Ardath, Marie Corelli [e ink ebook reader txt] 📗

aloft, she floated higher. … higher! … and ever higher, serenely and with aerial slow ease,—till drawn into the glory of that wondrous flaming cross whose outstretched beams seemed waiting to receive her,—she drifted straight up wards through its very centre. … and so vanished! …

 

Theos stared aghast at the glowing sky … whither had she gone?

Her words still rang in his ears,—the warmth of her kiss still lingered on his lips,—he loved her! … he worshipped her! …

why, why had she left him “lost” as she herself had said, in a world that was mere emptiness without her? He struggled for utterance…

 

“Edris … !” he whispered hoarsely—“Edris! … My Angel-love! …

come back! Come back … pity me! … forgive! … Edris!”

 

His voice died in a hard sob of imploring agony,—smitten to the very soul by a remorse greater than he could bear, his strength failed him, and he fell senseless, face forward among the flowers of the Prophet’s field; . . flowers that, circling snowily around his dark and prostrate form, looked like fairy garlands bordering a Poet’s Grave!

 

PART II.—IN AL-KYRIS.

 

“That which hath been, is now: and that which is to be, hath already been: . . and God requireth that which is past.”

ECCLESIASTES.

 

CHAPTER XI.

 

THE MARVELLOUS CITY.

 

Profound silence,—profound unconsciousness,—oblivious rest! Such are the soothing ministrations of kindly Nature to the overburdened spirit; Nature, who in her tender wisdom and maternal solicitude will not permit us to suffer beyond a certain limit.

Excessive pain, whether it be physical or mental, cannot last long,—and human anguish wound up to its utmost quivering-pitch finds at the very height of desolation, a strange hushing, Lethean calm. Even so it was with Theos Alwyn,—drowned in the deep stillness of a merciful swoon, he had sunk, as it were, out of life,—far out of the furthest reach or sense of time, in some vast unsounded gulf of shadows where earth and heaven were alike forgotten! …

 

How long he lay thus he never knew,—but he was roused at last..

roused by the pressure of something cold and sharp against his throat, . . and on languidly opening his eyes he found himself surrounded by a small body of men in armor, who, leaning on tall pikes which glistened brilliantly in the full sunlight, surveyed him with looks of derisive amusement. One of these, closer to him than the rest, and who seemed from his dress and bearing to be some officer in authority, held instead of a pike a short sword, the touch of whose pointed steel blade had been the effectual means of awakening him from his lethargy.

 

“How now!” said this personage in a rough voice as he withdrew his weapon—“What idle fellow art thou? … Traitor or spy? Fool thou must be, and breaker of the King’s law, else thou hadst never dared to bask in such swine-like ease outside the gates of Al-Kyris the Magnificent!”

 

Al-Kyris the Magnificent! What was the man talking about? Uttering a hasty exclamation, Alwyn staggered to his feet with an effort, and shading his eyes from the hot glare of the sun, stared bewilderedly at his interlocutor.

 

“What..what is this?” he stammered dreamily—“I do not understand you! … I.. I have slept on the field of Ardath!”

 

The soldiers burst into a loud laugh, in which their leader joined.

 

“Thou hast drunk deep, my friend!” he observed, putting up his sword with a sharp clatter into its shining sheath,—“What name sayst thou? … ARDATH? We know it not, nor dost thou, I warrant, when sober! Go to—make for thy home speedily! Aye, aye! the flavor of good wine clings to thy mouth still,—‘tis a pleasant sweetness that I myself am partial to, and I can pardon those who, like thee, love it somewhat too well! Away!—and thank the gods thou hast fallen into the hands of the King’s guard, rather then Lysia’s priestly patrol! See! the gates are open,—in with thee!

and cool thy head at the first fountain?”

 

“The gates?” … What gates? Removing his hand from his eyes Alwyn gazed around confusedly. He was standing on an open stretch of level road, dustily-white, and dry, with long-continued heat,—and right in front of him was an enormously high wall, topped with rows of bristling iron spikes, and guarded by the gates alluded to,—huge massive portals seemingly made of finely molded brass, and embellished on either side by thick, round, stone watch towers, from whose summits scarlet pennons drooped idly in the windless air. Amazed, and full of a vague, trembling terror, he fixed his wondering looks once more upon his strange companions, who in their turn regarded him with cool military indifference.”

 

“I must be mad or dreaming,” he thought,—then growing suddenly desperate he stretched out his hands with a wild appealing gesture:

 

“I swear to you I know nothing of this place!” he cried—“I never saw it before! Some trick has been played on me … who brought me here? Where is Elzear the hermit? … the Ruins of Babylon? …

where is, … Good God! … what fearful freak of fate is this!”

 

The soldiers laughed again,—their commander looked at him a little curiously.

 

“Nay, art THOU one of the escaped of Lysia’s lovers?” he asked, suspiciously—“And has the Silver Nectar failed of its usual action, and driven thy senses to the winds, that thou ravest thus?

For if thou art a stranger and knowest naught of us, how speakest thou our language? … Why wearest thou the garb of our citizens?”

 

Alwyn shrank and shivered as though he had received a deadening blow,—an awful, inexplicable chill horror froze his blood. It was true! … he understood the language spoken! … it was perfectly familiar to him,—more so than his own native tongue,—stop! what WAS his native tongue?

 

He tried to think—and, the sick fear at his heart grew stronger, —he could not remember a word of it! And his dress! … he glanced at it dismayed and appalled,—he had not noticed it till now. It bore some resemblance to the costume of ancient Greece, and consisted of a white linen tunic and loose upper vest, both garments being kept in place by a belt of silver. From this belt depended a sheathed dagger, a square writing tablet, and a pencil-shaped implement which he immediately recognized as the antique form of stylus. His feet were shod with sandals—his arms were bare to the shoulder, and clasped at the upper part by two broad silver armlets richly chased.

 

Noting all these details, the fantastic awfulness of his position smote him with redoubled force,—and he felt as a madman may feel when his impending doom has not entirely asserted itself,—when only grotesque and leering suggestions of madness cloud his brain,—when hideous faces, dimly discerned, loom out of the chaos of his nightly visions,—and when all the air seems solid darkness, with one white line of fire cracking it asunder in the midst, and that the fire of his own approaching frenzy. Such a delirium of agony possessed Alwyn at that moment,—he could have shrieked, laughed, groaned, wept, and fallen down in the dust before these bearded armed men, praying them to slay him with their weapons there where he stood, and put him mercifully and at once out of his mysterious misery. But an invisible influence stronger than himself, prevented him from becoming altogether the victim of his own torturing emotions, and he remained erect and still as a marble figure, with a wondering, white piteous face of such unutterable affliction that the officer who watched him seemed touched, and, advancing, clapped his shoulder in a friendly manner.

 

“Come, come!” he said—“Thou need’st fear nothing,—we are not the men to blab of thy trespass against the city’s edict,—for, of a truth, there is too much whispering away of young and goodly lives nowadays. What!—thou art not the first gay gallant, nor wilt thou be the last, that has seen the world turn upside down in a haze of love and late feasting! If thou hast not slept long enough, why sleep again an thou wilt,—but not here…”

 

He broke off abruptly,—a distant clatter of horses’ hoofs was heard, as of one galloping at full speed. The soldiers started, and assumed an attitude of attention,—their leader muttered something like an oath, and seizing Alwyn by the arm, hurried him to the brass gates which, as he had said, stood open, and literally thrust him through.

 

“In, in, my lad!” he urged with rough kindliness,—“Thou hast a face fairer than that of the King’s own minstrel, and why wouldst thou die for sake of an extra cup of wine? If Lysia is to blame for this scattering of thy wits, take heed thou do not venture near her more—it is ill jesting with the Serpent’s sting! Get thee hence quickly, and be glad of thy life,—thou hast many years before thee yet in which to play the lover and fool!”

 

With this enigmatical speech he signed to his men to follow him,—

they all filed through the gates, which closed after them with a jarring clang, … a dark bearded face peered out of a narrow loophole in one of the watchtowers, and a deep voice called: “What of the hour?”

 

The officer raised his gauntleted hand, and answered promptly: “Peace and safety!”

 

“Salutation!” cried the voice again.

 

“Salutation!” responded the officer, and with a reassuring nod and smile to the bewildered Alwyn, he gathered his little band around him, and they all marched off, the measured clink-clank of their footsteps making metallic music, as they wheeled round a corner and disappeared from sight.

 

Left to himself Alwyn’s first idea was to sit down in some quiet corner, and endeavor calmly to realize what strange and cruel thing had chanced to him. But happening to look up, he saw the bearded face in the watchtower observing him suspiciously,—he therefore roused himself sufficiently to walk away, on and on, scarce heeding whither he went, till he had completely lost sight of those great gold-glittering portals which had shut him, against his will, within the walls of a large, splendid, and populous City. Yes! … hopelessly perplexing and maddening as it was, there could be no doubt of this fact,—and though he again and again tried to convince himself that he was laboring under some wild and exceptional hallucination, his senses all gave evidence of the actual reality of his situation,—he felt, he moved, he heard, he saw, … he was even beginning to be conscious of hunger, thirst, and fatigue.

 

The further he went, the more gorgeous grew the surroundings, . .

his unguided steps wandered as it seemed, of their own accord, into wide streets, paved entirely with mosaics, and lined on both sides with lofty, picturesque, and palace-like buildings,—he crossed and recrossed broad avenues, shaded by tall feathery palms, and masses of graceful flowering foliage,—he passed rows upon rows of brilliant shops, whose frontages glittered with the most costly and beautiful wares of every description,—and as he strolled about aimlessly, uncertain whither to go, he was constantly jostled by the pressing throngs of people that crowded the thoroughfares, all more or less apparently bent on pleasure, to judge from their animated countenances and frequent bursts of gay laughter.

 

The men were for the most part arrayed like himself,—though here and there he met some few whose garments were of soft silk instead of linen, who wore gold belts in place of silver, and who carried their daggers in sheaths that were literally encrusted all over with flashing jewels.

 

As he advanced more into the city’s centre, the crowds increased, —so much so that the noise of traffic and clatter of tongues