THE SACRIFICE AFTER THE NEW ORDER
The third day came, the day of sacrifice after the new order. Nothing
particular had happened in the interval: Leonard and Francisco took
some walks through the city, guarded by Peter and the Settlement men;
that was all.
They did not see much there, except the exteriors of the houses built
of stone and roofed with turves, and the cold stare of curiosity with
which they were followed by hundreds of eyes gave them a sense of
unrest that effectually checked their efforts at closer examination.
Once indeed they halted in the market-place, which was thronged;
whereon all business ceased, and seller, buyer, herdsmen, and presiding
priests flocked around staring at them, half in fear and half in
curiosity, for they had never seen white men before. This they could
not bear, so they returned to the palace.
Of course Otter and Juanna, being divine, were not allowed to indulge
in such recreations. They were gods and must live up to their
reputation. For one day Otter endured it; on the second, in spite of
Leonard’s warnings, he sought refuge in the society of the bride Saga.
This was the beginning of evil, for if no man is a hero to his _valet
de chambre_, much less can he remain a god for long in the eyes of a
curious woman. Here, as in other matters, familiarity breeds contempt.
Leonard saw these dangers and spoke seriously to the dwarf on the
subject. Still he could not conceal from himself that, putting aside
the question of his _ennui_, which made his conduct natural, at any
rate in a savage, Otter’s position was a difficult one. So Leonard
shrugged his shoulders and consoled himself as best he could with the
reflection that, at least, his wife would teach the dwarf something of
her language, which, by the way, he himself was practising assiduously
under the tuition of Juanna and Soa.
At noon the party adjourned to the temple, escorted by a bevy of
priests and soldiers, for in obedience to Juanna’s commands the feast
was to be celebrated in the daytime and not at night. As before, the
vast amphitheatre was crowded with thousands of human beings, but there
was a difference in the arrangements.
Juanna and Otter had declined to occupy their lofty thrones, and sat in
chairs at the feet of the huge and hideous stone idol, almost on the
edge of the pool, Nam alone standing before them, while Leonard,
Francisco, and the Settlement men ranged themselves on either side. The
day was cold and miserable, and snow fell from time to time in large
flakes from an ashen sky.
Presently Nam addressed the multitude.
“People of the Mist,” he cried, “ye are gathered here to celebrate the
feast of Jâl, according to ancient custom, but the gods have come back
to you, as ye know, and the gods in their wisdom have changed the
custom. Fifty women were prepared for the sacrifice; this morning they
rose rejoicing, deeming that they were destined to the Snake, but now
their joy is turned to sorrow, since the gods will not accept them,
having chosen a new offering for themselves. Let it be brought
forward.”
At his word lads appeared from behind the idol, driving two lean bulls,
and with them a pair of he-goats.
Whether by accident or design, they drove them so unskilfully that the
animals blundered hither and thither over the rocky platform till they
were finally despatched with blows from clubs and axes—that is, except
one goat, which, escaping its pursuers, rushed down the amphitheatre
and scrambled from seat to seat among the audience, uttering a
succession of terrified “baa’s.” Indeed the scene was so comic that
even that sombre and silent people began to laugh, accustomed as they
were on these occasions to the hideous and impressive ceremonial of the
midnight sacrifice of so many human beings.
The ancient feast was a fiasco; this was a fact which could not be
concealed.
“Begone, ye People of the Mist,” said Nam presently, pointing to the
dead animals. “The sacrifice is sacrificed, the festival of Jâl is
done. May the Mother plead with the Snake that the sun may shine and
fruitfulness bless the land!”
Now scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since the beginning of the
ceremony, which in the ordinary course of events lasted through the
greater part of the night, for it was the custom to slaughter each
victim singly and with appropriate solemnities. A murmur of
disapprobation arose from the far end of the amphitheatre, that swelled
gradually to a roar. The people had been thankful to accept Juanna’s
message of peace, but, brutalised as they were by the continual sight
of bloodshed, they were not willing to dispense with their carnivals of
human sacrifice. A Roman audience gathered to witness a gladiatorial
show, to find themselves treated instead to a donkey-race and a
cock-fight, could scarcely have shown more fury.
“Bring out the women! Let the victims be offered up to Jâl as of old,”
the multitude yelled in their rage, and ten minutes or more elapsed
before they could be quieted.
Then Nam addressed them cunningly.
“People of the Mist,” he said, “the gods have given us a new law, a law
of the sacrifice of oxen and goats in the place of men and maids, and
ye yourselves have welcomed that law. No longer shall the blood of
victims flow to Jâl beneath the white rays of the moon while the chant
of his servants goes up to heaven. Nay, henceforth this holy place must
be a shambles for the kine. So be it, my children; in my old age I hear
the gods speaking in an altered voice and I obey them. It is nothing to
me who am about to die, yet I tell you that rather would I myself be
stretched upon the ancient stone than see the worship of our
forefathers thus turned into a mockery. The sacrifice is sacrificed:
now may the Maid intercede with the Snake that plenty may bless the
land.” And he smiled satirically and turned away.
Those of the audience who were near enough to hear his words cried them
out to the ranks behind them, and when all understood there followed a
scene of most indescribable tumult.
“Blood, give us blood!” roared the populace, their fierce faces alight
with rage. “Shall we be mocked with the sacrifice of goats? Offer up
the servants of the false gods. Give us blood! Lead forth the victims!”
In the midst of this uproar Juanna, clad in her white robes and with
the red stone bound upon her brow, rose from her seat to speak.
“Silence!” cried Nam, “hear the voice of Aca;” and by degrees the
shouting died away, and she spoke.
“Do ye dare thus to offer outrages to the gods?” she cried. “Be warned
lest we bring death and famine upon you all. Men shall be offered up to
us no more. I have spoken.”
For a while there was silence, then the clamour broke out with
redoubled violence, and a portion of the multitude made a rush round
the edge of the pool towards the rock platform, which was repelled by
the soldiers in a very half-hearted way.
“Now,” said Olfan, “I think that these will do well to be going,” and
he pointed to Leonard, Francisco, and the Settlement men. “Doubtless
the gods can defend themselves, but if the others do not fly this is
sure, that presently they will be torn to pieces.”
“Let us all go,” said Juanna, whose nerve began to fail her; and
suiting the action to the word she led the way towards the rock tunnel,
followed by the others.
They were not allowed to reach it unmolested, however, for a number of
the crowd, headed, as Leonard noticed, by two priests, forced their way
through the cordon of guards and became mixed with the rear of their
little party, the members of which they threatened and struck at
savagely. This happened just as they were entering the mouth of the
tunnel, behind the statue where the gloom was great.
This tunnel was protected by a door, which, so soon as they thought
that all had passed, Olfan and Leonard made haste to close, leaving the
mob howling without. Then they pressed on to the palace, which they
reached in safety, Olfan remaining behind, however, to watch the
movements of the mob.
“Oh! why would not you suffer them to sacrifice according to their
wicked custom, Shepherdess?” said Otter. “What does it matter if they
kill each other? So shall there be fewer of them. Now the end of it
must be that the devils will find us out and murder us.”
“No, no,” said Francisco, “the senora was right. Let us trust in
Providence and keep ourselves clean from such iniquity.”
As he spoke the roars of wrath in the distance changed to a shout of
triumph followed by silence.
“What is that?” said Juanna faintly. At this moment Olfan pushed the
curtains aside and entered, and his face was heavy.
“Speak, Olfan,” she said.
“The people sacrifice as of old, Queen,” he answered. “All of us did
not pass the gate; two of your black servants were mixed up with the
crowd and left, and now they offer them to Jâl, and others with them.”
Leonard ran to the yard and counted the Settlement men, who were
huddled together in their fear, staring towards the temple through the
bars of the gate. Two were missing.
As he returned he met Olfan coming out.
“Where is he going?” he asked of Juanna.
“To guard the gates. He says that he cannot be sure of the soldiers. Is
it true about the Settlement men?”
“Alas! yes. Two are gone.”
She hid her face in her hands and shuddered.
“Poor creatures!” she said presently in a hoarse voice. “Why did we
ever bring them here? Oh! Leonard, is there no escape from this land of
demons?”
“I hope so,” he answered; then added, “Come, Juanna, do not give way.
Things look so bad that they are sure to mend.”
“There is need of it,” she sobbed.
All that evening and night they watched, hourly expecting to be
attacked and dragged forth to sacrifice, but no attack was made.
Indeed, on the morrow they learnt from Olfan that the people had
dispersed after sacrificing about a score of human beings, and that
quiet reigned in the city.
Now began the most dreadful of their trials, and the longest, for it
endured five whole weeks. As has been said, the climate of these vast
upland plains, backed by snow-clad mountains, that are the
dwelling-place of the People of the Mist, is cold during the winter
months to the verge of severity. But at a certain period of a year,
almost invariably within a day or two of the celebration of the feast
of Jâl, the mists and frost vanish and warm weather sets in with bright
sunshine.
This is the season of the sowing of crops, and upon the climatic
conditions of the few following weeks depends the yield of the harvest.
Should the spring be delayed even a week or two, a short crop would
certainly result, but if its arrival is postponed for a month, it means
something like a famine during the following winter. For although this
people dwell on high lands they cultivate the same sorts of grain which
are common in these latitudes, namely maize and sundry varieties of
Kaffir corn, having no knowledge of wheat and the other hardy cereals.
Therefore, it is all important to them that the corn should have a fair
start, for if the autumn frosts catch it before it is fit to harvest
the great proportion of the crop turns black and is rendered useless.
These agricultural details had no small bearing upon the fate of our
adventurers. The feast of Jâl was celebrated in order to secure a good
seed-bed and springing time for the grain. Juanna and Otter had
abolished the hideous ceremonies of that feast, and the People of the
Mist watched for the results with a gloomy and superstitious eye. If
the season proved more than ordinarily good, all might go well, but if
it chanced to be bad——!
And, as was to be expected, seeing how much depended upon it, this
spring proved the very worst which any living man could remember in
that country. Day after day the face of the sun was hidden with mists
that only yielded to the bitter winds which blew from the mountains at
night, so that when the spring should have been a month old, the
temperature was still that of mid-winter and the corn would not start
at all.
Leonard and Juanna soon discovered what this meant for them, and never
was the aspect of weather more anxiously scanned than by these two from
day to day. In vain; every morning the blanket of cold mist fell like a
cloud, blotting out the background of the mountains, and every night
the biting wind swept down upon them from the fields of snow, chilling
them to the marrow.
This state of things—wretched enough in itself—was only one of many
miseries which afflicted them. Otter and Juanna were still treated as
gods indeed, and considerable respect was shown to Leonard and
Francisco, that is, within the walls of the palace. But if, wearied
with the monotony of their life, they went out, which they did twice
only during these five dreadful weeks, matters were different. Then
they found themselves followed by a mob of men, women, and children,
who glared at them ferociously and cursed them aloud, asking what they
and their gods had done with the sunshine.
On the second occasion indeed they were forced to fly for their lives,
and after this they gave up making the attempt to walk abroad, and sat
in the palace with Juanna and Otter, who of course never dared to leave
it.
It was a terrible life; there was nothing to do, nothing to read, and
only anxieties to think on. The greater part of the day Leonard and
Juanna occupied in talking, for practice, in the language of the People
of the Mist. When their conversation was exhausted they told each other
tales of their adventures in past years, or even invented stories like
children and prisoners; indeed they were prisoners—prisoners, as they
feared, under sentence of death.
They grew to know each other very well during those five weeks, so well
indeed that each could almost guess the other’s thoughts. But no tender
word ever passed their lips. On this subject, whatever their hearts
might feel, their tongues were sealed, and in their curious perversity
the chief object of each was to disguise the truth from the other.
Moreover, Leonard never for one moment forgot that Juanna was his ward,
a fact that in itself would have sufficed to cause him to conceal any
tender emotions he might have felt towards her.
So they lived side by side, lovers at heart, yet talking and acting as
brother and sister might, and through it all were still happy after a
fashion because they were together.
But Soa was not happy. She felt that her mistress no longer trusted
her, and was at no loss to guess the cause. Day by day she stood behind
them like a mummy at an Egyptian feast, and watched Leonard with
ever-growing jealousy.
Francisco for his part did not attempt to conceal his fears. He was
certain that they were about to perish and sought consolation in the
constant practice of religion, which was edifying but scarcely improved
him as a companion. As for Otter, he also believed that the hour of
death was nigh, but being a fatalist this did not trouble him much. On
the contrary, in spite of Leonard’s remonstrances he began to live
hard, betaking himself freely to the beer-pot. When Leonard
remonstrated with him he turned somewhat sulky.
“To-day I am a god, Baas,” he answered, “to-morrow I may be carrion.
While I am a god, let me drink and be merry. All my days also women
have cursed me because I am ugly, but now my wife holds me great and
beautiful. What is the good of thinking and looking sad? The end will
come soon enough. Already Nam sharpens the knife for our hearts. Come
and be merry with me, Baas, if the Shepherdess will let you.”
“Do you take me for a pig like yourself?” said Leonard angrily. “Well,
go your own way, foolish that you are, but beware of the beer and the
spirits. Now you are beginning to know this language, and when you are
drunk you talk, and do you think that there are no spies here? That
girl, Saga, is great-niece to Nam, and you are besotted with her. Be
careful lest you bring us all to death.”
“Thither we shall come any way, so let us laugh before we weep, Baas,”
Otter replied sullenly. “Must I then sit here and do nothing till I
die?”
Leonard shrugged his shoulders and went. He could not blame the dwarf,
who after all was a savage and looked at things as a savage would,
notwithstanding Francisco’s earnest efforts to convert him. He
sometimes wished, so deep was his depression, that he also was a savage
and could do likewise.
But the worst of their trials is still to be told. For the first week
the Settlement men stayed in the palace, their fears and the rumours
that had reached them of the terrible fate of their two lost companions
keeping them quiet. By degrees, however, this dread wore off, and one
afternoon, wearied with the sameness of their life, they yielded to the
solicitations of some men who spoke to them through the bars of the
great gate, and went out in a body without obtaining Leonard’s
permission. That night they returned drunk—at least ten of them dead;
the other two were missing. When they were sober again, Leonard
questioned them as to the whereabouts of their companions, but they
could give him no satisfactory information. They had been into various
houses in the city, they said, where the people had plied them with
beer, and they remembered nothing more.
These two men never reappeared, but the rest of them, now thoroughly
frightened, obeyed Leonard’s orders and stayed in the palace, although
the decoy men still came frequently to the gates and called them. They
passed the days in wandering about and drinking to drown their fears,
and the nights huddled together for protection from an unseen foe, more
terrible and craftier than the leopard of their native rocks. But these
precautions were all in vain.
One morning, hearing a tumult among them, Leonard went to see what was
the matter. Three more of the Settlement men were missing; they had
vanished in the night, none could say how, vanished though the doors
were barred and guarded. There where they had slept lay their guns and
little possessions, but the men were gone, leaving no trace. When he
was consulted Olfan looked very grave, but could throw no light upon
the mystery beyond suggesting that there were many secret passages in
the palace, of which the openings were known only to the priests, and
that possibly the men had been let down them—terrible information
enough for people in their position.