped his way to the rude seat, cut in the rocky wall,
which was his only accommodation. He put forth his hand. It touched the
slimy fur of some wild animal, that instantly sprang away, its
fiery eyes sparkling in the dark. Alroy recoiled with a sensation of
woe-begone dismay. His shaken nerves could not sustain him under this
base danger, and these foul and novel trials. He could not refrain from
an exclamation of despair; and, when he remembered that he was now far
beyond the reach of all human solace and sympathy, even all human aid,
for a moment his mind seemed to desert him; and he wrung his hands in
forlorn and almost idiotic woe. An awful thing it is, the failure of
the energies of a master-mind. He who places implicit confidence in his
genius will find himself some day utterly defeated and deserted. ‘Tis
bitter! Every paltry hind seems but to breathe to mock you. Slow,
indeed, is such a mind to credit that the never-failing resource can at
least be wanting. But so it is. Like a dried-up fountain, the perennial
flow and bright fertility have ceased, and ceased for ever. Then comes
the madness of retrospection.
Draw a curtain! draw a curtain! and fling it over this agonising
anatomy.
The days of childhood, his sweet sister’s voice and smiling love, their
innocent pastimes, and the kind solicitude of faithful servants, all the
soft detail of mild domestic life: these were the sights and memories
that flitted in wild play before the burning vision of Alroy, and
rose upon his tortured mind. Empire and glory, his sacred nation, his
imperial bride; these, these were nothing. Their worth had vanished with
the creative soul that called them into action. The pure sympathies
of nature alone remained, and all his thought and grief, all his
intelligence, all his emotion, were centred in his sister.
It was the seventh morning. A guard entered at an unaccustomed hour,
and, sticking a torch into a niche in the wall, announced that a person
was without who had permission to speak to the prisoner. They were the
first human accents that had met the ear of Alroy during his captivity,
which seemed to him an age, a long dark period, that cancelled all
things. He shuddered at the harsh tones. He tried to answer, but his
unaccustomed lips refused their office. He raised his heavy arms, and
endeavoured to signify his consciousness of what had been uttered. Yet,
indeed, he had not listened to the message without emotion. He looked
forward to the grate with strange curiosity; and, as he looked, he
trembled. The visitor entered, muffled in a dark caftan. The guard
disappeared; and the caftan falling to the ground, revealed Honain.
‘My beloved Alroy,’ said the brother of Jabaster; and he advanced, and
pressed him to his bosom. Had it been Miriam, Alroy might have at
once expired; but the presence of this worldly man called back his
worldliness. The revulsion of his feelings was wonderful. Pride, perhaps
even hope, came to his aid; all the associations seemed to counsel
exertion; for a moment he seemed the same Alroy.
‘I rejoice to find at least thee safe, Honain.’
‘I also, if my security may lead to thine.’
‘Still whispering hope!’
‘Despair is the conclusion of fools.’
‘O Honain! ‘tis a great trial. I can play my part, and yet methinks
‘twere better we had not again met. How is Schirene?’
‘Thinking of thee.’
‘Tis something that she can think. My mind has gone. Where’s Miriam?’
‘Free.’
‘That’s something. Thou hast done that. Good, good Honain, be kind to
that sweet child, if only for my sake. Thou art all she has left.’
‘She hath thee.’
‘Her desolation.’
‘Live and be her refuge.’
‘How’s that? These walls! Escape? No, no; it is impossible.’
‘I do not deem it so.’
‘Indeed! I’ll do anything. Speak! Can we bribe? can we cleave their
skulls? can we----’
‘Calm thyself, my friend. There is no need of bribes, no need of
bloodshed. We must make terms.’
‘Terms! We might have made them on the plain of Nehauend. Terms! Terms
with a captive victim?’
‘Why victim?’
‘Is Arslan then so generous?’
‘He is a beast, more savage than the boar that grinds its tusks within
his country’s forests.’
‘Why speakest thou then of hope?’
‘I spoke of certainty. I did not mention hope.’
‘Dear Honain, my brain is weak; but I can bear strange things, or else
I should not be here. I feel thy thoughtful friendship; but indeed there
need no winding words to tell my fate. Pr’ythee speak out.’
‘In a word, thy life is safe.’
‘What! spared?’
‘If it please thee.’
‘Please me? Life is sweet. I feel its sweetness. I want but little.
Freedom and solitude are all I ask. My life spared! I’ll not believe
it. Thou hast done this deed, thou mighty man, that masterest all souls.
Thou hast not forgotten me; thou hast not forgotten the days gone by,
thou hast not forgotten thine own Alroy! Who calls thee worldly is a
slanderer. O Honain! thou art too faithful!’
‘I have no thought but for thy service, Prince.’
‘Call me not Prince, call me thine own Alroy. My life spared! ‘Tis
wonderful! When may I go? Let no one see me. Manage that, Honain. Thou
canst manage all things. I am for Egypt. Thou hast been to Egypt, hast
thou not, Honain?’
‘A very wondrous land, ‘twill please thee much.’
‘When may I go? Tell me when I may go. When may I quit this dark and
noisome cell? ‘Tis worse than all their tortures, dear Honain. Air and
light, and I really think my spirit never would break, but this
horrible dungeon---- I scarce can look upon thy face, sweet friend. ‘Tis
serious.’
‘Wouldst thou have me gay?’
‘Yes! if we are free.’
‘Alroy! thou art a great spirit, the greatest that I e’er knew, have
ever read of. I never knew thy like, and never shall.’
‘Tush, tush, sweet friend, I am a broken reed, but still I am free. This
is no time for courtly phrases. Let’s go, and go at once.’
‘A moment, dear Alroy. I am no flatterer. What I said came from my
heart, and doth concern us much and instantly. I was saying thou hast no
common mind, Alroy; indeed thou hast a mind unlike all others. Listen,
my Prince. Thou hast read mankind deeply and truly. Few have seen more
than thyself, and none have so rare a spring of that intuitive knowledge
of thy race, which is a gem to which experience is but a jeweller, and
without which no action can befriend us.’
‘Well, well!’
‘A moment’s calmness. Thou hast entered Bagdad in triumph, and thou hast
entered the same city with every contumely which the base spirit of our
race could cast upon its victim. ‘Twas a great lesson.’
‘I feel it so.’
‘And teaches us how vile and valueless is the opinion of our
fellow-men.’
‘Alas! ‘tis true.’
‘I am glad to see thee in this wholesome temper. ‘Tis full of wisdom.’
‘The miserable are often wise.’
‘But to believe is nothing unless we act. Speculation should only
sharpen practice. The time hath come to prove thy lusty faith in this
philosophy. I told thee we could make terms. I have made them. To-morrow
it was doomed Alroy should die--and what a death! A death of infinite
torture! Hast ever seen a man impaled?’[81]
‘Hah!’
‘To view it is alone a doom.’
‘God of Heaven!’
‘It is so horrible, that ‘tis ever marked, that when this direful
ceremony occurs, the average deaths in cities greatly increase. ‘Tis
from the turning of the blood in the spectators, who yet from some
ungovernable madness cannot refrain from hurrying to the scene. I speak
with some authority. I speak as a physician.’
‘Speak no more, I cannot endure it.’
‘To-morrow this doom awaited thee. As for Schirene----’
‘Not for her, oh! surely not for her?’
‘No, they were merciful. She is a Caliph’s daughter. ‘Tis not forgotten.
The axe would close her life. Her fair neck would give slight trouble to
the headsman’s art. But for thy sister, but for Miriam, she is a witch,
a Jewish witch! They would have burnt her alive!’
‘I’ll not believe it, no, no, I’ll not believe it: damnable, bloody
demons! When I had power I spared all, all but----ah, me! ah, me! why
did I live?’
‘Thou dost forget thyself; I speak of that which was to have been,
not of that which is to be. I have stepped in and communed with the
conqueror. I have made terms.’
‘What are they, what can they be?’
‘Easy. To a philosopher like Alroy an idle ceremony.’
‘Be brief, be brief.’
‘Thou seest thy career is a great scandal to the Moslemin. I mark their
weakness, and I have worked upon it. Thy mere defeat or death will not
blot out the stain upon their standard and their faith. The public mind
is wild with fantasies since Alroy rose. Men’s opinions flit to and fro
with that fearful change that bodes no stable settlement of states.
None know what to cling to, or where to place their trust. Creeds are
doubted, authority disputed. They would gladly account for thy success
by other than human means, yet must deny thy mission. There also is the
fame of a fair and mighty Princess, a daughter of their Caliphs, which
they would gladly clear. I mark all this, observe and work upon it. So,
could we devise some means by which thy lingering followers could be for
ever silenced, this great scandal fairly erased, and the public frame
brought to a sounder and more tranquil pulse, why, they would concede
much, much, very much.’
‘Thy meaning, not thy means, are evident.’
‘They are in thy power.’
‘In mine? ‘Tis a deep riddle. Pr’ythee solve it.’
‘Thou wilt be summoned at to-morrow’s noon before this Arslan. There
in the presence of the assembled people who are now with him as much as
they were with thee, thou wilt be accused of magic, and of intercourse
with the infernal powers. Plead guilty.’
‘Well! is there more?’
‘Some trifle. They will then examine thee about the Princess. It is
not difficult to confess that Alroy won the Caliph’s daughter by an
irresistible spell, and now ‘tis broken.’
‘So, so. Is that all?’
‘The chief. Thou canst then address some phrases to the Hebrew
prisoners, denying thy Divine mission, and so forth, to settle the
public mind, observe, upon this point for ever.’
‘Ay, ay, and then----?’
‘No more, except for form. (Upon the completion of the conditions,
mind, you will be conveyed to what land you please, with such amount of
treasure as you choose.) There is no more, except, I say, for form, I
would, if I were you [‘twill be expected), I would just publicly affect
to renounce our faith, and bow before their Prophet.’
‘Hah! Art thou there? Is this thy freedom? Get thee behind me, tempter!
Never, never, never! Not a jot, not a jot: I’ll not yield a jot. Were
my doom one everlasting torture, I’d spurn thy terms! Is this thy high
contempt of our poor kind, to outrage my God! to prove myself the vilest
of the vile, and baser than the basest? Rare philosophy! O Honain! would
we had never met!’
‘Or never parted. True. Had my word been taken, Alroy would ne’er have
been betrayed.’
‘No more; I pray thee, sir, no more. Leave me.’
‘Were this a palace, I would. Harsh words are softened by a friendly
ear, when spoken in affliction.’
‘Say what they will, I am the Lord’s anointed. As such I should have
lived, as such at least I’ll die.’
‘And Miriam?’
‘The Lord will not desert her: she ne’er deserted Him.’
‘Schirene?’