THE FIRST ORDEAL
Four days later, at nine o’clock by their earthly time, the men from
Karamandra were bidden to follow their escort of guards. Their hands
were fastened by a light chain which afforded some facilities for
movement, and they were led in single file between a double row of
armed men to the terrace upon which they had so rashly alighted. At
the south end stood a splendid building approached by a noble portico.
Into this they entered, and passing along a magnificent vestibule, the
door of a pillared hall was thrown open and they found themselves led
up the centre of a vast dome-shaped building with tiers of seats on
either side, one rising above the other, and filled to overflowing with
a countless sea of human faces, the expressions of most being set and
stern in their hostility. On the central dais were two semicircular
rows of elegant and carved seats evidently for the highest in rank,
while in front were three thrones with gorgeous canopies, the central
occupied by a most majestic-looking old man and those on either side by
his daughters Melanitis and Mexitli.
They were both extremely beautiful with the pale tint that so
characterised the daughters of Atalanta, but there was a difference
between them, especially in manner and bearing. The elder, the Queen
designate, was much more humble than her sister--we might almost say
timid and ill at ease. The younger was haughty, overbearing, and
dominating, and yet with a sullen expression as though she had not the
power to do all she wished. She fixed a supercilious glance at the
terrestrial party, looking from one to the other, but taking not the
least notice of one more than the other.
But Melanitis had no sooner looked on the faces of Abercromby and
Radcliffe, who stood the nearest to her, than she uttered a faint cry
as though stricken, her features became rigid, and she clutched at the
arms of her throne for support.
The King turned to her and said, “Child of my heart, what aileth thee?”
“Only a solar faintness, my lord,” she replied. The King ordered one of
the fan-bearers to minister to her.
The incident passed with little notice. Radcliffe did not see it,
for his eyes were fixed upon the King, who was a grand specimen of
dignified old age. Abercromby saw it, and a puzzled grin (not very wise
under the circumstances) overspread his countenance.
“King of Atalanta, pride and ornament of thine ancient house,” said
the deep voice of a white-robed official of the palace, “and you,
princesses, pillars of the kingdom, fairest jewels set in the midst of
the motherland, you see these strangers who have, by an unparalleled
daring, crossed the myriad depths of space and thrust themselves in
the midst of us. Their machine is controlled by a power we do not
possess and whose secrets they alone know. But they themselves are
weak and helpless as others, and it is for you to declare whether it
best accords with the well-being of Atalanta that they live or die.
Let justice and mercy each have their rightful place, yet by all means
remember that this is an event that may leave lasting traces upon us,
and as we act now so may we be compelled to act hereafter. For the
first time since He came who passed from us on His way to Karamandra,
no being, whether mortal or immortal, has ever visited us who did not
previously belong to us. We have lived under the silence of the stars,
and as each generation has gone to the Mansions of the Blest or to the
Realm of the Endless Shadow they have walked in the wisdom of their
fathers. But now it may be that some fuller opportunity may be granted
to us, if we act wisely and well.”
The King leaned forward, and addressing Carmichael said, “Are you from
Karamandra and also your companions?”
“We are,” said the Professor.
“Did the king of your world send you on a mission to us?”
“There is no king of Karamandra; our world is peopled on both sides
of its surface with nations, races, and tribes in varying degrees of
culture and resources, but independent, though some are linked together
by bonds and alliances.”
“How many people live in your world?”
“About twelve hundred millions.”
An exclamation of horror echoed round the hall.
“How long have they dwelt upon its surface?”
“We have different theories on the subject,” said Carmichael, with a
sly look at Radcliffe.
“If your world has many kings, which of them sent you?”
“None; we came of our own selves.”
There was a murmur of amazement.
“Who, then, discovered the secret of how to journey from one world to
another?”
“I did, and also my companion here,” pointing to Carysfort.
“When did you discover it?”
“Many months ago.”
“Will you tell it to us?”
“That depends upon how you treat us.”
Mexitli started to her feet. “Let the insolent barbarian say no more,
for the land cannot endure his words. His own Sovereign would cast
him out; much more shall not the sacred Majesty of Atalanta?” Then,
pointing at Radcliffe, she said, “If my father wills I will question
_him_, for he it is who saved the life of my cousin Mayana from the
murderous intent of these men.”
The King nodded acquiescence. The woman’s questions were less academic.
“Why did you come here?”
“My companions had no other object than to benefit their fellows by
increasing their own knowledge. They made choice of this planet
because less was known about it than of those worlds that lie in an
orbit exterior to our own. Being of the same size with our own world,
my leader naturally hoped to find those upon its surface with whom he
could hold intelligent converse, and both receive and impart useful
knowledge.”
“We require no teaching from outer space,” answered Mexitli, “though
there are some in this hall disloyal enough to think so.”
“The God of Heaven does not give even to every Atalantan equal gifts
with every other, and yet there may be little things in which the
highest may receive a helping hand from the lowest. I know the misery
and unrest of my own world, and yet the God of Heaven has cared for it.
Most gladly will I explain these things in public or in private if I
may be suffered to do so.”
“You would be better advised first to look out for your own personal
safety, that is the present consideration. You and yours do not seem to
understand that you have committed more than one atrocious crime since
you invaded our borders. Then, too, the demeanour of your companions
has been most insolent, as though they expected to be welcomed with
honours in a land which neither knew of them nor desired them. As for
you individually, I might perhaps advise the King my father to show you
a measure of favour, but the time has not come yet. You have leave to
satisfy my curiosity on one point. How did the God of Heaven show His
care for Karamandra?”
“By sending His only Son, the Prince of Heaven, to save them by turning
their hearts back again to Himself.”
A violent movement of surprise pervaded the hall; strange to say,
Melanitis did not show the agitation displayed by the rest, but
remained outwardly calm.
“I thought so,” answered the King. “Our best traditions led us to think
it would be as you say.”
“Good gracious! we are going to have a battle-royal about religion,”
muttered Carysfort to the Professor.
“And how did your world act towards Him when He came to them?” asked
Mexitli.
Radcliffe stood speechless for a moment, his voice choked; a tear
trickled down his face.
“I should not wonder if they killed Him,” interposed Melanitis.
Exclamations of horror and astonishment broke from all sides.
Mexitli shrugged her shoulders with a look of disgust. She signed to
Radcliffe to proceed and said imperiously, “Speak the truth--is this
horrible thing true?”
“It is true,” answered Radcliffe in a whisper that sent a thrill
through every heart in the hall. “I would have died in His stead had I
been there, and yet I do not know: one who professed to love Him said
as much and then basely deserted Him; so might I.”
“How is it that your world exists after doing this?”
“God is Love,” replied Radcliffe.
There was a moment’s tense silence, then the princess said, “Did
_anything_ happen?”
“Yes; the offer of pardon was sent all over the world, for God forgave
the world, for the death of the Prince made full amends for all the
wrong that men had done. The divine justice was satisfied. He who had
been slain came into that world for the very purpose that He might lay
down His life for it. He came as man in lowly guise, enduring all the
sorrows of our life, and those who slew Him did not know what they were
doing. That is why forgiveness was possible for them. _Now_ the Prince
has re-entered upon His heavenly and immortal life, but He will come
again and take possession of His rightful inheritance, our own world.”
“How long ago did these things happen?” asked the King.
“Nearly twenty centuries by our reckoning.”
“And have your people, the human race, returned to the divine
allegiance?”
“Many have done so out of each generation, but many have not.”
“_You_ have done so, I suppose? Your speech, methinks, implies it.”
“I have,” said Radcliffe.
“I am too shocked and horrified to pursue this talk much further,”
interrupted Mexitli. “It is evident that _our_ world is guiltless,
while as for yours,”--and she finished the sentence with a
gesture--“such people can be only plague-spots amongst us. Still, you
have told me the truth. Is it to be conceived after this, that even
_you_ came here to teach us?”
“God made use of the very men who had helped to slay His Son to go out
and in many cases successfully to carry the story of peace all over the
world. It may be that He will give even to me a work to do here.”
“Your life has first to be decided upon, and next your liberty,” was
the cold reply. “We shall have to deliberate over these amazing things.
You can now sit upon yonder seat. Of course you have been severely
tried. I would confer with the man who stood next to you. Come forward,
fellow, and answer my questions. What brought _you_ here--science or
religion?” The words were pronounced with a fine contempt.
“Neither,” said Abercromby; “something as good as either, possibly
better--to help my brother who has just spoken to bear his life sorrow.”
“The sins of his people, I suppose.”
“That, doubtless, but also another. He loved a woman on his own world,
and made her his wife. They were estranged, and before the quarrel
could be made up she was killed by an accident in a river; he was not
with her at the time. _I_ persuaded him into coming with us, as the
best chance of saving his reason.”
“Did he love her so much?”
“I know not how love prevails in _this_ planet, but if all there exists
of it were put together it would about equal the love he had to her.”
“You are not required to pry into such matters. Are you his relation?”
“No, I am his friend. That is a stronger bond in most cases.”
Mexitli bit her lip in evident vexation. The King betrayed a faint
smile.
Melanitis sat perfectly rigid, her face deadly white, her hands tightly
clasped, her eyes fixed upon Radcliffe, who kept his face bent upon the
ground. Mexitli darted a swift glance at her sister, her expression as
she did so was inscrutable. At last she said to Abercromby, “Let us
leave this matter. Do the people in your own world know of the secret
by which you have come to ours?”
“I decline to answer your question,” answered Abercromby.
“This is absolute defiance, and will only bring you all into worse
trouble. You _must_ have intelligence to comprehend how greatly this
matter will concern us.”
“When you tell us what you are proposing to do to us, we may perhaps
give you the information; till then I am silent until my leader bids me
to speak.”
“I will make you speak,” said Mexitli.
“Who are barbarians _now_?” retorted Abercromby.
“Let me entreat you to use moderation and courtesy, Frank,” said
Radcliffe, putting a warning hand upon his arm. “Lady of Atalanta, I
ask and beg of you this grace, that you will give us time to consider
what the answer shall be.”
“No one knows of our secret,” interposed Carmichael. “We are wholly at
your mercy.”
“Is this true?” asked the princess of Radcliffe.
“Yes,” replied Radcliffe.
“Then it shall be considered in your favour, only I shall remember
that one of you at least spoke insolently to my face, in the central
seat of authority in our motherland.”
“My decided vote is given for their lives,” said Melanitis.
“If you wanted to spare them you could have scarcely spoken a more
ill-advised thing,” her sister answered. “By this act of public
utterance you force me to speak myself, and I decide for the death of
all of them and the immediate destruction of their machine, with this
one exception, that, according to the clemency of our laws, I would
allow Radcliffe a year’s respite under certain proper restrictions.
But as our voices are thus divided, it is for the King, my father, to
speak.”
“People of Atalanta,” said Malchon, “we have heard to-day such things
as would tax the wisdom of the wisest amongst us to decide, whether
those who have stood on trial before us ought or ought not to die. Only
on one point is the way made plain. The man called Radcliffe can be
respited for a year, that we may confer with him about many things and
test and prove him. As to the rest, I dislike the thought of putting
them to death, if it can be avoided with safety. I propose that they
be kept in durance for a short number of days, and be fully told the
charges of ill-doing which have been brought against them. They can
carefully ponder their reply to these charges, and make it publicly
in our presence. Also they must give us a brief account of all their
movements since they reached our world. I bid them good speed till
the day of final examination comes, and if they behave in a suitable
manner, I hold out a reasonable prospect for their safety.”
With these words the assembly rose up, and the men from earth were led
back to their courtyard prison.