OLFAN TELLS OF THE RUBIES
It was at this juncture that Francisco recovered his senses. “Oh!” he
gasped, opening his eyes and sitting up, “is it done, and am I dead?”
“No, no, you are alive and safe,” answered Leonard. “Stay where you are
and don’t look over the edge, or you will faint again. Here, take my
hand. Now, you brute,” and he made energetic motions to the surviving
priest, indicating that he must lead them back along the path by which
they had come, at the same time tapping his rifle significantly.
The man understood and started down the darksome tunnel as though he
were glad to go, Leonard holding his robe with one hand, while with the
other he pressed the muzzle of the loaded rifle against the back of his
neck. Francisco followed, leaning on Leonard’s shoulder, for he could
not walk alone.
As they had come so they returned. They passed down the steps of stone
which were hollowed in the body of the colossus; they traversed the
long underground tunnel, and at length, to their intense relief, once
more they stood upon the solid ground and in the open air. Now that the
moon was up, and the mist which had darkened the night had melted, they
could see their whereabouts. They had emerged upon a platform of rock
within a bowshot of the great gates of the palace, from whence the
secret subterranean passage used by the priests was gained, its opening
being hidden cunningly among the stone-work of the temple.
“I wonder where the others are,” asked Leonard anxiously of Francisco.
As he spoke, Juanna, wrapped in her dark cloak, appeared, apparently
out of the stones of the wall, and with her Otter, the Settlement men
bearing their dead companion, and a considerable company of priests,
among whom, however, Nam was not to be seen.
“Oh, is that you, Leonard?” said Juanna in English, and in a voice
broken with fear. “Thank Heaven that you are safe!”
“Thank Heaven that we are all safe,” he answered. “Come, let us get on.
No, we can walk, thank you,” and he waved away the priests, who
produced the litters from where they had hidden them under the wall.
The men fell back and they walked on. At the gate of the palace a
welcome sight met their eyes, for here stood Olfan, and with him at
least a hundred captains and soldiers, who lifted their spears in
salute as they advanced.
“Olfan, hear our bidding,” said Juanna. “Suffer no priest of the Snake
to enter the palace gates. We give you command over them, even to
death. Set guards at every doorway and come with us.”
The ex-king bowed and issued some orders, in obedience to which the
sullen priests fell back murmuring. Then they all passed the gates,
crossed the courtyard, and presently stood in the torch-lit
throne-room, where Juanna had slept on the previous night. Here food
had been prepared for them by Soa, who looked at them curiously,
especially at Leonard and Francisco, as though, indeed, she had never
expected to see them again.
“Hearken, Olfan,” said Juanna, “we have saved your life to-night and
you have sworn fealty to us; is it not so?”
“It is so, Queen,” the warrior answered. “And I will be faithful to my
oath. This heart, that but for you had now been cold, beats for you
alone. The life you gave back to me is yours, and for you I live and
die.”
As he spoke he glanced at her with an expression in which, as it seemed
to Juanna, human feeling was mixed with supernatural awe. Was it
possible, she wondered with a thrill of fear, that this savage king was
mingling his worship of the goddess with admiration of the woman? And
did he begin to suspect that she was no goddess after all? Time would
show, but at least the look in his eyes alarmed her.
“Fear not,” he went on; “a thousand men shall guard you night and day.
The power of Nam is broken for a while, and now all this company may
sleep in peace.”
“It is well, Olfan. To-morrow morning, after we have eaten, we will
talk with you again, for we have much to say. Till then, watch!”
The great man bowed and went, and at last they were alone.
“Let us eat,” said Leonard. “What is this? Spirit, or a very good
imitation of it. Well, I never wanted a glass of brandy more in my
life.”
When they had finished their meal, at the request of Leonard Juanna
translated all that had been said in the temple, and among her
listeners there was none more interested than Soa.
“Say, Soa,” said Leonard, when she had finished, “you did not expect to
see us come back alive, did you? Is that why you stayed away?”
“No, Deliverer,” she answered. “I thought that you would be killed,
every one of you. And so it must have come about, had it not been for
the Shepherdess. Also, I stayed away because those who have looked upon
the Snake once do not desire to see him again. Many years ago I was
bride to the Snake, Deliverer, and, had I not fled, my fate would have
been the fate of her who died this night.”
“Well, I do not wonder that you chose to go,” said Leonard.
“Oh, Baas,” broke in Otter, “why did you not shoot that old
medicine-man as I told you? It would have been easy when you were about
it, Baas, and now he would have been broken like an eggshell thrown
from a house-top, and not alive and full of the meat of malice. He is
mad with rage and wickedness, and I say that he will kill us all if he
can.”
“I rather wish I had,” said Leonard, pulling his beard. “I thought of
it, but could not do everything; and on future occasions, Otter, will
you remember that your name is Silence? Luckily, these people do not
understand you: if they did you would ruin us all. What is the matter,
Soa?”
“Nothing, Deliverer,” she answered; “only I was thinking that Nam is my
father, and I am glad that you did not shoot him, as this black dog,
who is named a god, suggests.”
“Of gods I know nothing, you old cow,” answered Otter angrily; “they
are a far-off people, though it seems that I am one of them, at any
rate among these fools, your kinsmen. But of dogs I can tell you
something, and it is that they bite.”
“Yes, and cows toss dogs,” said Soa, showing her teeth.
“Here is another complication,” thought Leonard to himself; “one day
this woman will make friends with her venerable parent and betray us,
and then where shall we be? Well, among so many dangers an extra one
does not matter.”
“I must go to bed,” said Juanna faintly; “my head is swimming. I cannot
forget those horrors and that giddy place. When first I saw where I
was, I nearly fainted and fell, but after a while I grew more used to
it. Indeed, while I was speaking to the people I quite forgot my fear,
and the height seemed to exhilarate me. What a sight it was! When all
is said and done, it is a grand thing to have lived through such an
experience. I wonder if anyone has ever seen its like.”
“You are a marvellous woman, Juanna,” said Leonard, with admiration.
“We owe our lives to your wit and courage.”
“You see I was right in insisting on coming with you,” she answered
somewhat aggressively.
“For our sakes, yes; for your own I am not so sure. To tell you the
truth, I think that we should have done better never to have started on
this mad expedition. However, things look a little more promising now,
though Nam and his company have still to be reckoned with, and we don’t
seem much nearer the rubies, which are our main object.”
“No,” said Juanna, “they are gone, and we shall be lucky if we do not
follow them into the home of that hideous snake. Good night.”
“Francisco,” said Leonard, as he rolled himself up in his blanket, “you
had a narrow escape to-night. If I had missed my hold!”
“Yes, Outram, it was lucky for me that your arm is strong and your mind
quick. Ah, I am a dreadful coward, and I can see the place now;” and he
shuddered. “Always from a child I have believed that I shall die by a
fall from some height, and to-night I thought that my hour had come. At
first I did not understand, for I was watching the Senora’s face in the
moonlight, and to me she looked like an angel. Then I saw, and my
senses left me. It was as though hands were stretched up from the
blackness to drag me down—yes, I saw the hands. But you saved me,
Outram, though that will not help me, for I shall perish in some such
way at last. So be it. It is best that I should die, who cannot conquer
the evil of my heart.”
“Nonsense, my friend,” said Leonard; “don’t talk like that about dying.
We can none of us afford to die just at present—that is, unless we are
obliged to do so. Your nerves are upset, and no wonder! As for ‘the
evil of your heart,’ I wish that most men had as little—the world would
be better. Come, go to sleep; you will feel very differently
to-morrow.”
Francisco smiled sadly and shook his head, then he knelt and began to
say his prayers. The last thing that Leonard saw before his eyes closed
in sleep was the rapt girlish face of the priest, round which the light
of the taper fell like an aureole, as he knelt muttering prayer after
prayer with his pale lips.
It was nine o’clock before Leonard awoke next morning—for they had not
slept till nearly four—to find Francisco already up, dressed, and, as
usual, praying. When Leonard was ready they adjourned to Juanna’s room,
where breakfast was prepared for them. Here they found Otter, looking
somewhat disturbed.
“Baas, Baas,” he said, “they have come and will not go away!”
“Who?” asked Leonard.
“The woman, Baas: she who was given to me to wife, and many other
women—her servants—with her. There are more than twenty of them
outside, Baas, and all of them very big. Now, what shall I do with her,
Baas? I came here to serve you and to seek the red stones that you
desire, and not a woman tall enough to be my grandmother.”
“I really don’t know and don’t care,” answered Leonard. “If you will be
a god you must take the consequences. Only beware, Otter: lock up your
tongue, for this woman will teach you to speak her language, and she
may be a spy.”
“Yes, Baas, I will see to that. Is not my name Silence, and shall women
make me talk—me, who have always hated them? But—the Baas would not
like to marry her himself? I am a god, as you say, though it was you
who made me one, Baas, not I, and my heart is large; I will give her to
you, Baas.”
“Certainly not,” answered Leonard decidedly. “See if the breakfast is
ready. No, I forgot, you are a god, so climb up into the throne and
look the part, if you can.”
As he spoke, Juanna came from her room, looking a little pale, and they
sat down to breakfast. Before they had finished their meal, Soa
announced that Olfan was waiting without. Juanna ordered him to be
admitted, and presently he entered.
“Is all well, Olfan?” asked Juanna.
“All is well, Queen,” he answered. “Nam and three hundred of his
following held council at dawn in the house of the priests yonder.
There is much stir and talk in the city, but the hearts of the people
are light because their ancient gods have come back to us, bringing
peace with them.”
“Good,” said Juanna. Then she began to question him artfully on many
things, and by degrees they learnt more of the People of the Mist.
It seemed, as Leonard had already guessed, that they were a very
ancient race, having existed for countless generations on the same
misty upland plains. They were not, however, altogether isolated, for
occasionally they made war with other savage tribes. But they never
intermarried with these tribes, all the captives taken in their wars
being offered in sacrifice at the religious festivals. The real
governing power in the community was the Society of the Priests of the
Snake, who held their office by hereditary tenure, outsiders being
admitted to their body only under very exceptional circumtances. The
council of this society chose the kings, and when they were weary of
one of them, they sacrificed him and chose another, either from among
his issue or elsewhere. This being the custom, as may be imagined, the
relations between church and state were much strained, but hitherto, as
Olfan explained with suppressed rage, the church had been supreme.
Indeed, the king for the time being was only its mouthpiece, or
executive officer. He led the armies, but the superstitions of the
people, and even of the soldiers themselves, prevented him from
wielding any real power; and, unless he chanced to die naturally, his
end was nearly always the same: to be sacrificed when the seasons were
bad or “Jâl was angry.”
The country was large but sparsely populated, the fighting men numbered
not more than four thousand, of whom about half lived in the great
city, the rest occupying villages here and there on the mountain
slopes. As a rule the people were monogamous, except the priests. It
was the custom of sacrifice which kept down the population to its low
level, made the power of the priests absolute, and their wealth greater
than that of all the other inhabitants of the country put together, for
they chose the victims that had offended against Jâl or against the
mother-goddess, and confiscated their possessions to “the service of
the temple.” Thus the great herds of half-wild cattle which the
travellers had seen on the plains belonged to the priests, and the
priests took a fourth of the produce of every man’s field and
garden—that is, when they did not take it all, and his life with it.
Twice in every year great festivals were held in the temple of Jâl, at
the beginning of the spring season and in the autumn after the
ingathering of the crops. At each of these festivals many victims were
offered in sacrifice, some upon the stone and some by being hurled into
the boiling pool beneath the statue, there to be consumed by the Snake
or swept down the secret course of the underground river. The feast
celebrated in the spring was sacred to Jâl, and that in the autumn to
the mother-goddess. But there was this difference between them—that at
the spring ceremony female victims only were sacrificed to Jâl to
propitiate him and to avert his evil influence, while at the autumn
celebration males alone were offered up to the mother-goddess in
gratitude for her gifts of plenty. Also criminals were occasionally
thrown to the Snake that his hunger might be satisfied. The priests had
other rites, Olfan added, and these they would have an opportunity of
witnessing if the spring festival, which should be celebrated on the
second day from that date, were held according to custom.
“It shall not be celebrated,” said Juanna, almost fiercely.
Then Leonard, who had hitherto listened in silence, asked a question
through Juanna. “How is it,” he said, “that Nam and his fellows, being
already in absolute power, were so willing to accept the gods Jâl and
Aca when they appeared in person, seeing that henceforth they must
obey, not rule?”
“For two reasons, lord,” Olfan answered; “first, because the gods are
gods, and their servants know them; and secondly, because Nam has of
late stood in danger of losing his authority. Of all the chief priests
that have been told of, Nam is the most cruel and the most greedy. For
three years he has doubled the tale of sacrifices, and though the
people love these sights of death, they murmur, for none know upon whom
the knife shall fall. Therefore he was glad to greet the gods come
back, since he thought that they would confirm his power, and set him
higher than he sat before. Now he is astonished because they proclaim
peace and will have none of the sacrifice of men, for Nam does not love
such gentle gods.”
“Yet he shall obey them,” said Otter, speaking for the first time by
the mouth of Juanna, who all this while was acting as interpreter, “or
drink his own medicine, for I myself will sacrifice him to myself.”
When Juanna had translated the dwarf’s bloodthirsty threat, Olfan bowed
his head meekly and smiled; clearly the prospect of Nam’s removal did
not cause him unmixed grief. It was curious to see this stately warrior
chief humbling his pride before the misshapen, knob-nosed Kaffir.
“Say, Olfan,” asked Leonard, “who cut from the rock the great statue on
which we sat last night, and what is that reptile we saw when the woman
was thrown into the pool of troubled waters?”
“Ask the Water-dweller of the water-dweller, the Snake of the snake,
and the Dwarf of his image,” answered Olfan, nodding towards Otter.
“How can I, who am but a man, tell of such things, lord? I only know
that the statue was fashioned in the far past, when we, who are now but
a remnant, were a great people; and as for the Snake, he has always
lived there in his holy place. Our grandfather’s grandfathers knew him,
and since that day he has not changed.”
“Interesting fact in natural history,” said Leonard; “I wish I could
get him home alive to the Zoological Gardens.”
Then he asked another question. “Tell me, Olfan, what became of the red
stones yesterday, and of him who offended in offering them to the god
yonder?”
“The most of them were cast into the pit of waters, lord, there to be
hidden for ever. There were three hide sacks full.”
“Oh, heavens!” groaned Leonard when Juanna had translated this. “Otter,
you have something to answer for!”
“But the choicest,” went on Olfan, “were put in a smaller bag, and tied
about the neck of the man who had sinned. There were not many, but
among them were the largest stones, that until yesterday shone in the
eyes of the idol, stones blue and red together. Also, there was that
stone, shaped like a human heart, which hitherto has been worn by the
high priest on the days of sacrifice, and with it the image of the
Dwarf fashioned from a single gem, and that of the Water-dweller cut
from the great blue stone, and other smaller ones chosen because of
their beauty and also because they have been known for long in the
land. For although many of these pebbles are found where the priests
dig for them, but few are large and perfect, and the art of shaping
them is lost.”
“And what became of the man?” Leonard asked, speaking as quietly as he
could, for his excitement was great.
“Nay, I do not know,” answered Olfan. “I only know that he was let down
with ropes into the home of the Snake, and that he gained that holy
place, for it was told to me that he dragged rope after him, perhaps as
he fled before the Snake.
“Now it was promised to the man that when he had laid the bag of stones
in the place of the Snake, for the Snake to guard for ever, his sins
would be purged, and, if it pleased the Water-dweller to spare him,
that he should be drawn up again. Thus Nam swore to him, but he did not
keep his oath, for when the man had entered the cave he bade those who
held the ropes to cast them loose, and I know not what happened to him,
but doubtless he is food for the Snake. None who look upon that holy
place may live to see the sun again.”
“I only hope that the brute did not swallow the rubies as well as their
bearer,” said Leonard to Juanna; “not that there is much chance of our
getting them, anyway.”
Then Olfan went, nor did he return till the afternoon, when he
announced that Nam and his two principal priests waited without to
speak with them. Juanna ordered that they should be admitted, and
presently they came in. Their air was humble, and their heads were
bowed; but Leonard saw fury gleaming in their sombre eyes, and was not
deceived by this mask of humility.
“We come, O ye gods,” said Nam, addressing Juanna and Otter, who sat
side by side on the throne-like chairs: “we come to ask your will, for
ye have laid down a new law which we do not understand. On the third
day from now is the feast of Jâl, and fifty women are made ready to be
offered to Jâl that his wrath may be appeased with their blood, and
that he may number their spirits among his servants, and withhold his
anger from the People of the Mist, giving them a good season. This has
been the custom of the land for many a generation, and whenever that
custom was broken then the sun has not shone, nor the corn grown, nor
have the cattle and the goats multiplied after their kind. But now, O
ye gods, ye have proclaimed a new law, and I, who am yet your servant,
come hither to ask your will. How shall the feast go, and what
sacrifice shall be offered unto you?”
“The feast shall go thus,” answered Juanna. “Ye shall offer us a
sacrifice indeed; to each of us shall ye offer an ox and a goat, and
the ox and the goat shall be given to the Snake to feed him, but not
the flesh of men; moreover, the feast shall be held at noon and not in
the night-time.”
“An ox and a goat—to each an ox and a goat!” said Nam humbly, but in a
voice of bitterest sarcasm. “As ye will so let it be, O ye
gentle-hearted gods. And the festival shall be held at noon, and not in
the night season as of old. As ye will, O ye kind gods. Your word is my
law, O Aca, and O Jâl;” and bowing to the ground the aged man withdrew
himself, followed by his satellites.
“That devilish priest makes my flesh creep,” said Juanna, when she had
translated his words.
“Oh! Baas, Baas,” echoed Otter, “why did you not shoot him while you
might? Now he will surely live to throw us to the Snake.”
As he spoke Soa advanced from behind the thrones where she had taken
refuge when Nam entered.
“It is not well for a dog who gives himself out as a god to threaten
the life of one whom he has tricked,” said she meaningly. “Perchance
the hour shall come when the true god will avenge himself on the false,
and by the hand of his faithful servant, whom you would do to death,
you base-born dwarf.” And before anyone could answer she left the
chamber, casting a malevolent look at Otter as she went.
“That servant of yours makes _my_ flesh creep, Juanna,” said Leonard.
“One thing is clear enough, we must not allow her to overhear any more
of our plans; she knows a great deal too much already.”
“I cannot understand what has happened to Soa,” said Juanna; “she seems
so changed.”
“You made that remark before, Juanna; but for my part I don’t think she
is changed. The sight of her amiable parent has developed her hidden
virtues, that is all.”