LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
Alone in his house, the Prince of India was unhappy, but not, as the
reader may hurriedly conclude, on account of the rejection by the
Christians of his proposal looking to brotherhood in the bonds of
religion. He was a trifle sore over the failure, but not disappointed.
A reasonable man, and, what times his temper left him liberty to think,
a philosopher, he could not hope after the observations he brought from
Mecca to find the followers of the Nazarene more relaxed in their faith
than the adherents of Mahomet. In short, he had gone to the palace
warned of what would happen.
It was not an easy thing for him to fold up his grand design
preparatory to putting it away forever; still there was no choice left
him; and now he would move for vengeance. Away with hesitation.
Descending the heights of Blacherne, he had felt pity for Constantine
who, though severely tried in the day's affair, had borne himself with
dignity throughout; but it was Mahommed's hour. Welcome Mahommed!
Between the two, the Prince's predilections were all for the Turk, and
they had been from the meeting at the White Castle. Besides personal
accomplishments and military prestige, besides youth, itself a mighty
preponderant, there was the other argument--separating Mahommed from
the strongest power in the world, there stood only an ancient whose
death was a daily expectation. "What opportunities the young man will
have to offer me! I have but to make the most of his ambition--to loan
myself to it--to direct it."
Thus the Seer reasoned, returning from Blacherne to his house.
At the door, however, he made a discovery. There the first time during
the day he thought of her in all things the image of the Lael whom he
had buried under the great stone in front of the Golden Gate at
Jerusalem. We drop a grain in the ground, and asking nothing of us but
to be let alone, it grows, and flowers, and at length amazes us with
fruit. Such had been the outcome of his adoption of the daughter of the
son of Jahdai.
The Prince called Syama.
"Make ready the chair and table on the roof," he said.
While waiting, he ate some bread dipped in wine: then walked the room
rubbing his hands as if washing them.
He sighed frequently. Even the servants could see he was in trouble.
At length he went to the roof. Evening was approaching. On the table
were the lamp, the clock, the customary writing materials, a fresh map
of the heavens, and a perfect diagram of a nativity to be cast.
He took the map in his hand, and smiled--it was Lael's work. "How she
has improved!--and how rapidly!" he said aloud, ending a retrospect
which began with the hour Uel consented to her becoming his daughter.
She was unlettered then, but how helpful now. He felt an artist's pride
in her growth in knowledge. There were tedious calculations which she
took off his hands; his geometrical drawings of the planets in their
Houses were frequently done in haste; she perfected them next day. She
had numberless daughterly ways which none but those unused to them like
him would have observed. What delight she took in watching the sky for
the first appearance of the stars. In this work she lent him her young
eyes, and there was such enthusiasm in the exclamations with which she
greeted the earliest wink of splendor from the far-off orbs. And he had
ailing days; then she would open the great Eusebian Scriptures at the
page he asked for, and read--sometimes from Job, sometimes from Isaiah,
but generally from Exodus, for in his view there was never man like
Moses. The contest with Pharaoh--how prodigious! The battles in
magic--what glory in the triumphs won! The luring the haughty King into
the Red Sea, and bringing him under the walls of water suddenly let
loose! What majestic vengeance!
Of the idle dreams of aged persons the possibility of attaching the
young to them in sentimental bonds of strength to insure resistance to
every other attachment is the idlest. Positive, practical, experienced
though he was, the childless man had permitted this fantasy to get
possession of him. He actually brought himself to believe Lael's love
of him was of that enduring kind. With no impure purpose, yet
selfishly, and to bring her under his influence until of preference she
could devote her life to him, with its riches of affection, admiration,
and dutiful service, he had surrendered himself to her; therefore the
boundless pains taken by him personally in her education, the
surrounding her with priceless luxuries which he alone could afford--in
brief, the attempt to fasten himself upon her youthful fancy as a
titled sage and master of many mysteries. So at length it came to pass,
while he was happy in his affection for her, he was even happier in her
affection for himself; indeed he cultivated the latter sentiment and
encouraged it in winding about his being until, in utter
unconsciousness, he belonged to it, and, in repetition of experiences
common to others, instead of Lael's sacrificing herself for him, he was
ready to sacrifice everything for her. This was the discovery he made
at the door of his house.
The reader should try to fancy him in the chair by the table on the
roof. Evening has passed into night. The city gives out no sound, and
the stars have the heavens to themselves. He is lost in thought--or
rather, accepting the poetic fancy of a division of the heart into
chambers, in that apartment of the palpitating organ of the Prince of
India supposed to be the abode of the passions, a very noisy parliament
was in full session. The speaker--that is, the Prince
himself--submitted the question: Shall I remain here, or go to Mahommed?
Awhile he listened to Revenge, whose speech in favor of the latter
alternative may be imagined; and not often had its appeals been more
effective. Ambition spoke on the same side. It pointed out the
opportunities offered, and dwelt upon them until the chairman nodded
like one both convinced and determined. These had an assistant not
exactly a passion but a kinsman collaterally--Love of Mischief--and
when the others ceased, it insisted upon being heard.
On the other side, Lael led the opposition. She stood by the
president's chair while her opponents were arguing, her arms round his
neck; when they were most urgent, she would nurse his hand, and make
use of some trifling endearment; upon their conclusion, she would gaze
at him mutely, and with tears. Not once did she say anything.
In the midst of this debate, Lael herself appeared, and kissed him on
the forehead.
"Thou here!" he said.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Nothing--only"--
She did not give him time to finish, but caught up the map, and seeing
it fresh and unmarked, exclaimed:
"You did so greatly to-day, you ought to rest."
He was surprised.
"Did so greatly?"
"At the palace."
"Put the paper down. Now, O my Gul Bahar"--and he took her hand, and
carried it to his cheek, and pressed it softly there--"deal me no
riddle. What is it you say? One may do well, yet come out badly."
"I was at the market in my father Uel's this afternoon," she began,
"when Sergius came in."
A face wonderfully like the face of the man he helped lead out to
Golgotha flashed before the Prince, a briefest passing gleam.
"He heard you discourse before the Emperor. How wickedly that
disgusting Gennadius behaved!"
"Yes," the Prince responded darkly, "a sovereign beset with such
spirits is to be pitied. But what did the young man think of my
proposal to the Emperor?"
"But for one verse in the Testament of Christ"--
"Nay, dear, say Jesus of Nazareth."
"Well, of Jesus--but for one verse he could have accepted your argument
of many Sons of God in the Spirit."
"What is the verse?"
"It is where a disciple speaks of Jesus as the only begotten. Son."
The Wanderer smiled.
"The young man is too literal. He forgets that the Only Begotten Son
may have had many Incarnations."
"The Princess Irene was also present," Lael went on. "Sergius said she
too could accept your argument did you alter it"--
"Alter it!"--A bitter look wrung the Prince's countenance--"Sergius, a
monk not yet come to orders, and Irene, a Princess without a husband.
Oh, a small return for my surrender! ... I am tired--very tired," he
said impatiently--"and I have so much, so much to think of. Come, good
night."
"Can I do nothing for you?"
"Yes, tell Syama to bring me some water."
"And wine?"
"Yes, some wine."
"Very well. Good night."
He drew her to his breast.
"Good night. O my Gul Bahar!"
She went lightly away, never dreaming of the parliament to which she
left him.
When she was gone, he sat motionless for near an hour, seeing nothing
in the time, although Syama set water and wine on the table. And it may
be questioned if he heard anything, except the fierce debate going on
in his heart. Finally he aroused, looked at the sky, arose, and walked
around the table; and his expression of face, his actions, were those
of a man who had been treading difficult ground, but was safely come
out of it. Filling a small crystal cup, and holding the red liquor,
rich with garnet sparkles, between his eyes and the lamp, he said:
"It is over. She has won. If there were for me but the years of one
life, the threescore and ten of the Psalmist, it had been different.
The centuries will bring me a Mahommed gallant as this one, and
opportunities great as he offers; but never another Lael. Farewell
Ambition! Farewell Revenge! The world may take care of itself. I will
turn looker-on, and be amused, and sleep.... To hold her, I will live
for her, but in redoubled state. So will I hurry her from splendor to
splendor, and so fill her days with moving incidents, she shall not
have leisure to think of another love. I will be powerful and famous
for her sake. Here in this old centre of civilization there shall be
two themes for constant talk, Constantine and myself. Against his rank
and patronage, I will set my wealth. Ay, for her sake! And I will begin
to-morrow."
The next day he spent in making drawings and specifications for a
palace. The second day he traversed the city looking for a building
site. The third day he bought the site most to his fancy. The fourth
day he completed a design for a galley of a hundred oars, that it might
be sea-going far as the Pillars of Hercules. Nothing ever launched from
the imperial docks should surpass it in magnificence. When he went
sailing on the Bosphorus, Byzantium should assemble to witness his
going, and with equal eagerness wait the day through to behold him
return. And for the four days, Lael was present and consulted in every
particular. They talked like two children.
The schemes filled him with a delight which would have been remarkable
in a boy. He packed his books and put away his whole paraphernalia of
study--through Lael's days he would be an actor in the social world,
not a student.
Of course he recurred frequently to the engagements with Mahommed. They
did not disturb him. The Turk might clamor--no matter, there was the
ever ready answer about the unready stars. The veteran intriguer even
laughed, thinking how cunningly he had provided against contingencies.
But there was a present practical requirement begotten of these
schemes--he must have money--soldans by the bag full.
Very early in the morning of the fifth day, having studied the weather
signs from his housetop, he went with Nilo to the harbor gate of
Blacherne, seeking a galley suitable for an outing of a few days on the
Marmora. He found one, and by noon she was fitted out, and with him and
Nilo aboard, flying swiftly around Point Serail.
Under an awning over the rudder-deck, he sat observing the brown-faced
wall of the city, and the pillars and cornices of the noble structures
towering above it. As the vessel was about passing the Seven Towers,
now a ruin with a most melancholy history, but in that day a
well-garrisoned fortress, he conversed with the master of the galley.
"I have no business in the strict meaning of the term," he said, in
good humor. "The city has become tiresome to me, and I have fancied a
run on the water would be bracing to body and restful to mind. So keep
on down the sea. When I desire a change of direction, I will tell you."
The mariner was retiring. "Stay," the Prince continued, his attention
apparently caught by two immense gray rocks rising bluffly out of the
blue rippling in which the Isles of the Princes seemed afloat--"What
are those yonder? Islands, of course, but their names?"
"Oxia and Plati--the one nearest us is Oxia."
"Are they inhabited?"
"Yes and no," the captain replied, smiling. "Oxia used to have a
convent, but it is abandoned now. There may be some hermits in the
caves on the other side, but I doubt if the poor wretches have noumias
to keep their altars in candles. It was so hard to coax visitors into
believing God had ever anything to do with the dreary place that
patrons concluded to give it over to the bad. Plati is a trifle more
cheerful. Three or four monks keep what used to be the prison there;
but they are strays from unknown orders, and live by herding a few
starving goats and cultivating snails for the market."
"Have you been on either of them recently?"
"Yes, on Plati."
"When?"
"Within the year."
"Well, you excite my curiosity. It is incredible that there can be two
such desolations in such close vicinity to yon famous capital. Turn and
row me around them."
The captain was pleased to gratify his passenger, and stood by him
while the galley encircled Oxia, telling legends, and pointing out the
caves to which celebrated anchorites had lent their names. He gave in
full the story of Basil and Prusien, who quarrelled, and fought a duel
to the scandal of the Church; whereupon Constantine VIII., then
emperor, exiled them, the former to Oxia, the latter to Plati, where
their sole consolation the remainder of their lives was gazing at each
other from the mouths of their respective caverns. For some reason,
Plati, to which he next crossed, was of more interest to the Prince
than its sister isle. What a cruel exterior the prison at the north end
had! Wolves and bats might live in it, but men--impossible! He drew
back horrified when told circumstantially of the underground cells.
While yet on the eastern side, the passenger said he would like to go
up to the summit.
"There," he exclaimed, pointing to a part of the bluff which appeared
to offer a climb, "put me on that shelving rock. I think I can go up by
it."
The small boat was lowered, and directly he set foot on the identical
spot which received him when, in the night fifty-six years before, he
made the ascent with the treasures of Hiram King of Tyre.
Almost any other man would have given at least a thought to that
adventure; the slice out of some lives would have justified a tear; but
he was too intent thinking about the jewels and the sword of Solomon.
His affected awkwardness in climbing amused the captain, watching him
from the deck, but at last he gained the top of the bluff.
The plain there was the same field of sickly weeds and perishing vines,
with here and there a shrub, and yonder a stunted olive tree, covered
trunk and branches with edible snails. If it brought anything in the
market, the crop, singular only to the Western mind, was plenteous
enough to be profitable to its farmers. There too was the debris of the
tower. With some anxiety he went to the stone which the reader will
probably remember as having to be rolled away from the mouth of the
hiding-place. It had not been disturbed. These observations taken, he
descended the bluff, and was received aboard the galley.
A very cautious man was the Prince of India. In commercial parlance, he
was out to cash a draft on the Plati branch of his quadruple bank. He
was not down to assist the captain of the galley to partnership with
him in the business. So, after completing the circuit of Plati, the
vessel bore away for Prinkipo and Halki, which Greek wealth and taste
had converted into dreamful Paradises. There it lay the night and next
day, while the easy-going passenger, out for air and rest, amused
himself making excursions to the convents and neighboring hills.
The second night, a perfect calm prevailing, he took the small boat,
and went out on the sea drifting, having provided himself with wine and
water, the latter in a new gurglet bought for the trip. The captain
need not be uneasy if he were late returning, he said on departing.
Nilo was an excellent sailor, and had muscle and spirit to contend
against a blow.
The tranquil environments of Prinkipo were enlivened by other parties
also drifting. Their singing was borne far along the starlit sea. Once
beyond sight and hearing, Nilo plied the oars diligently, bringing up
an hour or two after midnight at the shelving rock under the eastern
bluff of Plati. The way to the ruined tower was then clear.
Precisely as at the first visit when burial was the object, the
concealing stone was pushed aside; after which the Prince entered the
narrow passage crawling on his hands and knees. He was anxious. If the
precious stones had been discovered and carried away, he would have to
extend the voyage to Jaffa in order to draw from the Jerusalem branch
of his bank. But the sword of Solomon--that was not in the power of man
to duplicate--its loss would be irreparable.
The stones were mouldy, the passage dark, the progress slow. He had
literally to feel every inch in front of him, using his hands as a
caterpillar uses its antennae; but he did not complain--the
difficulties were the inducements which led him to choose the
hiding-place in the first instance. At length he went down a broken
step, and, rising to his knees, slipped his left hand along the face of
the wall until his fingers dropped into a crack between rocks. It was
the spot he sought; he knew it, and breathed easily. In murky
lamplight, with mallet and chisel--ah, how long ago!--he had worked a
shelf there, finishing it with an oblong pocket in the bottom. To mask
the hole was simple. Three or four easy-fitting blocks were removed,
and thrusting a hand in, he drew forth the sheepskin mantle of the
elder Nilo.
In spite of the darkness, he could not refrain from unrolling the
mildewed cover. The sword was safe! He drew the blade and shot it
sharply back into the scabbard, then kissed the ruby handle, thinking
again of the purchasing power there was in the relic which was yet more
than a relic. The leather of the water-gurglet, stiff as wood,
responded to a touch. The jewels were also safe, the great emerald with
the rest. He touched the bags, counting from one to nine inclusively.
Then remembering the ten times he had crawled into the passage to put
the treasures away, he began their removal, and kept at it until every
article was safely deposited in the boat.
On the way back to the galley he made new packages, using his mantle as
a wrap for the sword, and the new gurglet for the bags of jewels.
"I have had enough," he exclaimed to the captain, dropping wearily on
the deck about noon. "Take me to the city." After a moment of
reflection, he added: "Land me after nightfall."
"We will reach the harbor before sundown."
"Oh, well! There is the Bosphorus--go to Buyukdere, and come back."
"But, my Lord, the captain of the gate may decline to allow you to
pass."
The Prince smiled, and rejoined, with a thought of the bags in the
gurglet thrown carelessly down by him: "Up with the anchor."
The sailor's surmise was groundless. Disembarking about midnight, he
whispered his name to the captain at the gate of Blacherne, and,
leaving a soldan in the official palm, was admitted without
examination. On the street there was nothing curious in an old man
carrying a mantle under his arm, followed by a porter with a
half-filled gurglet on his shoulder. Finally, the adventure safely
accomplished, the Prince of India was home again, and in excellent
humor.
One doubt assailed him--one only. He had just seen the height of
Candilli, an aerial wonder in a burst of moonlight, and straightway his
fancy had crowned it with a structure Indian in style, and of material
to shine afar delicate as snow against the black bosomed mountain
behind it. He was not a Greek to fear the Turks. Nay, in Turkish
protection there was for him a guaranty of peaceable ownership which he
could not see under Constantine. And as he was bringing now the
wherewith to realize his latest dream, he gave his imagination a
loosened rein.
He built the house; he heard the tinkling of fountains in its courts,
and the echoes in the pillared recession of its halls; free of care,
happy once more, with Lael he walked in gardens where roses of Persia
exchanged perfumes with roses of Araby, and the daylong singing of
birds extended into noon of night; yet, after all, to the worn, weary,
droughted heart nothing was so soothing as the fancy which had been his
chief attendant from the gate of Blacherne--that he heard strangers
speaking to each other: "Have you seen the Palace of Lael?" "No, where
is it?" "On the crest of Candilli." The Palace of Lael! The name
confirmed itself sweeter and sweeter by repetition. And the doubt grew.
Should he build in the city or amidst the grove of Judas trees on the
crest of Candilli?
Just as he arrived before his door, he glanced casually across the
street, and was surprised by observing light in Uel's house. It was
very unusual. He would put the treasure away, and go over and inquire
into the matter. Hardly was he past his own lintel when Syama met him.
The face of the faithful servant showed unwonted excitement, and,
casting himself at his master's feet, he embraced his knees, uttering
the hoarse unintelligible cries with which the dumb are wont to make
their suffering known. The Master felt a chill of fear--something had
happened--something terrible--but to whom? He pushed the poor man's
head back until he caught the eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
Syama arose, took the Prince's hand, and led him out of the door,
across the street, and into Uel's house. The merchant, at sight of
them, rushed forward and hid his face in the master's breast, crying:
"She is gone--lost!--The God of our fathers be with her!"
"Who is gone? Who lost?"
"Lael, Lael--our child--our Gul Bahar."
The blood of the elder Jew flew to his heart, leaving him pale as a
dead man; yet such was his acquired control of himself, he asked
steadily: "Gone!--Where?"
"We do not know. She has been snatched from us--that is all we know."
"Tell me of it--and quickly."
The tone was imperious, and he pushed Uel from him.
"Oh! my friend--and my father's friend--I will tell you all. You are
powerful, and love her, and may help where I am helpless." Then by
piecemeal he dealt out the explanation. "This afternoon she took her
chair and went to the wall in front of the Bucoleon--sunset, and she
was not back. I saw Syama--she was not in your house. He and I set out
in search of her. She was seen on the wall--later she was seen to
descend the steps as if starting home--she was seen in the garden going
about on the terrace--she was seen coming out of the front gate of the
old palace. We traced her down the street--then she returned to the
garden, through the Hippodrome, and there she was last seen. I called
my friends in the market to my aid--hundreds are now looking for her."
"She went out in her chair, did you say?"
The steady voice of the Prince was in singular contrast with his
bloodless face.
"Yes."
"Who carried it?"
"The men we have long had."
"Where are they?"
"We sought for them--they cannot be found."
The Prince kept his eyes on Uel's face. They were intensely, fiercely
bright. He was not in a rage, but thinking, if a man can be said to
think when his mind projects itself in a shower. Lael's disappearance
was not voluntary; she was in detention somewhere in the city. If the
purpose of the abduction were money, she would be held in scrupulous
safety, and a day or two would bring the demand; but if--he did not
finish the idea--it overpowered him. Pure steel in utmost flexion
breaks into pieces without warning; so with this man now. He threw both
hands up, and cried hoarsely: "Lend me, O God, of thy vengeance!" and
staggering blindly, he would have fallen but for Syama.