The Great King of the Dazzling Face, the chief of all the Yellow
Faces, was sad, seeing the sins of the Black Faces. He sent his
air-vehicles to all his brother chiefs with highest men within,
saying:
“Prepare! Arise, ye men of the Good Law, and cross the land while dry!
The Lords of the Storm are approaching.
“Their chariots are nearing the land.
“She is doomed, and they have to descend with her.
“The nether Lords of the Fires (gnomes and fire elementals) are
preparing their magic-worked weapons.
“But the Lords of the Dark Eye are stronger than these elementals, and
they are the slaves of the mighty ones.
“They are versed in Astra. Come and use yours.
“Let every Lord of the Dazzling Face cause the vehicles of every Lord
of the Dark Face to come into his hands, lest any should by this means
escape from the waters; avoid the rod of the four elements, and save
the wicked people.
“May every Yellow Face send sleep from himself to every Black Face.
“May even they be free from pain. May every man who is true to the
Solar Gods bind every man under the Lunar Gods, lest he should suffer
or escape his destiny.
“And may every Yellow Face offer his life-water to the speaking animal
watching beside the Black Face.
“Let him not awaken his master—The hour has struck—the black night is
ready—Let their destiny be accomplished. We are the servants of the
Great Four—May the King of Light return.”
“The Great King fell upon his dazzling face and wept.
... “When the kings assembled, the waters had already moved.... The
natives had now crossed the dry lands. They were beyond the
water-mark. Their kings reached them in their vehicles, and led them
on to the lands of fire and metal (east and north)....
“Stars and meteors showered on the lands of the Black Faces, but they
slept....
“The waters rose and covered the valleys from one end of the earth to
the other. High lands remained dry.... There dwelt those who
escaped—the men of the Yellow Faces and of the Straight Eye.
“When the Lords of the Dark Faces awoke, they bethought them of the
vehicles, in order to escape from the rising waters, but they were
gone. Some of the most powerful of the Dark Faces awoke first, and
pursued those who had spoiled them. Many of the faint-hearted perished
on their way.
“The pursuers, whose heads and chests soared high above the water,
chased them. Finally the rising waves reached them, and they perished
to the last man. The soil sank under their feet, and the earth
engulfed those who had desecrated her....”
* * * * *
When Yermah ceased speaking, he crossed over to the southern altar, and
laid a small wreath of jasmine on Akaza’s veil, saying:
“Thou hast quashed the will-o’-the-wisp of doubtful spirits. Thou hast
crossed the Bridge of Kinevat[17] and art come into bliss.”
The congregation followed the example of the Dorado, and for the
remainder of the day made offerings upon the different altars. They
deposited palms in the eastern niche; on the north, cypress and aloes;
on the south, quantities of white flowers; while about the entrance they
strewed branches of weeping-willow.
The sun went down on absolute silence.
Every animal was either muzzled or shut up in a dark place.
There was not a light in the city, nor did a human being speak above a
whisper.
Just before midnight the people retired, without breaking fast during
the whole twenty-four hours.
In the dead watches of the night they communed silently with hordes of
disembodied entities who had crossed the bridge which connects one phase
of mind with desire, and the other with spirit. By this means the upward
surging forces of the animal kingdom, are united with the downward
cycling emanation of the Divine—the most profound myth associated with
the Bridge of Kinevat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE ARROW-HEAD MEMORIAL TO THE LOST MONBAS TRIBES
The legend of Humoo, or the Lost Arrow, associated with the Giant’s
Thumb, one of the wonders of the Yo-Semite Valley, had its origin in the
building of the enormous arrow-head in a triangular plateau two thousand
feet above the level of the sea, in the ribbon-like convolutions of the
San Bernardino Mountains, about six miles from the little village
bearing the same name.
The Mexican hero, Santa Anna, is immortalized in the name of the valley
stretching southward to the peaks of Temescal, where tin and other ore
of value was being formed in nature’s laboratory, as Yermah and his men
fashioned the arrow-head[18] which would serve as a memorial stone, an
arrow-head burial for the lost Monbas tribes.
A circle intersecting Twin Peaks, in Tlamco, and including the North
Dome, in the Yo-Semite, and the arrow-head, is exactly one fifth the
diameter of the moon. The dual reference to the mind and to people,
always ascribed to the influence of the moon, here found adequate
expression in this giant monument. It commemorated the loss of a
continent, the extinction of a race, and also pictured the mental
anguish of the surviving nations.
The arrow, typical of thought, was composed of disintegrated white
quartz on light gray granite, and it stands out bold and white against a
dark background of entirely different soil. Short white grass and weeds
cover the arrow-head proper, while dark shrubbery and trees mark the
surrounding country. So perfect is its contour, so elevated its
situation, it can be descried from every part of the valley, and is
plainly visible at a distance of thirty miles.
So cunningly was the soil mixed for the molding of the arrow, that the
ages since have not caused it to diminish, nor can it be made to support
vegetation of a larger growth, or of species common to its surroundings.
The flint points downward, and at its base is a cluster of twenty
medicinal springs, famous for their curative powers.
Westward Santa Catalina Island had but recently appeared, and although
eighty miles away, it still smoked and rocked, animated by the hidden
forces which called it into being.
The blue coast line rises out of the purple mists in the distance like
spectral silhouettes. And there are deep cañons in the rugged mountains
in the immediate vicinity, carrying ice-cold streams in close proximity
to the steam and sulphurous vapors issuing from the boiling springs
dotting the narrow pass below.
Yermah did wisely to bring his men south—for the northern mountains were
still shaking and spitting black vomit over the valleys at their base.
The heat was too fierce for rain, although the moisture-laden breezes
were sucked in from the ocean in perfect hurricanes.
Lying well south, inland, and sheltered by a mountain range, the San
Bernardino Valley afforded shelter for distressed man and beast. It was
here, and while waiting for seed-time, that the arrow-head was outlined
so strangely on the mountain side.
Much that is curious in Indian lore clings to this spot. Like a pillar
of fire, the arrow is said to have guided their forefathers to this
place, where it finally rested. Evil has been put to flight here more
than once.
The Azes’ judges drew the death-circle and square over the breast of the
condemned with an arrow, and this is why the arrow-head burial was given
Kerœcia and her followers.
The Festival of Humiliation began a period of mourning which was
continuous and fervid until this curious monument was completed and
dedicated.
While Yermah was away from Tlamco, Orondo served in his stead much to
the annoyance of Setos, who was as busy as a mole in the dark, stirring
up sedition, and adding to the general unrest and suspicion everywhere
manifest.
The high-priest, Imos, at the suggestion of Setos, openly charged that
the Brotherhood of the White Star were to blame for the destruction of
Atlantis. Some solemn vow had been broken, and Deity was mortally
offended.
This assertion gave pestiferous, meddlesome Setos the desired
opportunity, and he instituted a severe and rigorous investigation into
the conduct of all public affairs; also, into the lives of every man and
woman in Tlamco.
No one escaped; nor was any situation sacred to the inquisitors, who in
the name of morality did not hesitate to go to any length.
Setos did not dare to openly accuse Yermah of breaking a vow made to the
Ineffable One.
He refrained from fixing this unpardonable sin on any other person, and
by innuendo and insinuation contrived to strengthen every breath of
discontent inherent in the unusual conditions arising from a mixture of
races, habits and modes of thought.
He urged Yermah to give all refugees asylum in Tlamco, knowing that
enforced idleness and nameless dread opened the mind for seditious
propaganda. Both he and Imos insisted strenuously that some one had
sinned against Divinity.
This accusation made each one distrustful and suspicious, and in their
anxiety to clear themselves many an overt act or word was let loose to
strengthen the intangible something which hovered in the air. None
pretended to name it; nor was there anything but the most circumspect
language used.[19]
Setos knew better than to show his hand. He was content, at present, to
merely discredit the Dorado. As to his future plans—time would prove
them.
Yermah felt, rather than saw, the change, but he was above indulging a
personal grief. He had already consecrated his life to his fellows, so
that work was the one thing which absorbed and interested him.
He saw that planting must be confined to the southern part of the
country, since steady downpours marked the spring and early summer
months.
He also knew it would require his best endeavors to procure food for the
ensuing year.
Reports from the Valley of the Mississippi stated that heavy floods had
prevailed for months, caused by preponderance of hot air blown over the
Rocky Mountains and condensed into rainfall early in the season. The
winter months set in with unparalleled rigor, and the spring found that
whole country under one solid sheet of ice.
Many of the inhabitants had fled to the south. The exodus to Mexico was
in full tide. This migration caused the mysterious race, the Toltecs or
the Mayas, to leave their mounds and earthworks, their canals and busy
centers, their cities and civilization, to puzzle the antiquarian in
later ages.
The earth still moaned and sighed under the impulse of subterranean
fire, while the surface froze stiff in the accumulation of waters and
low temperature. Man, ever the creature of circumstance, was still
panic-stricken, oppressed by dismal forebodings, all his settled faiths
rudely shaken, and he an easy prey to cunning and unscrupulous design.
Setos flattered himself that he managed the situation very cleverly when
he said to every one whom he met:
“It is rumored that our Grand Servitor intends to marry. Traditional law
and custom forbid his remaining in supreme control more than a year
without giving promise of succession.”
To which his auditor invariably gave tongue with speculation as upon
whom his choice could fall.
“Property and descent are traced through the female side; therefore, he
should espouse Ildiko,” said the high-priest Imos. “It is better that
pure Atlantian blood should be continued in power.”
Flattering things were said to, and of, Ildiko, until her silly head was
in a whirl, and she began to take on grand airs of importance. She
snubbed Alcamayn unmercifully, not because she really disliked him,
but—to be perverse, especially when her woman’s wit discovered that
Rahula cherished hopes of supplanting her in her father’s affection.
Like many a child since, she had no intention of cheering her father’s
declining years; nor was she unselfish enough to allow any one else to
do so.
She would marry, of course, and would place herself to the best possible
advantage, thanks to her father’s influence and position; but gratitude
to him or to any one else was entirely foreign to her thoughts. She
secretly hated Rahula, because the latter had been like a mother to her;
and it gave her keen delight to thwart Rahula’s scheme to marry her to
Alcamayn. She was not only dazzled by the prospect of occupying Iaqua,
but she knew that this would disappoint and hurt a woman who had
unwittingly aroused an unwarranted but common phase of jealousy.
As is often the case, Yermah, the most interested man of them all, was
the last to hear the gossip. At first he took no notice. But one day
Imos asked him pointedly:
“Wilt thou comply with the demands of the people?”
“If thou wilt name thy wish, I shall answer thee truly,” responded
Yermah.
It was in the Temple of the Sun, near the noon hour, and the audience
chamber was crowded, Yermah presiding.
“If thou art to be the head of this commonwealth, a helpmeet becomes thy
station. Ildiko, daughter of Setos, thy councilor, is of pure blood and
comely. Her heirs would be acceptable as future rulers.”
Yermah seemed to shrivel and grow small as the words reached him. He
unconsciously assumed an attitude of defense, mechanically passed his
hand over his ashen face, and said in a low voice:
“Let this honor in service pass me by!”
Instantly there was tremendous excitement, and Setos’s small pig-eyes
emitted a dangerous gleam.
“So he refuses the only chance he has to reign in peace. So be it!
I—Setos—will make it cost him his position.”
In the hubbub and confusion, Yermah beckoned to Orondo, and the two
stood in earnest converse for a few moments. Finally, the Dorado held up
his hand for silence.
“By the will of our beloved Akaza, I am made his successor as hierophant
in the exalted Brotherhood. The vow of my boyhood still binds me, and my
heart lies buried in the lava-flow of the north. My fellows and
brothers, will ye not release me from civic service? The dead have laid
imperative commands upon me.”
“It is our duty to obey the ‘Voice of the Silence,’” quickly responded
Imos, knowing that reverence for the dead, and for their commands and
wishes, was an article of faith with the Azes, and one which Atlantian
rulers had always respected.
“He will be hierophant only,” muttered Setos. “Good! His order forbids
resort to force, and in case of necessity he can be expelled. It is well
to resign what thou art in imminent danger of losing.”
There was an angry scowl on Setos’s red face, and his lips curled
scornfully.
Yermah stood with bowed head, and when he attempted to speak his voice
was shaken with emotion.
“A sense of gratitude unmans me! I have no wish but to serve ye well. In
resigning civic honors I desire to name Orondo as my successor.”
The Dorado turned to Orondo, and giving him his hand, drew him forward,
as his astonished auditors recovered their presence of mind and began to
cheer. Both men, deadly pale, faced about side by side and bowed
gravely.
“The fair and gentle Ildiko will find a good husband in Orondo, and the
Azes a Servitor worthy of their fullest confidence. Will ye have it so?”
“Haille! Haille! Haille!” The well-known shout of triumph had something
of the heartiness of the olden times.
“Does this arrangement please thee, Setos?” asked Yermah, kindly, taking
the hand of Setos in both his own, and reading his countenance closely.
“Since thou wilt no longer serve—Orondo is my second choice,” stammered
Setos, politely, if not sincerely.
“And wilt thou have me for thy son?” asked Orondo, simply, but without a
shade of animation.
The substitution of men was not so rapid as to prevent Setos from
realizing the advantage to himself; so he answered readily and with
heartiness:
“No man could desire a better or a more worthy son. Come with me to
Ildiko.”
There were several degrees of dignity added to Setos as he linked his
arm in Orondo’s and passed out of the building.
The crowd manifested some curiosity, which Setos noted out of the corner
of his eye as they went by. If he had failed to win all he had played
for, he had at least accomplished something.
Gratified ambition sent a glow of satisfaction through Setos which made
him feel quite amiable toward Yermah, despite his fixed determination to
either rule or ruin the Dorado—beloved of the people.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FOR REASONS OF STATE—ORONDO ESPOUSES ILDIKO
Three months intervened between the betrothal announcement, immediately
after Ildiko’s consent was obtained, and the beginning of the wedding
festival, which lasted thirty days. This brought the actual consummation
down to the time in October when the sun and moon were in conjunction.
Those were happy days for Ildiko, who was in a flutter of excitement
from morning until night over the preparation of her trousseau.
Everything necessary for her comfort was furnished in sets of twelve.
There were exquisitely ornamented terra-cotta jars provided for each of
her dresses, which were placed in a row around the walls of her room,
much more suggestive of tea than of a wardrobe.
For the ceremony in the Temple of Venus there was a creation of vivid
yellow, wrought in heavy bands of silk embroidery and tawny gold. The
veil to match was of the finest yellow gauze, worked with floss and
glitter until it was like a cobweb with the sun shining through it. The
material of the gown was that of rare, fine texture which writers are
always drawing through a finger-ring.
In the voluminous skirt, at least twenty yards of gossamer silk had been
used, but the effect was soft, clinging and graceful in the extreme. The
waist was like an Eton jacket, too short to reach the skirt, and had
half-length sleeves. The substitute for material at the waist line was a
broad girdle of jewels.
Orondo himself superintended the making of this article. It would be his
privilege to unclasp it on the nuptial night and hang it outside the
bridal chamber, as a pledge of his wife’s honor. It was not a straight
band, but broadened over the hips, and was sacred to Venus, the love
planet.
The second of the bridal robes was of scarlet silk, almost covered with
gold-thread embroidery, in which precious stones were skillfully
imbedded. With it was provided a red gauze veil edged with gold fringe.
Both gowns were fashioned alike, except that the red skirt was narrower,
and finished in a long train edged with peacock feathers, which hung as
a mantle from the shoulders.
As soon as the city was decorated, and during the entire thirty days’
preliminary festivities, Ildiko wore simple white, destitute of
ornament.
She did not appear in public, except in going to and from the Temple of
Venus, where she greeted the rising sun every morning and offered
special prayers on behalf of her new duties.
Orondo made similar supplication at the same hour in the Temple of Mars.
Though not a demonstrative man, he was careful to observe all the
niceties of his position.
When with Ildiko, his countenance bespoke contentment; and at some of
her witty sallies his face would light up with a rare smile. She was all
bustle and excitement, and made heavy demands upon her bridesman,
Yermah.
Ildiko was neither resentful nor sensitive. When the Dorado took her
hand, and begged forgiveness because of his seeming disloyalty, her
sympathies went out to him, and she impulsively told him that she
honored his choice. She loved Kerœcia too, she said, and hoped that this
mutual affection would prove a strong bond between them.
Setos was in his glory. He strutted about the city officiously, and
assumed a dictatorial manner, in the Council Chambers, which was
tolerated in a good-natured way. Setos was also allowed to indulge
himself in several flights of fancy not strictly in accordance with
facts.
With his thumbs in his arm-holes and his conical hat set well back on
his head, he unbosomed himself to Rahula, whose adroit flattery now fell
upon very willing ears.
He was paternal and patronizing to Alcamayn, who was galled almost
beyond endurance by what he fancied were the pitying glances of his
fellows.
Alcamayn angrily told himself that he was not in love with Ildiko; but
he was keenly sensible of the fact that a bachelor was not only taxed—he
was looked down upon.
The jeweler knew that there was no chance for promotion so long as he
remained single; but his own vanity and Rahula’s insidious teaching made
him hold himself entirely aloof from alliance with any but a
pure-blooded Atlantian.
His share in the preparations was wholly perfunctory, a situation not
lost upon Orondo, whose delicacy deterred him from seeking advice on the
nuptial ring and girdle.
Alcamayn himself was keenly alert on these very points. When he
purposely wandered in where the workmen were putting on the finishing
touches, he was so exasperated that he could with difficulty restrain
himself.
Day by day his irritation grew, fanned by injudicious remarks,
insinuations and exaggerated reports of Orondo’s devotion.
Divining something of this, Ildiko often inquired concerning him, and
sent many messages by Rahula. Now that she was having her own way, she
was very amiable to the other woman. Rahula’s sad face, and what Ildiko
imagined Alcamayn must suffer, added to her own high spirits. So it was
that shallow-brained, selfish Ildiko enjoyed being the center of
attraction, and accepted as justly her due the thousand and one
courtesies the time and situation showered upon her.
Not even a vague suspicion of her lover’s former attachment crossed her
mind.
* * * * *
Northeast from the center of Tlamco was the Temple of Venus, set apart
for marriage and all domestic affairs. It was here that the vestal
virgins lived, and taught the young children. It was an oval-shaped
structure, with rows of pillars inside, supporting a convex-domed roof
of colored glass. The pillars were ornamented elaborately with stucco,
rainbow-tinted, each one showing a solid color. The interstices between
had mirrors with beaten copper frames placed over the glass itself. The
tessellated floor was of black marble, the vessels of exquisitely
hammered silver, while the altars were of onyx on copper bases.
Passion-flowers, gillyflowers and hollyhocks, emblems of fecundity, were
employed in the decorations of the temple for the wedding. Ivy, meaning
fidelity; grasses, showing submission; heliotrope, for devotion; syringa
and roses, for love, were freely intertwined about the pillars and
altars.
On Friday, the day of love and marriage, no blood was allowed to be shed
for food.
At the wedding, the vestments of Imos and his assistants were of azure,
their ornaments of polished copper, their head garlands of white and red
roses, and they carried myrtle and olive branches.
Apple-green and pale rose were the colors of the canopy placed in the
southern niche, under which the ceremony took place. It was an open,
flaring triangle with a lamp in the apex, having the pedestal of iron,
the joint of brass, the bowl of silver, and the center of gold. It had
two arms, composed of three metals interlaced in such a manner as to
leave a triple conduit for oil.
There were nine wicks; three in the middle, and three in each arm. The
lower rim of the pedestal represented a serpent, while the globe was
large and double, having compartments filled with colored waters and
perfumed so that the air was cool and fragrant.
The lamp was on a revolving standard of polished wood, and at its base
were three smoking incense-jars of burnished bronze.
Early on the morning of the wedding, a brilliant pageant formed in front
of Setos’s house and marched through the principal streets. It consisted
of beasts of burden, and tamanes, loaded with presents for the bride,
and also carrying her belongings to Iaqua.
First came the jewel bearers, armed to the teeth, escorted by
cavalrymen, brandishing broadswords and performing many feats of
horsemanship and skill.
This was followed by a cavalcade of burros, laden with scented jars and
baskets containing the trousseau, which had kept half of Tlamco
industriously occupied for three months.
The presents came from military, naval and civil guilds; from the
priesthood, from the vestals, and from the children and the aged.
Poets walked in front of them reciting odes, and the musicians performed
special compositions in honor of the occasion.
As soon as the procession turned into the beautifully decorated avenue
leading to Iaqua, the populace hastened to the Temple of Venus.
It was also the signal for Orondo, with Setos on one side and Hanabusa
on the other, to issue from the eastern entrance of the official
residence. His warrior dress of white kid was rich in golden bosses,
bands and fringes. Over his shoulders hung the green feather mantle of
his rank, held in place by shoulder medallions of brilliants.
On his head was a tall liberty cap of white kid, ornamented with gold
filigree, and having three quetzal feathers in the apex. He doffed his
head-covering at the temple door, exposing a simple gold band over his
hair.
Setos and Hanabusa wore a silver and green combination, ornate with
eagle’s feathers and embroidery. They carried large bouquets of roses,
and supported the sword and shield of the bridegroom.
Behind them, in single file, carrying a jeweled lantern in each hand,
came Alcamayn, Ben Hu Barabe, Cezardis, and twenty-two young officers of
the highest rank, in full regimentals, followed by the representative
men of Tlamco, with the priesthood and councilors of state in the lead.
Their wives stood in line in front of Setos’s house, waiting to perform
the same service for Ildiko.
“Blessed be he that cometh!” shouted the people in the streets.
“Blessed indeed is he!” responded Orondo’s escort.
“Haille! Haille! Haille!” they shouted together.
Then the same formula was repeated.
The first greeting and exchange brought Ildiko to the door. She glanced
about her half-fearfully, and seemed in need of Yermah’s supporting arm.
In addition to the yellow robe already described, she wore a mantle of
yellow brocaded with silver and gold, which swept the ground far behind
her.
For the last time in her life would she be permitted to wear her hair
flowing, and its gold band, an exact duplicate of the one Orondo wore,
was the only ornament, save a crown of white lilies, attesting her
purity of heart. Strand after strand of pearls wound around her neck;
bangles and bracelets dangled at her slender wrists; but her small white
hands were uncovered, and her fingers were unadorned.
Yermah wore pale blue cloth embroidered with silver stars and bands, and
a blue cap, with silver ornaments and white plumes. His mantle was of
plain white silk. From his left arm swung a large reticule of silver
cloth crusted with turquoise, containing the yellow gauze wedding-veil.
Supporting the train of the bride’s mantle came Rahula, in a purple
robe, elaborately worked with a pattern of leaves in pale metallic
green, outlined in delicately frosted silver. The jacket was lined with
green, and the undervest was a mass of silver and jewels.
Beside her was Alcyesta, in a lavender robe. Iridescent bead
embroideries set with amethysts, and copper ornaments in quaint symbolic
design, such as the Monbas were wont to employ, made a pleasing contrast
to the rows of vestals and priestesses in pure white.
Two fierce-looking fencers led the way, followed by hundreds of
children, who scattered roses along the pathway, or accepted some of the
nuts and small cakes given out by the bride’s orders on all the
thoroughfares.
A delegation of priests barred the entrance and stopped Orondo on the
threshold. As soon as Ildiko joined him, he purchased an ear of corn of
Setos, handing him an eagle-quill of gold. Turning to Ildiko he asked:
“Dost thou wish to be mother of my household?”
“Yes,” she answered, and proceeded to buy a similar ear of corn from
Yermah, paying the same price for it. Then she turned to Orondo and
asked:
“Hast thou the wish to be father of my household?”
“Yes,” he asseverated, solemnly. Taking the ear of corn he had
purchased, he handed it to her, saying:
“Where love and harmony dwell, I am master.”
Ildiko gave Orondo her purchase as she replied:
“Where thou art master, I am mistress.”
They both began to twist roses and myrtle and olive branches into a
garland wrapped with gold and silver wires, as a symbol of their
blending lives. Still weaving, they advanced slowly down the aisle, and
paused before the canopy, while harps and voices blended in a bridal
hymn.
Setos stood beside Orondo, while Yermah supported Ildiko.
When the music ceased the priests and vestals chanted in unison:
“We give thee myriads of years. Like the moon advancing to the full;
like the sun ascending to the heavens; like the everlasting southern
hills; like the luxuriance of the fir and cypress—never waning, never
failing!—may such be thy succeeding lines.”
“Om—ah! Om—ah! Om—ah!” murmured the four at the altar.
“Orondo, servant of the Most High,” said Imos impressively, “art thou in
any way related to this maiden by ties of blood, intimate or remote?”
“The silken cords of affection are all that bind me here.”
“Dost thou swear this by the sacred fire on the altar before thee?”
“I do.” Orondo spoke firmly.
When the high-priest had asked the same questions and received the same
responses from Ildiko, he continued:
“Orondo, on thy honor as a man, is the solemn covenant thou art about to
make voluntary on thy part?”
“It is.”
Ildiko gave the same assurance.
Imos handed Orondo the marriage-band, which was so large he could slip
it over his right hand and then clasp Ildiko’s easily. It was a broad
circlet of silver set with turquoise, lapis lazuli, and beryl.
“In the name of the Trinity, I command thee, Orondo, and thee, Ildiko,
to join right hands and seal thy promise of fidelity with a kiss.”
As they obeyed, Yermah, Setos, and Imos covered them with the gauze
veil, murmuring blessings in the name of the three divine attributes.
Yermah knelt before the twain and said:
“Orondo, my beloved, I give unto thee this damsel adorned with jewels
and protected by the Lord of Creatures.”
“So be it.”
Setos knelt beside Yermah and said in a tremulous voice:
“Orondo, beloved, I give to thee my only begotten, to be thine honor and
thy wife; to keep thy keys and share with thee thy joys and sorrows.”
“Let them be trampled upon and confounded who maliciously endeavor to
create ill-will between us,” answered Orondo, loud enough to be heard
throughout the temple.
Rahula involuntarily gave Alcamayn an apprehensive glance.
That young man stared straight ahead of him with blood-shot eyes and a
dull, half-foolish expression. He did not seem to hear Imos, when he
said:
“By the power vested in me, I unite and bind thee, Orondo, and thee,
Ildiko, one to the other. Live ye in peace.”
Lifting their veil he anointed their foreheads and wrists with unguent.
Then he carefully drew a gold thread from the bride’s mantle and another
from the groom’s, and tied them together. He handed the knot to Ildiko,
saying:
“Be this always a sign of indissoluble union.”
Picking up a sprig of ivy, Setos bound it across Orondo’s forehead,
adding:
“Be this a similar token unto thee.”
Receiving a cup of mead from the hands of an assistant, he blessed it,
drank of it, and passed the libation to the newly married couple.
After Ildiko took a sip, she threw the cup on the floor, and as she did
so every unmarried man in the temple followed her example by dashing
into pieces a porcelain, glass or pottery vessel, as a signal of
renunciation.
The bridal party filed out of the temple to the music of harps and
flutes. There was an eager wish to witness the leave-taking of the bride
and bridegroom, who formally separated at the door and returned to their
respective homes until nightfall. Then the bride would enter Iaqua in
state, and the matrimonial coronation would take place.
* * * * *
“Impatience lends wings to my desire, Ildiko,” whispered Orondo. “I long
for thee incessantly. Come quickly.”
“Only this poor body is absent from thy side, Orondo. Thy wish is but an
echo of my thought.”
“From meridian to sunset is a lifetime in the history of love,” said
Orondo, as he glanced at the unclouded sky overhead. “Oh, misery! that I
must leave thee!”
“Thou art a flattering and indulgent husband,” responded Ildiko, smiling
up into his face affectionately.
He stood uncovered, and waited for her to pass on; then he turned ever
and anon on his way back to Iaqua, waving his hand to her, until Ildiko
reached her father’s house.
The lanterns, banners and flags flapped lazily in the breeze or sunned
themselves listlessly. There was a grand naval demonstration on the bay,
an exchange of shots by the mangonels in the forts, and a review of
warriors on parade.
The citizens young and old made various senseless noises in their
exuberance of spirits, while the Chief Councilmen went into session
immediately to await the announcement of the formal resignation of
Yermah and the taking of the oath of office by Orondo.
It was not without a sinking heart that Yermah had given up his old
habits of life. It cost him many pangs to abandon his quarters; and for
days he had that houseless, homeless feeling inseparable from removal to
new surroundings.
Orondo pleaded long and earnestly that he would still reside at Iaqua.
The Dorado steadily refused. He would content himself with the
unpretentious quarters of Akaza in the Temple of Neptune.
With his own hands, he took an inventory of all things pertaining to his
office, the jewels, the horses, trappings and chariots.
He removed nothing except his personal effects, and, as a wedding
present, he gave Orondo his last state mantle—the one he had worn on
Kerœcia’s birthday.
Orondo still had the garment on his shoulders, and would wear it in the
Hall of Embassadors, when he solemnly pledged his life and sacred honor
to the service of the Azes.
Later in the day, there was feasting and rejoicing in all the community
houses, the institutions and barracks, as well as in the homes.
Enthroned under a canopy of scarlet, Ildiko sat out the afternoon,
surrounded by her family and friends. It was her formal leave-taking of
girlhood days, and her eyes filled with tears as she slowly passed from
one room to another.
She yielded to a fit of weeping when she reached the door of her own
room, and saw that in her absence it had been denuded of all her
possessions.
“Oh, my father!” she cried, “is it possible that thou wilt turn me out
of thy heart as well as out of thy house?”
She threw herself across the foot of her bed, and sobbed convulsively.
Rahula brought her father, and by a sign motioned the others to leave
them. Setos gave her a grateful look as she closed the door, but it was
a long time before he could speak. He sat motionless and helpless until
Ildiko could get command of her overwrought nerves, and then he soothed
and quieted her as best he could.
Rahula returned presently with a sleeping potion, but the bride refused
to drink it.
“Let me remember every hour of this day,” she pleaded, and so had her
way.
As the sun went down the bride arose, and performed anew her ablutions,
and prayed with fervor and abandon. Then she arrayed herself in scarlet,
and wound herself up in the voluminous red veil with as much skill and
ingenuity as possible, so that her husband might find it difficult to
see her face, since it was his task to unwind it, as soon as she crossed
the threshold of Iaqua.
With the appearance of the evening star, came the state chariot drawn by
four spirited bays, ready to carry her to her new home. The whole city
seemed to be alive with torches and lanterns, which rivaled the
brilliant illumination overhead, as Ildiko, accompanied by Yermah and
her father, stepped into the vehicle.
The populace ran alongside, singing bridal songs and shouting good
wishes into her ears. Little cakes, nuts, and bouquets were thrown from
the chariot as souvenirs, while the blare of trumpets added to the
general noise and confusion.
All the notables of Tlamco were assembled at Iaqua to welcome the bride.
A very timid, frightened little morsel of humanity she was, as Orondo
carried her into the house.
She had intended to make a great show of resistance when he attempted to
remove her veil; but she was so dazed that she lost all presence of
mind, and actually helped him.
With grave sweet tenderness, Orondo freed her from entanglement, and led
her in triumph to the dais prepared for them, where for the next two
hours they received congratulations.
When divested of their mantles, the bride and groom led the dancing, and
with it Ildiko’s spirits rose. It was her privilege to challenge any
swain in the company, and he was obliged to follow her through the maze
of whirling dancers until he should succeed in capturing the illusive
veil she occasionally tossed at him.
As soon as the formal change was danced with Orondo, she threw the veil
over Alcamayn’s shoulder. He was a splendid dancer, and she knew that he
would give her ample opportunity to display her own skill.
Round and round they went—he in hot pursuit, she alert to provoke and
yet escape him.
At last, panting with exertion, she suffered him to touch the gauze, and
then the dancers rushed away to get something to drink and to recover
their breath.
No precaution was taken to prevent over-indulgence in the use of the
liquids, because it was considered a crime punishable with death if any
one came to harm through excess of this kind.
The high-priest, Imos, first proposed and drank the health of the bride
and groom. Then came Hanabusa, who did the same for the navy; Setos
performed a similar office for the civil authorities; Ben Hu Barabe, for
the lost and loved ones; Cezardis, for the stranger within the gates;
after which friends of each saluted and offered a libation to their
future.
Abstemious by nature, Orondo did little more than touch the various
liquors with his lips, but Ildiko quenched thirst freely, and soon the
heat and excitement began to tell on her.
* * * * *
Nothing escaped the eagle eye of Alcamayn.
Ildiko had sought to appease him by a show of preference in selecting
him to dance, but he resented it as a mean attempt on her part to parade
his humiliation. Before coming into the ballroom, he had taken a copious
drink of hemp and opium, and had purposely selected the wine of maguey
(mescal) for his toast.
Now this fiery liquid mounted to his infuriated brain, and he was
positive that every one in the room was thinking how badly he had been
treated, and secretly deriding him for not seeking revenge.—Revenge!
That was it! But he had come prepared.
Red and white lines mingled with the pockmarks, and his misshapen body
seemed to writhe like a snake under the goad of his malicious thoughts.
He was growing noisy and boisterous; so much so that his companions
tried to prevent him from approaching the bride, but he angrily refused
to heed them.
“Come on!” he loudly proclaimed. “She is a discarded love of mine, who
still adores me. Come on, and I will prove her! She shall give _me_ her
wedding ring—the one Orondo made with his own hands!”
Ben Hu Barabe, Hanabusa, Yermah and Cezardis closed in around him, but
he broke away from their restraint and boldly bantered Ildiko for an
exchange of rings. He had the face of a fiend, as he said:
“Wilt thou not, for old times’ sake, give me one of thy little rings in
return for one of mine? Choose among these,” he continued, holding up a
hand loaded with beautiful gems, quaintly set.
She looked at him unsteadily, simpered foolishly and was about to make
some maudlin reply, when Orondo, white with anger, whispered to her:
“Make the exchange quickly. Thou art under observation.”
Startled by his tone, and only half-comprehending the situation, Ildiko
slipped off her wedding ring, a flat silver band covered with an
intricate gold interlaced filigree. Without looking at it, she handed it
to Alcamayn, receiving from him a diamond marquise for her little
finger.
“What did I tell thee!” cried the hunchback triumphantly. “Thou knowest
the pledge that goes with this? Poor Orondo! I envy thee not!”
Alcamayn turned with a sneer on his ugly face, just as Orondo, who had
risen, made a pass at him with his sword. The weapon went wide of its
mark, but the outraged husband lurched forward, and fell heavily to the
floor, before the horrified spectators could offer assistance.
Yermah raised the fallen head, and as he did so blood spurted from the
half-open mouth. Orondo groaned and shivered. His breath came in one
stertorous gasp, and all was still.
“It is death!” cried Yermah, in alarm, “death, sudden and terrible! My
poor friend!” he repeated, as Setos leaned over and peered into the
ashen countenance. Hanabusa hustled Alcamayn roughly, but held him in a
vise-like grip.
“Thou art a murderer,” he exclaimed, “and must answer well for this!
Thou art my prisoner!”
The high-priest, Imos, assisted Yermah to lift the dead man, and Setos
stood near Ildiko.
The bride was still toying with Alcamayn’s ring, and giggling hideously
to herself, utterly unconscious of the tragedy being enacted before her.
Rahula fluttered between the two principals. She could not comprehend
what had happened, and began to shriek hysterically when iron bands were
placed on Alcamayn’s neck and wrists.
The panic-stricken guests departed hurriedly, while warriors surrounded
the house, and no one was allowed to enter under any pretext whatever.
All eye-witnesses were put under oath, and an armed guard soon filled
the room.
Ildiko was kept under surveillance, and Setos found his movements
closely watched.
The news went through the city like wild-fire, and the excitement kept
the streets alive all night, while the death-watchers sat with the
linen-swathed body of Orondo.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE TRIBUNALS OF GOD DEAL WITH ALCAMAYN
The “Tribunals of God,” as the courts of justice were called, convened
in the Temple of Mars, situated northwest from the center of the city.
It was here that the highest courts assembled four times a year to hear
and to judge the most important criminal cases.
There were twelve judges and eighty jurors, who were seated in a
semi-circle facing the south, where sapphire tablets in gold plates set
forth the ten great laws of the land. In front of them were two blocks
of stone, on which the accuser and the accused stood. Outside this were
seats for the jurisconsults, hedged in by a wall of solid masonry,
always guarded.
The building itself was square, with each corner exactly on a cardinal
point, and finished with square towers, from the tops of which the
decisions were announced at sunset.
The size of the temple was one three-hundred-thousandths of the diameter
of Mars.
Outside the walled enclosure were quarters for the jurisconsults and
their families, also for the students and the instructors. A long
subterranean passage, dimly lighted, led to the chambers for solitary
confinement, and it was from the arches overhead that criminals under
death-sentence were executed, by being hung by the heels.
Dull gray walls, ceilings and floors greeted the eye everywhere, while
leather and iron fittings added to the gloom and depression. Over the
door of the main entrance was the inscription:
“THE WISE EMPLOYMENT OF PUNISHMENT IS THE BEST MEANS OF TEACHING THE
LOWER ANIMALS: MAN LEARNS ONLY BY EXPERIENCE, WHICH IS A VARIED FORM
OF PUNISHMENT.”
The awning over the head of the presiding judge was a splendid woolen
tapestry, representing the “Judgment of Hirach,” and underneath was the
inscription:
“THE MISFORTUNE OF THE CRIMINAL IS THAT HE MAKES A BAD BARGAIN: HE
GIVES SO MUCH FOR SO LITTLE.”
* * * * *
As hierophant and Past Grand Servitor, it was Yermah’s duty to preside
at Alcamayn’s trial. His official robe for this occasion was
flame-colored, with belt, bracelet, and thumb-ring of iron set with
amethysts, while on his head was a skeletonized iron crown.
The extreme gravity of the case hastened the proceedings, which were
concluded on the following Tuesday—Mars’ day. In ordinary circumstances
it would have been considered a monstrous thing to appeal with such
haste to an extraordinary tribunal; but the diversity of frictional
causes underlying the main issue made it expedient to act with vigor and
promptitude.
The people themselves claimed the right to punish crimes of peculiar
gravity or of exalted personages. Since the action pertained to their
Servitor, they were the ones most grievously wronged, and they clamored
loudly for the life-blood of the jeweler.
Alcamayn’s life should be forfeited to the state because of high
treason, inasmuch as he had made it impossible to maintain traditional
relations with other nations, by removing the only man of consecrated
blood capable of carrying out the solemn covenants.
It was Hanabusa’s duty, as accuser, to present the findings of this
tribunal to Yermah for final consideration.
The high-priest, Imos, received similar instruction later in the day,
when the warrior-priests, without a dissenting voice, found Alcamayn
guilty of sin against the Holy Pneuma,[20] because by curtailing
Orondo’s physical life, he had cut the ego’s earth experience short,
thus dooming his victim to early reincarnation. Death, incurring a
similar fate, was but just retribution.
Setos must stand as an accuser when the final trial began. In his own
selfish way, he was attached to Ildiko; but he could have killed her
with his own hands for having placed him in such a difficult position.
He had no pity for her blighted prospects.
The father was enraged against the daughter, because he knew that no man
would offer her marriage again—that she must live in perpetual disgrace.
Pity her? Not he! Had she not dashed his ambitions at the very moment of
fulfillment? Was his incipient greatness always to be subservient to
inferiors? Was he never to have the opportunity to show what was in his
heart?
* * * * *
Poor Ildiko! Frivolous feather-brain that she was, many a sympathizing
glance fell upon the closed windows of her bridal chamber. She was not
allowed to return home again. So in hideous mockery she paced the floor
of this room, sick to death of its luxury, and hating the sight of her
wedding finery.
Yermah found her lying prostrate, twisting her hands in and out of her
disheveled hair; and when he gently raised her and spoke kindly to her,
she broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, infinitely sadder than
tears. She had the curses of her father still ringing in her ears, and
remorse held such carnival that blows would have been easier to bear.
“Beat, curse and abuse me, Yermah, or I shall go raving mad! Don’t even
look at me kindly! I cannot endure it!”
Yermah feigned not to hear her.
“Where is Rahula?” he asked in an ordinary tone. “Hast thou seen her?”
“No. She must be with Alcamayn.”
“That were not possible. He is in solitary confinement, and is allowed
to see no one. She is probably occupied with his defense.”
“Dost thou think there is any hope for him? I have loved him from early
childhood—more than I did Orondo,” she said simply. “Canst thou not
plead for him?”
Even with tear-stained, grief-distorted face, Ildiko was attractive and
winning.
“All that is possible will I gladly do, for both thy sakes.”
The Dorado talked long and earnestly with her, knowing that words would
be a harmless safety-valve for her tortured mind, and when he left her
she was comparatively calm.
Yermah was as good as his word. In the Temple of the Sun, on the
following day, he made an eloquent plea for compensation for Ildiko,
since Alcamayn had stolen away her senses by drugging the wine she drank
in honor of the state. The councilors by vote exculpated her from all
blame in Orondo’s death, and allowed her the living usually given the
widow of a Grand Servitor. It was a foregone conclusion that they would
fix the death penalty on Alcamayn for depriving the Azes of their
rightful ruler.
* * * * *
The unit of ancient society was the community or gens; of modern
society, the individual. Since the first ten great laws were compiled
and graven on tablets of stone, there have been but two forms of
civilization. One exemplifies the principles of brotherhood; the other,
crystallizes around individualism. Both ideals have had many variations
and degrees of success in racial and national expression.
The Egyptians thought their laws were given them by Menes, the Greek
Hermes; the Hindus believed that Menes received his laws direct from
Krishna.
The Lacedæmonians claimed that Apollyon inspired Lycurgus to write them
wise and just laws for their guidance.
Many branches of the Aryan race look to Zoroaster as the man to whom the
Good Spirit communicates the first rules of government.
The Toltecs say it was Mexi; the Quiches ascribe it to Votan; while,
through the Jews, we claim Moses as the great law-giver.
But from whatever source, the principal rules are the same. In none is
property held to be of greater value than human life. The precepts of
Christianity do not contradict this teaching, but actual practice is
often quite another matter.
The legislation known as labor laws would be difficult to explain were
precept and practical Christian civilization the same thing.
The first step inspired by selfishness was to substitute the family for
the tribe, making it a corporation sole, so that co-ownership was the
original law of property.[21]
In Yermah’s day, no one could forfeit or transfer his rights, and all
holdings went back to the community at death. Personal property was
interred with the body, in order to destroy the magnetic attraction
which would still hold the astral man to the earth, especially to his
familiar haunts.
There was no law of crimes, no criminal jurisprudence such as we have
to-day. But the community had the right to compel the wrong-doer to
compound for injuries inflicted. The state undertook to mete out
punishment the same as an individual would do in similar circumstances.
When speedily caught, a criminal was sure to suffer severely. If
apprehended a year later, the penalty was much lighter as the fictitious
anger of the state was supposed to be cooler.
Towers of Refuge were not only common to Asia, but were found all over
the Americas and the accused was immune when once inside its sacred
walls.
The trial of Alcamayn was a proceeding wholly extraordinary, irregular
and independent of set rules and fixed conditions. Yermah sat with the
Council of State, and was deputed by them to represent the civic
interests in the final judgment.
Equity was supposed to flow from the conscience of the Servitor. He,
alone, could pronounce the death sentence, after the judges and jurors
had passed upon the case.
Yermah asked Ben Hu Barabe, the civil chief and law-giver of the Monbas,
to personate him in the commonwealth. The four preliminary trials were
before the assembly of the tribes, represented by Ben Hu Barabe; the
tribunal of God, represented by Imos; the assembly of one hundred,
represented by Setos; and the laws of nations, represented by Hanabusa.
These men were the four accusers, who appeared before Yermah and
demanded the forfeit of Alcamayn’s life, when, at sunrise, the final
sitting began.
In addition to the twelve judges and eighty jurors, there were as many
more students, who stood behind their elders, and in this way learned to
practice in the courts.
* * * * *
With a thin iron collar around his neck, to which three chains were
attached, held by a soldier on each side and one behind, Alcamayn was
led before the Tribunal.
He was dressed in black, with a light weight iron crown on his head
shaped like an inverted pentagram.
The high-priest, Imos, preceded Alcamayn, carrying a rod of iron in his
hand. Stationing himself at the left of the prisoner, the high-priest
waited Yermah’s question:
“Why comest thou here, Imos?”
“To claim the life of this man,” touching Alcamayn with the rod, then
laying hold of him.
The prisoner made a show of resistance, until Yermah bade them relax
their hold.
“Alcamayn, what means thy interference?”
“I crave the right to establish and prove my innocence,” answered the
accused in an unsteady voice.
“May the life within me be forfeited, if there be no justice in my
cause.” Imos spoke with decisive emphasis.
“If this man merit not death, take thou vengeance on me,” said Ben Hu
Barabe, standing beside Imos.
“The same dread fate await me too, if there be reason for merciful
judgment here.” Hanabusa spoke with deliberation, as he joined the other
accusers.
“Woe is me!” wailed Setos, unsteadily. “Yet I and all my posterity would
be forever accursed if we hindered justice. I am here to claim the life
of Alcamayn, and to stake my own on the demand.”
He did not look at the jeweler, and it seemed difficult for him to
stand, while the accused said in a low voice:
“May I be early deprived of physical life in four succeeding
incarnations, if I be not innocent of this charge.”
“Thou standest in a perilous position, Alcamayn,” cautioned Yermah.
“Weigh thy words well!”
“Had my days four times their natural span, I should risk them without
fear.”
There was no bravado in Alcamayn’s tone or manner.
He feared the worst, and there was a hungry, desperate expectancy in
every glance. The days had gone over his head like years.
Stripped of all finery and with close cropped hair, his bat-wing ears
stood out from his head. The hawk face, clean-shaven, showed the cunning
and courage of a cornered rat. The hunchback’s supreme egotism stood him
in good stead, but the inner man had no compunction for what he had
done. He was appalled at the unexpected death of Orondo, never having
counted on such an outcome.
But what criminal ever does look forward to being caught and overwhelmed
with his own guilt?
Alcamayn had succeeded in getting even with his tormentors, and he was
secretly glad of it. If it had only been Ildiko who had died instead of
Orondo, he would have been entirely satisfied; and, as it was, persuaded
himself that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
He hated Orondo, and the jilted man deemed that justifiable since his
rival’s success had been a prime cause of humiliation.
The prisoner was seated on a revolving stool, and made to face each
judge and juror while the questions and responses were being given.
One of the most damaging circumstances against Alcamayn was his own
soberness compared with Ildiko’s sudden intoxication. He reluctantly
admitted that he had deliberately gone to the wedding meditating
revenge, and had carefully carried it out at the first opportunity.
The accused did not deny that he was actuated by a petty, mean jealousy,
although he scorned the insinuation of loving Ildiko. His deformity told
against him greatly, because of the belief that the body was but an
outward expression of the inner man.
Each of the four accusers took turn in examining the testimony,
analyzing the motives, inquiring minutely into extenuating
circumstances; and the judges and jurors were equally divided for and
against.
The arguments continued all day, but at sun-down the decision had been
reached.
There was no prerogative of pardon. The commonwealth had the right to
interfere directly and by isolated acts, to avenge itself on the author
of the evil which it had suffered.
“Alcamayn, hast thou aught to say which can delay judgment about to be
meted out to thee?”
Yermah spoke perfunctorily.
The strain was telling on them all; and Alcamayn, more dead than alive,
answered mechanically:
“I have none.”
“Alcamayn, face thy accusers.”
The condemned man dragged himself to his feet, and stared doggedly ahead
of him.
“Alcamayn, never more canst thou be heard in thine own behalf. I charge
thee, as death must soon be thy portion, speak the truth. Art thou
guilty?”
The stillness was intense.
Every man waited to see if the convicted man would imperil his immortal
soul by withholding the truth.
The prisoner felt this. He knew what a shock he could give them, and the
leading passion being strong upon him, he answered defiantly:
“I am innocent!”
Trouble had not softened him. On the contrary, he had grown bitter and
vindictive as he realized his desperate straits.
Yermah picked up an iron-headed arrow, as the guard brought the prisoner
forward. Leaning toward him, he drew a circle over Alcamayn’s heart, and
then made a square around it with the arrow.
This was the death sentence.
“May the Father of Justice and Mercy claim the divine within thee,
Alcamayn!”
The doomed man merely bowed his head.
“Let Saturn’s day witness the carrying out of this decree. Away with
him!”
Yermah felt the words more keenly than the man to whom he had spoken
them. Alcamayn’s thin upper lip curled in a sardonic smile, which did
not leave his face while the badge of death, a square of sheet iron with
a white enamel circle in the center, was being fastened to his breast.
The condemned man was kept in solitary confinement. Once the door of his
cell closed upon him, he gave way to a frenzy of despair, butting his
head against the wall with so much violence that the guards were obliged
to tie him down to the floor.
Frantic hysteria closed his throat, and threatened strangulation, and
when his teeth were pried open, he shut them on his tongue with such
force as to nearly sever the end.
Shamans worked with him all night, but nothing save physical exhaustion
quieted him. Under sentence of death, the miserable man was allowed to
receive any consolation possible.
There were no restrictions placed upon the visit of friends, the only
regulation being a complete and thorough search before and after the
visit of both prisoner and caller.
Long before light, came Rahula. She was nearly distracted by Alcamayn’s
shrieks and groans, but tried to show a brave face. The prisoner was
sinking into a drowse, and Rahula did not know whether he recognized her
or not. She had brought him some ripe persimmons, and occupied herself
trying to make him comfortable.
To her surprise he awoke hungry, and did full justice to the appetizing
meal prepared for him. There was no objection to her providing the food,
but the authorities insisted that she should partake of it freely. So it
happened that she furnished and ate all meals with him.
Many and long were the confidential talks these two had together, and on
more than one occasion Rahula committed to picture-writing things that
were told her.
Nothing escaped her tightly closed lips, nor did she utter one word of
complaint. She was surly and defiant when questioned, but made no
resistance at the last moment.
On Friday morning, Ildiko, pale and agitated, knocked timidly at the
outer gate, and begged to see Alcamayn. He received her quietly, but
there was not a shade of pity for her broken fortunes.
The widow’s face was drawn and pinched, and she looked utterly forlorn
and helpless while the search went on.
Once in the cell, she tried to speak cheerfully to her childhood friend,
but she could not prevent a revulsion of feeling when she saw the
perfumed dandy shorn of all his splendor; his long, thin neck and large
ears grated upon her senses unpleasantly.
How was it ever possible that she had loved him?
Ildiko began to suspect that it was remorse and not affection which had
prompted her feelings. She had never practiced self-restraint, but had
always given voice to every passing emotion. What she said was true at
the time it was spoken, or, at least, she thought it was.
Alcamayn huddled over in a corner opposite, unable to control his
repugnance, and instinctively sharing something of the aversion apparent
in Ildiko.
Wholly surprised and half-frightened at herself, Ildiko arose to take
leave. She tried to feel very sad, but instead of the passionate tears,
and protest of undying love, she gulped down a dry sob, extended a cold
clammy hand, and in a queer little voice, said with painful
articulation: