Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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Theos stared wonderingly at him.. at his funereal, black garments
which clung to him with the closeness of a shroud,--at his long,
untrimmed beard and snow-white hair that fell in disordered,
matted locks below his shoulders,--at his majestic form which in
spite of cords and feathers he held firmly erect in an attitude of
fearless and composed dignity. There was something supernaturally
grand and awe-inspiring about him, ... something commanding as
well as defiant in the straight and steady look with which he
confronted the King,--and for a moment or so a deep silence
reigned,--silence apparently born of superstitious dread inspired
by the mere fact of his presence. Zephoranim's glance rested upon
him with cold and supercilious indifference,--seated haughtily
upright in his throne, with one hand resting on the hilt of his
sword, he showed no sign of anger against, or interest in, his
prisoner, save that, to the observant eye of Theos, the veins in
his forehead seemed to become suddenly knotted and swollen, while
the jewels on his bare chest heaved restlessly up and down with
the unquiet panting of his quickened breath.

"We give thee greeting, Khosrul!" he said slowly and with a
sinister smile--"The Lion's paw has struck thee down at last! Too
long hast thou trifled with our patience,--thou must abjure thy
heresies, or die! What sayest thou now of doom,--of judgment,--of
the waning of glory? Wilt prophesy? ... wilt denounce the Faith?
... Wilt mislead the people? ... Wilt curse the King? ... Thou mad
sorcerer!--devil bewitched and blasphemous! ... What shall hinder
me from at once slaying thee?" And he half drew his formidable
sword from its sheath.

Khosrul met his threatening gaze unflinchingly.

"Nothing shall hinder thee, Zephoranim," he replied, and his
voice, deeply musical and resonant, struck to Theos's heart with a
strange, foreboding chill--"Nothing--save thine own scorn of
cowardice!"

The monarch's hand fell from his sword-hilt,--a flush of shame
reddened his dark face. He bent his fiery eyes full on the
captive--and there was something in the sorrowful grandeur of the
old man's bearing, coupled with his enfeebled and defenceless
condition, that seemed to touch him with a sense of compassion,
for, turning suddenly to the armed guard, he raised his hand with
a gesture of authority ...

"Unloose his fetters!" he commanded.

The men hesitated, apparently doubting whether they had heard
aright.

Zephoranim stamped his foot impatiently.

"Unloose him, I say! ... By the gods! must I repeat the same thing
twice? Since when have soldiers grown deaf to the voice of their
sovereign? ... And why have ye bound this aged fool with such many
and tight bonds? His veins and sinews are not of iron,--methinks
ye might have tied him with thread and met with small resistance!
I have known many a muscular deserter from the army fastened less
securely when captured! Unloose him--and quickly too!--Our
pleasure is that, ere he dies, he shall speak an he will, in his
own defence as a free man."

In trembling haste and eagerness the guards at once set to work to
obey this order. The twisted cords were untied, the heavy iron
fetters wrenched asunder,--and in a very short space Khosrul stood
at comparative liberty. At first he did not seem to understand the
King's generosity toward him in this respect, for he made no
attempt to move,--his limbs were rigidly composed as though they
were still bound,--and so stiff and motionless was his weird,
attenuated figure that Theos beholding him, began to wonder
whether he were made of actual flesh and blood, or whether he
might not more possibly be some gaunt spectre, forced back by
mystic art from another world in order to testify, of things
unknown, to living men. Zephoranim meanwhile called for his cup-
bearer, a beautiful youth radiant as Ganymede, who at a sign from
his royal master approached the Prophet, and pouring wine from a
jewelled flagon into a goblet of gold, offered it to him with a
courteous salute and smile. Khosrul started violently like one
suddenly wakened from a deep dream,--shading his eyes with his
lean and wrinkled hand he stared dubiously at the young and gayly
attired servitor,--then pushed the goblet aside with a shuddering
gesture of aversion.

"Away ... Away!" he muttered in a thrilling whisper that
penetrated to every part of the vast hall--"Wilt force me to drink
blood?" He paused,--and in the same low, horror-stricken tone,
continued. "Blood ... Blood! It stains the earth and sky! ... its
red, red waves swallow up the land! ... The heavens grow pale and
tremble,--the silver stars blacken and decay, and the winds of the
desert make lament for that which shall come to pass ere ever the
grapes be pressed or the harvest gathered! Blood ... blood! The
blood of the innocent! ... 'tis a scarlet sea, wherein, like a
broken and empty ship, Al-Kyris founders ... founders ... never to
rise again!"

These words, uttered with such hushed yet passionate intensity
produced a most profound impression. Several courtiers exchanged
uneasy glances, and the women half rose from their seats, looking
toward the King as though silently requesting permission to
retire. But an imperious negative sign from Zephoranim obliged
them to resume their places, though they did so with obvious
nervous reluctance.

"Thou art mad, Khosrul"--then said the monarch in calmly measured
accents--"And for thy madness, as also for thine age, we have till
now retarded justice, out of pity. Nevertheless, excess of pity in
great Kings too oft degenerates into weakness--and this we cannot
suffer to be said of us, not even for the sake of sparing thy few
poor remaining years. Thou hast overstepped the limit of our
leniency,--and madman as thou art, thou showest a madman's
cunning,--thou dost break the laws and art dangerous to the
realm,--thou art proved a traitor, and must straightway die. Thou
art accused..."

"Of honesty!" interrupt Khosrul suddenly, with a touch of
melancholy satire in his tone. "I have spoken Truth in an age of
lies! 'Tis a most death-worthy deed!"

He ceased, and again seemed to retire within himself as though he
were a Voice entering at will into the carven image of man.
Zephoranim frowned angrily, yet answered nothing--and a brief
pause ensued. Theos grew more and more painfully interested in the
scene,--there was something in it that to his mind seemed
fatefully suggestive and fraught with impending evil. Suddenly
Sah-luma looked up, his bright face alit with laughter.

"Now by the Sacred Veil,"--he said gayly, addressing himself to
the King--"Your Majesty considers this venerable gentleman with
too much gravity! I recognize in him one of my craft,--a poet,
tragic and taciturn of humor, and with a taste for melodramatic
simile, . . marked you not the mixing of his word-colors in the
picture he drew of Al-Kyris, foundering like a wrecked ship in a
blood-red sea, whilst overhead trembled a white sky set thick with
blackening stars? As I live, 'twas not ill-devised for a madman's
brain! ... and so solemn a ranter should serve your Majesty to
make merriment withal, in place of my poor Zabastes, whose peevish
jests grow somewhat stale owing to the Critic's chronic want of
originality! Nay, I myself shall be willing to enter into a
rhyming joust with so disconsolately morose a contemporary, and
who knows whether, betwixt us twain, the chords of the major and
minor may not be harmonized in some new and altogether marvellous
fashion of music such as we wot not of!" And turning to Khosrul he
added--"Wilt break a lance of song with me, sir gray-beard? Thou
shalt croak of death, and I will chant of love,--and the King
shall pronounce judgment as to which melody hath the most potent
and lasting sweetness!"

Khosrul lifted his head and met the Laureate's half-mirthful,
half-mocking smile with a look of infinite compassion in his own
deep, solemnly penetrating eyes.

"Thou poor deluded singer of a perishable day!" he said
mournfully--"Alas for thee, that thou must die so, soon, and be so
soon forgotten! Thy fame is worthless as a grain of sand blown by
the breath of the sea! ... thy pride and thy triumph evanescent as
the mists of the morning that vanish in the heat of the sun! Great
has been the measure of thine inspiration,--yet thou hast missed
its true teaching,--and of all the golden threads of poesy placed
freely in thy hands thou hast not woven one clew whereby thou
shouldst find God! Alas, Sah-lum! Bright soul unconscious of thy
fate! ... Thou shalt be suddenly and roughly slain, and THERE sits
thy destroyer!"

And as he spoke he raised his shrunken, skeleton-like hand and
pointed steadfastly to--the King! There was a momentary hush...a
stillness as of stupefied amazement and horror, . . then, to the
apparent relief of all present, Zephoranim burst out laughing.

"By all the virtues of Nagaya!" he cried--"This is most excellent
fooling! I, Zephoranim, the destroyer of my friend and first
favorite in the realm? ... Old man, thy frenzy exceeds belief and
exhausts patience,--though of a truth I am sorry for the
shattering of thy wits,--'tis sad that reason should be lacking to
one so revered and grave of aspect. Dear to me as my royal crown
is the life of Sah-luma, through whose inspired writings alone my
name shall live in the annals of future history--for the glory of
a great poet must ever surpass the renown of the greatest King.
Were Al-Kyris besieged by a thousand enemies, and these strong
palace-walls razed to the ground by the engines of warfare, we
would ourselves defend Sah-luma!--aye, even cry aloud in the heat
of combat that he, the Chief Minstrel of our land, should be
sheltered from fury and spared from death, as the only one capable
of chronicling our vanquishment of victory!"

Sah-luma smiled and bowed gracefully in response to this
enthusiastic assurance of his sovereign's friendship,--but
nevertheless there was a slight shadow of uneasiness on his bold,
beautiful brows. He had evidently been uncomfortably impressed by
Khosrul's words, and the restless anxiety reflected in his face
communicated itself by a sort of electric thrill to Theos, whose
heart began to beat heavily with a sense of vague alarm. "What is
this Khosrul?" he thought half resentfully--"and how dares he
predict for the adored, the admired Sah-luma so dark and unmerited
an end? ... "Hark! ... what was that low, far-off rumbling as of
underground wheels rolling at full speed? ... He listened,--then
glanced at those persons who stood nearest to him, . . no one seemed
to hear anything unusual. Moreover all eyes were fixed fearfully
on Khosrul, whose before rigidly sombre demeanor had suddenly
changed, and who now with raised head, tossed hair, outstretched
arms, and wild gestures looked like a flaming Terror personified.

"Victory... Victory!" he cried, catching at the King's last
word ... "There shall be no more victory for thee, Zephoranim! ...
Thy conquests are ended, and the flag of thy glory shall cease to
wave on the towers of thy strong citadels! Death stands behind
thee! ... Destruction clamors at thy palace-gates! ... and the
enemy that cometh upon thee unawares is an enemy that none shall
vanquish or subdue, not even they who are mightiest among the
mighty! Thy strong men of war shall be trodden down as wheat,--thy
captains and rulers shall tremble and wail as children bewildered
with fear:--thy great engines of battle shall be to thee as
naught,--and the arrows of thy skilled archers shall be useless as
straws in the gathering tempest of fire and fury! Zephoranim!
Zephoranim! ..." and his voice shrilled with terrific emphasis
through the vaulted chamber ... "The days of recompense are come
upon thee,--swift and terrible as the desert-wind! ... The doom of
Al-Kyris is spoken, and who shall avert its fulfilment! Al-Kyris
the Magnificent shall fall.. shall fall! ... its beauty, its
greatness, its pleasantness, its power, shall be utterly
destroyed.. and ere the waning of the midsummer moon not one stone
of its glorious buildings shall be left to prove that here was
once a city? Fire! ... Fire! ..." and here he ran abruptly to the
foot of the royal dais, his dark garments brushing against Theos
as he passed,--and springing on the first step, stood boldly
within hand-reach of the King, who, taken aback by the suddenness
of his action, stared at him with a sort of amazed and angry
fascination.. "To arms, Zephoranim! ... To arms! ... take up thy
sword and shield.. get thee forth and fight with fire! Fire! ...
How shall the King quench it? ... how shall the mighty monarch
defend his people against it? See you not how it fills the air
with red devouring tongues of flame! ... the thick smoke reeks of
blood! ... Al-Kyris the Magnificent, the pleasant city of sin, the
idolatrous city, is broken in pieces and is become a waste of
ashes! Who will join with me in a lament for Al-Kyris? I will call
upon the desert of the sea to hear my voice, . . I will pour forth
my sorrows on the wind, and it shall carry the burden of grief to
the four quarters of the earth,--all nations shall shudder and be
astonished at the direful end of Al-Kyris, the city beautiful, the
empress of kingdoms! Woe unto Al-Kyris, for she hath suffered
herself to be led astray by her rulers! ... she hath drunken deep
of the innocent blood and hath followed after idols, . . her
abominations are manifold and the hearts of her young men and
maidens are full of evil! Therefore because Al-Kyris delighteth in
pride and despiseth repentance, so shall destruction descend
furiously upon her, even as a sudden tempest in the mid-watches of
the night,--she shall be swept away from the surface of the earth,
... wolves shall make their lair in her pleasant gardens, and the
generations of men shall remember her no more! Oh ye kings,
princes, and warriors!--Weep, weep for the doom of Al-Kyris!" and
now his wild voice sank by degrees into a piteous plaintiveness--
"Weep!--for never again on earth shall be found a fairer dwelling-
place for the lovers of joy! ... never again shall be builded a
grander city for the glory and wealth of a people! Al-Kyris! Al-
Kyris! Thou that boastest of ancient days and long lineage! ...
thou art become a forgotten heap of ruin! ... the sands of the
desert shall cover thy temples and palaces, and none hereafter
shall inquire concerning thee! None shall bemoan thee, . . none
shall shed tears for the grievous manner of thy death, . . none
shall know the names of thy mighty heroes and men of fame,--for
thou shalt vanish utterly and be lost far out of memory even as
though thou hadst never been!"

Here he stopped abruptly and caught his breath hard,--his blazing
eyes preternaturally large and brilliant fixed themselves
steadfastly on the sculptured ivory shield that surmounted the
back of the King's throne, and over his drawn and wrinkled
features came an expression of such ghastly horror that
instinctively every one present turned their looks in the same
direction. Suddenly a shriek, piercing and terrible, broke from
his lips,--a shriek that like a swiftly descending knife seemed to
saw the air discordantly asunder.

"See ... See!" he cried in fierce haste and eagerness ... "See how the
crested head gleams! ... How the soft, shiny throat curves and
glistens! ... how the lithe body twists and twines! ... Hence!--
Hence, accursed Snake! ..thou poisoner of peace! ... thou
quivering sting in the flesh!--thou destroyer of the strength of
manhood! What hast thou to do with Zephoranim, that thou dost wind
thy many coils about his heart? ... Lysia ... Lysia! ..." here
the King started violently, his face flushing darkly red, "Thou
delicate abomination! ... Thou tyrannous treachery.. what shall be
done unto thee in the hour of darkness! Put off, put off the
ornaments of gold and the jewels wherewith thou adornest thy
beauty, and crown thyself with the crown of an endless affliction!
... for thou shalt be girdled round about with flame, and fire shall
be thy garment! ... thy lips that have drunken sweet wine shall be
steeped in bitterness!--vainly shalt thou make thyself fair and
call aloud on thy legion of lovers, . . they shall be as dead men,
deaf to thine entreaties, and none shall answer thee,--no, not
one! None shall hide thee from shame or offer thee comfort,--in
the midst of thy lascivious delights shalt thou suddenly perish!
... and my soul shall be avenged on thy sins, thou unvirgined
Virgin!--thou Queen-Courtesan!"

Scarcely had he uttered the last word, when the King with a
furious oath sprang upon him, grasped him by the throat, and
thrusting him fiercely down on the steps of the dais, placed one
foot on his prostrate body. Then drawing his gigantic sword he
lifted it on high, . . the blight blade glittered in air...an
audible gasp of terror broke from the throng of spectators, . .
another second and Khosrul's life would have paid the forfeit for
his temerity...when crash! ... a sudden and tremendous clap of
thunder shook the hall, and every lamp was extinguished!
Impenetrable darkness reigned, . . thick, close, suffocating
darkness, . . the thunder rolled away in sullen, vibrating echoes,
and there was a short, impressive silence. Then piercing through
the profound gloom came the clamorous cries and shrieks of
frightened women, . . the horrible, selfish scrambling, pushing and
struggling of a bewildered, panic-stricken crowd, . . the helpless,
nerveless, unreasoning distraction that human beings exhibit when
striving together for escape from some imminent deadly peril,--and
though the King's stentorian voice could be heard above all the
tumult loudly commanding order, his alternate threats and
persuasions were of no avail to calm the frenzy of fear into which
the whole court was thrown. Groans and sobs, . . wild entreaties to
Nagaya and the Sun-God.. curses from the soldiery, who intent on
saving themselves were brutally trying to force a passage to the
door regardless of the wailing women, whose frantic appeals for
rescue and assistance were heart-rending to hear, . . all these
sounds increased the horror of the situation,--and Theos, blind,
giddy, and confused, listened to the uproar around him with
something of the affrighted compassion that a stranger in Hell
might be supposed to feel when hearkening to the ceaseless plaints
of the self-tortured wicked. He endeavored to grope his way to
Sah-luma's side,--and just then lights appeared, . . lights that
were not of earth's kindling, . . strange, wandering flames that
danced and flitted along the tapestried walls like will-o'-the-
wisps on a dark morass, and flung a ghastly blue glare on the
pale, uneasy faces of the scared people, till gathering in a sort
of lurid ring round the throne, they outlined in strong relief the
enraged, Titanesque figure of Zephoranim whose upraised sword
looked in itself like an arrested flash of lightning. Brighter and
brighter grew the weird lustre, illumining the whole scene.. the
vast length of the splendid hall, . . the shining armor of the
soldiers...the white robes of the women...the flags and pennons
that hung from the roof and swayed to and fro as though blown by a
gust of wind.. every object near and distant was soon as visible
as in broad day,--and then...a terrible cry of rage burst from the
King,--the cry of a maddened wild beast.

"Death and fury!" he shouted, striking his sword with a fierce
clang against the silver pedestal of the throne, . . "Where is
Khosrul?"

The silence of an absolute dismay answered him, ... Khosrul had
fled! Like a cloud melting in air, or a ghost vanishing into the
nether-world, he had mysteriously disappeared! ... he had escaped,
no one knew how, from under the very feet and out of the very
grasp of the irate monarch, whose baffled wrath now knew no
bounds.

"Dolts, idiots, cowards!".. and he hurled these epithets at the
timorous crowd with all the ferocity of a giant hurling stones at
a swarm of pigmies.. "Babes that are frighted by a summer thunder-
storm! ... Ye have let yon accursed heretic slip from my hands ere
I had choked him with his own lie! O ye fools! Ye puny villains!
... I take shame to myself that I am King of such a race of
weaklings! Lights! ... Bring lights hither, ye whimpering slaves,
--ye shivering poltroons! ... What! call yourselves men! Nay, ye
are feeble girls prankt out in men's attire, and your steel
corselets cover the faintest hearts that ever failed for dastard
fear! Shut fast the palace-gates! ... close every barrier! ...
search every court and corner, lest haply this base false Prophet
be still here in hiding,--he that blasphemed with ribald tongue
the High Priestess of our Faith, the holy Virgin Lysia! ... Are ye
all turned renegades and traitors that ye will suffer him to go
free and triumph in his lawless heresy? Ye shameless knaves! Ye
milk-veined rascals! ... What abject terror makes ye thus quiver
like aspen-leaves in a storm? ... this darkness is but a
conjurer's trick to scare women, and Khosrul's followers can so
play with the strings of electricity that ye are duped into
accepting the witch-glamour as Heaven's own cloud-flame! By the
gods! If Al-Kyris falls, as yon dotard pronounceth, her ruins
shall bury but few heroes! O superstitious and degraded souls! ...
I would ye were even as I am--a man dauntless,--a soldier
unafraid."

His powerful and indignant voice had the effect of partially
checking the panic and restoring something like order,--the
pushing and struggling for an immediate exit ceased,--the armed
guards in shamed silence began to marshal themselves together in
readiness to start on the search for the fugitive,--and several
pages rushed in with flaring torches, which cast a wondrous fire-
glow on the surging throng of eager and timid faces, the brilliant
costumes, the flash of jewels, the glimmer of swords and the dark
outlines of the fluttering tapestry,--all forming together a
curious chiaroscuro, from which the massive figure of Zephoranim
stood out in bold and striking prominence against the white and
silver background of his throne. Vaguely bewildered and lost in a
dim stupefaction of wonderment, Theos looked upon everything with
an odd sense of strained calmness, . . the glittering saloon whirled
before his eyes like a passing picture in a magic glass...and
then...an imperative knowledge forced itself upon his mind,--HE
HAD WITNESSED THIS SELF-SAME SCENE BEFORE! Where? and when? ...
Impossible to say,--but he distinctly remembered each incident!
This impression however left him as rapidly as it had come, before
he had any time to puzzle himself about it, . . and just at that
moment Sah-luma's hand caught his own,--Sah-luma's voice whispered
in his ear:

"Let us away, my friend,--there will be naught now but mounting of
guards and dire confusion,--the King is as a lion roused, and will
not cease growling till his vengeance be satisfied! A plague on
this shatter-pated Prophet!--he hath broken through my music, and
jarred poesy into discord!--By the Sacred Veil!--Didst ever hear
such a hideous clamor of contradictory tongues! ... all striving
to explain what defies explanation, namely, Khosrul's flight, for
which, after all, no one is to blame so much as Zephoranim
himself,--but 'tis the privilege of monarchs to shift their own
mistakes and follies on to the shoulders of their subjects! Come!
Lysia awaits us, and will not easily pardon our tardy obedience to
her summons,--let us hence ere the gates of the palace close."

Lysia! ... The "unvirgined Virgin"--the "Queen Courtesan"! So had
said Khosrul. Nevertheless her name, like a silver clarion, made
the heart of Theos bound with indescribable gladness and feverish
expectation, and without an instant's pause he readily yielded to
Sah-luma's guidance through the gorgeously colored confusion of
the swaying crowd. Arm-in-arm, the twain,--one a POET RENOWNED,
the other a POET FORGOTTEN,--threaded their rapid way between the
ranks of nobles, officers, slaves, and court-lacqueys, who were
all excitedly discussing the recent scare, the Prophet's escape,
and the dread wrath of the King,--and hurrying along the vast Hall
of the Two Thousand Columns, they passed together out into the
night.

CHAPTER XVII.

A VIRGIN UNSHRINED.

Under the cloudless, star-patterned sky, in the soft, warm air
that brimmed with the fragrance of roses, they drove once more
together through the spacious streets of Al-Kyris--streets that
were now nearly deserted save for a few late passers-by whose
figures were almost as indistinct and rapid in motion as pale,
flitting shadows. There was not a sign of storm in the lovely
heavens, though now and again a sullen roll as of a distant
cannonade hinted of pent-up anger lurking somewhere behind that
clear and exquisitely dark-blue ether, in which a million worlds
blazed luminously like pendulous drops of white fire. Sah-luma's
chariot whirled along with incredible swiftness, the hoofs of the
galloping horses occasionally striking sparks of flame from the
smooth mosaic-pictured pavement; but Theos now began to notice
that there was a strange noiselessness in their movements--that
the whole CORTEGE appeared to be environed by a magic circle of
silence--and that the very night itself seemed breathlessly
listening in entranced awe to some unlanguaged warning from the
gods invisible.