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

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 Sahluma’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 Sahluma’s hand caught his own,—Sahluma’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 Sahluma’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. Sahluma’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.

 

Compared with the turbulence and terror just left behind at the King’s palace, this weird hush was uncomfortably impressive, and gave a sense of fantastic unreality to the scene. The sleepy, mesmeric radiance of the full moon, shining on the delicate traceries of the quaintly sculptured houses on either hand, made them look brittle and evanescent; the great heavy, hanging orange-boughs and the feathery frondage of the tall palms seemed outlined in mere mist against the sky; and the glimpses caught from time to time of the broad and quietly flowing river were like so many flashes of light seen through a veil of cloud. Theos, standing beside his friend with one hand resting familiarly on his shoulder, dreamily admired the phantom-like beauty of the city thus transfigured in the moonbeams, and though he vaguely wondered a little at the deep, mysterious stillness that everywhere prevailed, he scarcely admitted to himself that there was or could be anything unusual in it. He took his position as he found it—

indeed he could not well do otherwise, since he felt his fate was ruled by some resolute, unseen force, against which all resistance would be unavailing. Moreover, his mind was now entirely