Elissa by H. Rider Haggard (page 2)

you seek to fix a quarrel upon my guest, the prince Aziel, here in my council chamber, and to bring upon me the wrath of Israel, of Tyre, and of Egypt? Be sure that the prince shall cross no swords with you; no, not if I have to set him under guard to keep him safe. To your business, king Ithobal, or I break up this assembly and send you under escort to our gates.”

Now his counsellors plucked Ithobal by the sleeve and whispered to him some advice, which at last he seemed to take with an ill grace, for, turning, he said, “So be it. This is my business, Sakon: For many years I and the countless tribes whom I rule have suffered much at the hands of you Phœnicians, who centuries ago settled here in my country as traders. That you should trade we are content, but not that you should establish yourselves as a sovereign power, pretending to be my equals who are my servants. Therefore, in the name of my nation, I demand that the tribute which you pay to me for the use of the mines of gold shall henceforth be doubled; that the defences of this city be thrown down; and that you cease to enslave the natives of the land to labour in your service. I have spoken.”

Now as these arrogant demands reached their ears, the company assembled in the hall murmured with anger and astonishment, then turned to wait for Sakon’s answer.

“And if we refuse these small requests of yours, O King?” asked the governor sarcastically, “what then? Will you make war upon us?”

“First tell me, Sakon, if you do refuse them?”

“In the name of the cities of Tyre and Sidon whom I serve, and of Hiram my master, I refuse them one and all,” answered Sakon with dignity.

“Then, Sakon, I am minded to bring up a hundred thousand men against you and to sweep you and your city from the face of earth,” said Ithobal. “Yet I remember that I also have Phœnician blood in my veins mixed with the nobler and more ancient blood at which yonder upstart jeers, and therefore I would spare you. I remember also that for generations there has been peace and amity between my forefathers and the Council of this city, and therefore I would spare you. Behold, then, I build a bridge whereby you may escape, asking but one little thing of you in proof that you are indeed my friend, and it is that you give me your daughter, the lady Elissa, whom I seek to make my queen. Think well before you answer, remembering that upon this answer may hang the lives of all who listen to you, ay, and of many thousand others.”

For a while there was silence in the assemblage, and every eye was fixed upon Elissa, who stood neither moving nor speaking, her face still set like that of a Sphinx, and almost as unreadable. Aziel gazed at her with the rest, and his eyes she felt alone of all the hundreds that were bent upon her. Indeed, so strongly did they draw her, that against her own will she turned her head and met them. Then remembering what had passed between herself and the prince that very day, she coloured faintly and looked down, neither the glance nor the blush escaping the watchful Ithobal.

Presently Sakon spoke:–

“King Ithobal,” he said, “I am honoured indeed that you should seek my daughter as your queen, but she is my only child, whom I love, and I have sworn to her that I will not force her to marry against her will, whoever be the suitor. Therefore, King, take your answer from her own lips, for whatever it be it is my answer.”

“Lady,” said Ithobal, “you have heard your father’s words; be pleased to say that you look with favour upon my suit, and that you will deign to share my throne and power.”

Elissa took a step forward on the daïs and curtseyed low before the king.

“O King!” she said, “I am your handmaid, and great indeed is the favour that you would do your servant. Yet, King, I Pray of you search out some fairer woman of a more royal rank to share your crown and sceptre, for I am all unworthy of them, and to those words on this matter which I have spoken in past days I have none to add.” Then again she curtseyed, adding, “King, I am your servant.”

Now a murmur of astonishment went up from the audience, for few of them thought it possible that Elissa, who, however beautiful, was but the daughter of a noble, could refuse to become the wife of a king. Ithobal alone did not seem to be astonished, for he had expected this answer.

“Lady,” he said, repressing with an effort the passions which were surging within him, “I think that I have something to offer to the woman of my choice, and yet you put me aside as lightly as though I had neither name, nor power, nor station. This, as it seems to me, can be read in one way only, that your heart is given elsewhere.”

“Have it as you will, King,” answered Elissa, “my heart is given elsewhere.”

“And yet, lady, not four suns gone you swore to me that you loved no man. Since then it seems that you have learned to love, and swiftly, and it is yonder Jew whom you have chosen.” And he pointed to the prince Aziel.

Again Elissa coloured, this time to the eyes, but she showed no other sign of confusion.

“May the king pardon me,” she said, “and may the prince Aziel, whose name has thus been coupled with mine, pardon me. I said indeed that my heart was given elsewhere, but I did not say it was given to any man. May not the heart of a mortal maid-priestess be given to the Ever- living?”

Now for a moment the king was silenced, while a murmur of applause at her ready wit went round the audience. But before it died away a voice at the far end of the hall called out:–

“Perchance the lady does not know that yonder in Egypt, and in Jerusalem also, prince Aziel is named the Ever-living.”

Now it was Elissa’s turn to be overcome.

“Nay, I knew it not,” she said; “how should I know it? I spoke of that Dweller in the heavens whom I worship—-“

“And behold, the title fits a dweller on the earth whom you must also worship, for such omens do not come by chance,” cried the same voice, but from another quarter of the crowded hall.

“I ask pardon,” broke in Aziel, “and leave to speak. It is true that owing to a certain birth-mark which I bear, among the Egyptians I have been given the bye-name of the Ever-living, but it is one which this lady can scarcely have heard, therefore jest no more upon a chance accident of words. Moreover, if you be men, cease to heap insult upon a woman. I who am almost a stranger here have not dared to ask the lady Elissa for her favour.”

“Ay, but you will ask and she will grant,” answered the same voice, the owner of which none could discover–for he seemed to speak from every part of the chamber.

“Indeed,” went on Aziel, not heeding the interruption, “the last words between us were words of anger, for we quarrelled on a matter of religion.”

“What of that?” cried the voice; “love is the highest of religions, for do not the Phœnicians worship it?”

“Seize yonder knave,” shouted Sakon, and search was made but without avail. Afterwards, however, Aziel remembered that once, when they were weather-bound on their journey from the coast, Metem had amused them by making his voice sound from various quarters of the hut in which they lay. Then Ithobal rose and said:–

“Enough of this folly; I am not here to juggle with words, or to listen to such play. Whether the lady Elissa spoke of the gods she serves or of a man is one to me. I care not of whom she spoke, but for her words I do care. Now hearken, you city of traders: If this is to be thy answer, then I break down that bridge which I have built, and it is war between you and my Tribes, war to the end. But let her change her words, and whether she loves me or loves me not, come to be my wife, and, for my day, the bridge shall stand; for once that we are wed I can surely teach her love, or if I cannot, at least it is she I seek with or without her love. Reflect then, lady, and reply again, remembering how much hangs upon your lips.”

“Do you think, king Ithobal,” Elissa answered, looking at him with angry eyes, “that a woman such as I am can be won by threats? I have spoken, king Ithobal.”

“I know not,” he replied; “but I do know that she can be won by force, and then surely, lady, your pride shall pay the price, for you shall be mine, but not my queen.”

Now one of the council rose and said:–

“It seems, Sakon, that there is more in this matter than whether or no the king Ithobal pleases your daughter. Is the city then to be plunged into a great war, of which none can see the end, because one woman looks askance upon a man? Better that a thousand girls should be wedded where they would not than that such a thing should happen. Sakon, according to our ancient law you have the right to give your daughter in marriage where and when you will. We demand, therefore, that for the good of the commonwealth, you should exercise this right, and hand over the lady Elissa to king Ithobal.”

This speech was received with loud and general shouts of approval, for no Phœnician audience would have been willing to sacrifice its interests for a thing so trivial as the happiness of a woman.

“Between the desire of a beloved daughter to whom I have pledged my word and my duty to the great city over which I rule, my strait is hard indeed,” answered Sakon. “Hearken, king Ithobal, I must have time. Give me eight days from now in which to answer you, for if you will not, I deny your suit.”

Ithobal seemed about to refuse the demand of Sakon. Then once more his counsellors plucked him by the sleeve, pointing out to him that if he did this, it was likely that none of them would leave the city alive. At some sign from the governor, they whispered, the captains of the guard were already hastening from the hall.

“So be it, Sakon,” he said. “To-night I camp without your walls, which are no longer safe for one who has threatened war against them, and on the eighth day from this see to it that your heralds being me the Lady Elissa and peace–or I make good my threat. Till then, farewell.” And placing himself in the midst of his company king Ithobal left the hall.

CHAPTER VII

THE BLACK DWARF

Some two hours had passed since the break-up of the assembly in the great hall. Prince Aziel was seated in his chamber, when the keeper of the door announced that a woman was without who desired to speak with him. He gave orders that she should be admitted, and presently a veiled figure entered the room and bowed before him.

“Be pleased to unveil, and to tell me your business,” he said.

With some reluctance his visitor withdrew the wrapping from her head, revealing a face which Aziel recognised as one that he had seen among the waiting women who attended on Elissa.

“My message is for your ear, Prince,” she said, glancing at the man who had ushered her into the chamber.

“It is not my custom to receive strangers thus alone,” said the prince; “but be it as you will,” and he motioned to the servant to retire without the door. “I await your pleasure,” he added, when the man had gone.

“It is here,” she answered, and drew from her bosom a little papyrus roll.

“Who wrote this?” he asked.

“I know not, Prince; it was given to me to pass on to you.”

Then he opened the roll and read. It ran thus: “Though we parted with bitter words, still in my sore distress I crave the comfort of your counsel. Therefore, since I am forbidden to speak with you openly, meet me, I beseech you, at moonrise in the palace garden under the shade of the great fig tree with five roots, where I shall be accompanied only by one I trust. Bring no man with you for my safety’s sake.–Elissa.”

Aziel thrust the scroll into his robe, and thought awhile. Then he gave the waiting lady a piece of gold and said:–

“Tell her who sent you that I obey her words. Farewell.”

This message seemed to puzzle the woman, who opened her lips to speak. Then, changing her mind, she turned and went.

Scarcely had she gone when the Phœnician, Metem, was ushered into the room.

“O Prince,” he said maliciously, “pardon me if I caution you. Yet in truth if veiled ladies flit thus through your apartments in the light of day, it will reach the ears of the holy but violent Issachar, of whose doings I come to speak. Then, Prince, I tremble for you.”

Aziel made a movement half-impatient and half-contemptuous. “The woman is a serving-maid,” he said, “who brought me a message that I understand but little. Tell me, Metem, for you know this place of old, does there stand in the palace garden a great fig tree with five roots?”

“Yes, Prince; at least such a tree used to grow there when last I visited this country. It was one of the wonders of the town, because of its size. What of it?”

“Little, except that I must be under it at moonrise. See and read, since whatever you may say of yourself, you are, I think, no traitor.”

“Not if I am well paid to keep counsel, Prince,” Metem answered with a smile. Then he read the scroll.

“I am glad that the noble lady brings an attendant with her,” he said as he returned it, with a bow. “The gossips of Zimboe are censorious, and might misinterpret this moonlight meeting, as indeed would Sakon and Issachar. Well, doves will coo and maids will woo, and unless I can make money out of it the affair is none of mine.”

“Have I not told you that there is no question of wooing?” asked the prince angrily. “I go only to give her what counsel I can in the matter of the suit of this savage, Ithobal. The lady Elissa and I have quarrelled beyond repair over that accursed sacrifice—-“

“Which her ready wit prevented,” put in Metem.

“But I promised last night that I would help her if I could,” the prince went on, “and I always keep my word.”

“I understand, Prince. Well, since you turn from the lady, whose name with yours is so much in men’s mouths just now, doubtless you will give her wise counsel, namely, to wed Ithobal, and lift the shadow of war from this city. Then, indeed, we shall all be grateful to you, for it seems that no one else can move her stubbornness. And, by the way: If, when she has listened to your wisdom, the daughter of Sakon should chance to explain to you that the sight of this day’s attempted sacrifice filled her with horror, and that she parted with every jewel she owns to put an end to it–well, her words will be true. But, since you have quarrelled, they will have no more interest for you, Prince, than has my talk about them. So now to other matters.” And Metem began to speak of the conduct of Issachar in the sanctuary, and of the necessity of guarding him against assassination at the hands of the priests of El as a consequence of his religious zeal. Presently he was gone, leaving Aziel somewhat bewildered.

Could it be true, as she herself had told him, and as Metem now asserted, that Elissa had not participated willingly in the dark rites in the temple? If so he had misjudged her and been unjust; indeed, what atonement could suffice for such words as he had used towards her? Well, to some extent she must have understood and forgiven them, otherwise she would scarcely have sought his aid, though he knew not how he could help her in her distress.

*****

When Elissa returned from the assembly, she laid herself down to rest, worn out in mind and body. Soon sleep came to her, and with the sleep dreams. At first these were vague and shadowy, then they grew more clear. She dreamed that she saw a dim and moonlit garden, and in it a vast tree with twisted roots that seemed familiar to her. Something moving among the branches of this tree attracted her attention, but for a long while she watched it without being able to discover what it was. Now she saw. The moving thing was a hideous black dwarf with beady eyes, who held in his hand a little ivory tipped bow, on the string of which was set an arrow. Her consciousness concentrated itself upon this arrow, and though she knew not how, she became aware that it was poisoned. What was the dwarf doing in the tree with a bow and poisoned arrow, she wondered? Suddenly a sound seemed to strike her ear, the sound of a man’s footsteps walking over grass, and she perceived that the figure of the dwarf, crouched upon the bough, became tense and alert, and that his fingers tightened upon the bow- string until the blood was driven from their yellow tips. Following the glance of his wicked black eyes, she saw advancing through the shadow a tall man clad in a dark robe. Now he emerged into a patch of moonlight and stood looking around him as though he were searching for some one. Then the dwarf raised himself to his knees upon the bough, and, aiming at the bare throat of the man, drew the bow-string to his ear. At this moment the victim turned his head and the moonlight shone full upon his face. It was that of the prince Aziel.

*****

Elissa awoke from her vision with a little cry, then rose trembling, and strove to comfort herself in the thought that although it was so very vivid she had dreamed but a dream. Still shaken and unnerved, she passed into another chamber, and made pretence to eat of the meal that was made ready for her, for it was now the hour of sunset. While she was thus employed, it was announced that the Phœnician, Metem, desired to speak with her, and she commanded that he should be admitted.

“Lady,” he said bowing, so soon as her attendants had withdrawn to the farther end of the chamber, “you can guess my errand. This morning I gave you certain tidings which proved both true and useful, and for those tidings you promised a reward.”

“It is so,” she said, and going to a chest she drew from it an ivory casket full of ornaments of gold and among them necklaces and other objects set with uncut precious stones. “Take them,” she said, “they are yours; that is, save this gold chain alone, for it is vowed to Baaltis.”

“But lady,” he asked, “how can you appear before Ithobal the king thus robbed of all your ornaments?”

“I shall not appear before Ithobal the king,” she answered sharply.

“You say so! Then what will the prince Aziel think of you when he sees you thus unadorned?”

“My beauty is my adornment,” she replied, “not these gems and gold. Moreover, it is nought to me what he thinks, for he hates me, and has reviled me.”

Metem lifted his eyebrows incredulously and went on: “Still, I will not deprive you of this woman’s gear. Look now, I value it, and at no high figure,” and drawing out his writer’s palette and a slip of papyrus, he wrote upon it an acknowledgment of debt, which he asked her to sign.

“This document, lady,” he said, “I will present to your father–or your husband–at a convenient season, nor do I fear that either of them will refuse to honour it. And now I take my leave, for you–have an appointment to keep–and,” he added with emphasis, “the time of moonrise is at hand.”

“Your meaning, I pray you?” she asked. “I have no appointment at moonrise, or at any other hour.”

Metem bowed politely, but in a fashion which showed that he put no faith in her words.

“Again I ask your meaning, merchant,” she said, “for your dark hintings are scarcely to be borne.”

The Phœnician looked at her; there was a ring of truth in her voice.

“Lady,” he said, “will you indeed deny, after I have seen it written by yourself, that within some few minutes you meet the prince Aziel beneath a great tree in the palace gardens, there–so said the scroll –to ask his aid in this matter of the suit of Ithobal?”

“Written by myself?” she said wonderingly. “Meet the prince Aziel beneath a tree in the palace gardens? Never have I thought of it.”

“Yet, lady, the scroll I saw purported to be written by you, and your own woman bore it to the prince. As I think, she sits yonder at the end of the chamber, for I know her shape.”

“Come hither,” called Elissa, addressing the woman. “Now tell me, what scroll was this that you carried to-day to the prince Aziel, saying that I sent you?”

“Lady,” answered the girl confusedly, “I never told the prince Aziel that you sent him the scroll.”

“The truth, woman, the truth,” said her mistress. “Lie not, or it will be the worse for you.”

“Lady, this is the truth. As I was walking through the market-place an old black woman met me, and offered me a piece of gold if I would deliver a letter into the hand of the prince Aziel. The gold tempted me, for I had need of it, and I consented; but of who wrote the letter I know nothing, nor have I ever seen the woman before.”

“You have done wrong, girl,” said Elissa, “but I believe your tale. Now go.”

When she had gone, Elissa stood for a while thinking; and, as she thought, Metem saw a look of fear gather on her face.

“Say,” she asked him, “is there anything strange about the tree of which the scroll tells?”

“Its size is strange,” he answered, “and it has five roots that stand above the ground.”

As he spoke Elissa uttered a little cry.

“Ah!” she said, “it is the tree of my dream. Now–now I understand. Swift, oh! come with me swiftly, for see, the moon rises,” and she sprang to the door followed by the amazed Metem.

Another minute, and they were speeding down the narrow street so fast that those who loitered there turned their heads and laughed, for they thought that a jealous husband pursued his wife. As Elissa fumbled at the hasp of the door of the garden, Metem overtook her.

“What means this hunt?” he gasped.

“That they have decoyed the prince here to murder him,” she answered, and sped through the gateway.

“Therefore we must be murdered also. A woman’s logic,” the Phœnician reflected to himself as he panted after her.

Swiftly as Elissa had run down the street, here she redoubled her speed, flitting through the glades like some white spirit, and so rapidly that her companion found it difficult to keep her in view. At length they came to a large open space of ground where played the level beams of the rising moon, striking upon the dense green foliage of an immense tree that grew there. Round this tree Elissa ran, glancing about her wildly, so that for a few seconds Metem lost sight of her, for its mass was between them. When he saw her again she was speeding towards the figure of a man who stood in the open, about ten paces from the outer boughs of the tree. To this she pointed as she came, crying out aloud, “Beware! Beware!”

Another moment and she had almost reached the man, and still pointing began to gasp some broken words. Then, suddenly in the bright moonlight, Metem saw a shining point of light flash towards the pair from the darkness of the tree. It would seem that Elissa saw it also; at least, she leapt from the ground, her arm lifted above her head as though to catch the object. Then as her feet once more touched the earth her knees gave way, and she fell down with a moan of pain. Metem running on towards her, as he went perceived a shape, which looked like that of a black dwarf, slip from the shadow of the tree into some bushes beyond where it was lost. Now he was there, to find Elissa half-seated, half-lying on the ground, the prince Aziel bending over her, and fixed through the palm of her right hand, which she held up piteously, a little ivory-pointed arrow.

“Draw it out from the wound,” he panted.

“It will not help me,” she answered; “the arrow is poisoned.”

With an exclamation, Metem knelt beside her, and, not heeding her groans of pain, drew the dart through the pierced palm. Then he tore a strip of linen from his robe, and knotting it round Elissa’s wrist, he took a broken stick that lay near and twisted the linen till it almost cut into her flesh.

“Now, Prince,” he said, “suck the wound, for I have no breath for it. Fear not, lady, I know an antidote for this arrow poison, and presently I will be back with the salve. Till then, if you would live, do not suffer that bandage to be loosed, however much it pains you,” and he departed swiftly.

Aziel put his lips to the hurt to draw out the poison.

“Nay,” she said faintly, trying to pull away her hand, “it is not fitting, the venom may kill you.”

“It seems that it was meant for me,” he answered, “so at the worst I do take but my own.”

Presently, directing Elissa to hold her hand above her head, he put his arms about her and carried her a hundred paces or more into the open glade.

“Why do you move me?” she asked, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Because whoever it was that shot the arrow may return to try his fortune a second time, and here in the open his darts cannot reach us.” Then he set her down upon the grass and stood looking at her.

“Listen, prince Aziel,” Elissa said after a while, “the venom with which these black men soak their weapons is very strong, and unless Metem’s salve be good, it may well chance that I shall die. Therefore before I die I wish to say a word to you. What brought you to this place to-night?”

“A letter from yourself, lady.”

“I know it,” she said, “but I did not write that letter; it was a snare, set, as I think, by the king Ithobal, who would do you to death in this way or in that. A messenger of his bribed my waiting-maid to deliver it, and afterwards I learnt the tale from Metem. Then, guessing all, I came hither to try to save you.”

“But how could you guess all, lady?”

“In a strange fashion, Prince.” And in a few words she told him her dream.

“This is marvellous indeed, that you should be warned of my danger by visions,” he said wondering, and half-doubtingly.

“So marvellous, Prince, that you do not believe me,” Elissa answered. “I know well what you think. You think that a woman to whom this very morning you spoke such words as women cannot well forgive, being revengeful laid a plot to murder you, and then, being a woman, changed her mind. Well, it is not so; Metem can prove it to you!”

“Lady, I believe you,” he said, “without needing the testimony of Metem. But now the story grows still more strange, for if you had done me no wrong, how comes it that to preserve me from harm you set your tender flesh between the arrow and one who had reviled you?”

“It was by chance,” she answered faintly. “I learnt the truth and ran to warn you. Then I saw the arrow fly towards your heart, and strove to grasp it, and it pierced me. It was by chance, by such a chance as made me dream your danger.” And she fainted.

CHAPTER VIII

AZIEL PLIGHTS HIS TROTH

At first Aziel feared that the poison had done its work, and that Elissa was dead, till placing his hand upon her heart he felt it beating faintly, and knew that she did but swoon. To leave her to seek water or assistance was impossible, since he dared not loose his hold of the bandage about her wrist. So, patiently as he might, he knelt at her side awaiting the return of Metem.

How beautiful her pale face seemed there in the moonlight, set in its frame of dusky hair. And how strange was this tale of hers, of a dream that she had dreamed, a dream which, to save his own, led her to offer her life to the murderer’s arrow. Many would not believe it, but he felt that it was true; he felt that even if she wished it she could not lie to him, for as he had known since first they met, their souls were open to each other. Yes, having thus been warned of his danger, she had offered her life for him–for him who that morning had called her, unjustly so Metem said, “a girl of the groves and a murderess.” How came it that she had done this, unless indeed she loved him as–he loved her?

Aziel could no longer palter with himself, it was the truth. Last night when Issachar accused him, he had felt this, although then he would not admit it altogether, and now to-night he knew that his fate had found him. They would say that, after the common fashion of men, he had been conquered by a lovely face and form and a brave deed of devotion. But it was not so. Something beyond the flesh and its works and attributes drew him towards this woman, something that he could neither understand nor define (unless, indeed, the vision of Issachar defined it), but of which he had been conscious since first he set eyes upon her face. It was possible, it was even probable, that before another hour had gone by she would have passed beyond his reach, into the deeps of death, whither for a while he could not follow her. Yet he knew that the knowledge that she never could be his would not affect the love of her which burnt in him, for his desire towards her was not altogether a desire of the earth.

Aziel bent down over the swooning girl, looking into her pale face, till her lips almost touched his own, and his breath beating on her brow seemed to give her life again. Now she stirred, and now she opened her eyes and gazed back at him a while, deeply and with meaning, even as he gazed at her.

He spoke no word, for his lips seemed to be smitten with silence, but his heart said, “I love you, I love you,” and her heart heard it, for she whispered back:–

“Bethink you who and what I am.”

“It matters not, for we are one,” he replied.

“Bethink you,” she said again, “that soon I may be dead and lost to you.”

“It cannot be, for we are one,” he replied. “One we have been, one we are to-day, and one we shall be through all the length of life and death.”

“Prince,” she said again, “once more and for the last time I say: Bethink you well, for it comes upon me that your words are true, and that if I take that which to-night you offer, it will be for ever and for aye.”

“For ever and aye, let it be,” Aziel said, leaning towards her.

“For ever and for aye, let it be,” she repeated, holding up her lips to his.

And thus in the silent moonlit garden they plighted their strange troth.

*****

“Lady,” said a voice in their ears, the voice of Metem, “I pray you let me dress your hand, for there is no time to lose.”

Aziel looked up to see the Phœnician bending over them with a sardonic smile, and behind him the tall form of Issachar, who stood regarding them, his arms folded on his breast.

“Holy Issachar,” went on Metem with malice, “be pleased to hold this lady’s hand, since it seems that the prince here can only tend her lips.”

“Nay,” answered the Levite, “what have I to do with this daughter of Baaltis? Cure her if you can, or if you cannot, let her die, for so shall a stone of stumbling be removed from the feet of the foolish.” And he glanced indignantly at Aziel.

“Had it not been for this same stone at least the feet of the foolish by now would have pointed skywards. The gods send me such a stone if ever a black dwarf draws a poisoned arrow at me,” answered Metem, as he busied himself with his drugs. Then he added, “Nay, Prince, do not stop to answer him, but hold the lady’s hand to the light.”

Aziel obeyed, and having washed out the wound with water, Metem rubbed ointment into it which burnt Elissa so sorely that she groaned aloud.

“Be patient beneath the pain, lady,” he said, “for if it has not already passed into your blood, this salve will eat away the poison of the arrow.”

Then half-leading and half-carrying her, they brought her back to the palace. Here Metem gave her over into the care of her father, telling him as much of the story as he thought wise, and cautioning him to keep silent concerning what had happened.

At the door of the palace Issachar spoke to Aziel.

“Did I dream, Prince,” he said, “or did my ears indeed hear you tell that idolatress that you loved her for ever, and did my eyes see you kiss her on the lips?”

“It seems that you saw and heard these things, Issachar,” said Aziel, setting his face sternly. “Now hear this further, and then I pray you give me peace on this matter of the lady Elissa: If in any way it is possible, I shall make her my wife, and if it be not possible, then for so long as she may live at least I will look upon no other woman.”

“Then that is good news, Prince, to me, who am charged with your welfare, for be sure, if I can prevent you, you shall never mix your life with that of this heathen sorceress.”

“Issachar,” the prince replied, “I have borne much from you because I know well that you love me, and have stood to me in the place of a father. But now, in my turn, I warn you, do not seek to work harm to the lady Elissa, for in striking her you strike me, and such blows may bring my vengeance after them.”

“Vengeance?” mocked the Levite. “I fear but one vengeance, and it is not yours, nor do I listen to the whisperings of love when duty points the path. Rather would I see you dead, prince Aziel, then lured down to hell by the wiles of yonder witch.”

Then before Aziel could answer he turned and left him.

*****

As Issachar went to his own chamber full of bitterness and indignation, he passed the door of Elissa’s apartments, and came face to face with Metem issuing from them.

“Will the woman live?” he asked of him.

“Be comforted, worthy Issachar. I think so; that is, if the bandage does not slip. I go to tell the prince.”

“Gladly would I give a hundred golden shekels to him who brought me tidings that it had slipped and the woman with it, down to the arms of her father Beelzebub,” broke in the Levite passionately.

“Pretty words for a holy man,” said Metem, feigning amazement. “Well, Issachar, I will do most things for good money, but to shift that bandage would be but murder, and this I cannot work even for the gold and to win your favour.”

“Fool,” answered Issachar, “did I ask you to do murder? I do not fight with such weapons; let the woman live or die as it is decreed. Nay, enter my chamber, for I would speak with you, who are a cunning man versed in the craft of courts. Listen now: I love this prince Aziel, for I have reared him from his childhood, and he has been a son to me who have none. More, I am sent hither to this hateful land to watch him and hold him from harm, and for all that chances to him I must account. And now, what has chanced? This woman, Elissa, by her witcheries—-“

“Softly, Issachar; what witcheries does she need beyond those lips and form and eyes?”

“By her witcheries, I tell you, has ensnared him so that now he swears that he will wed her.”

“What of it, Issachar? He might travel far to find a lovelier woman.”

“What of it, do you ask, remembering who he is? What of it, when you know his faith, and that this fair idolater will sap it, and cause him to cast away his soul? What of it, when with your own ears you heard him swear to love her through all the deeps of life and death? Man, are you mad?”

“No, but some might say that you are, holy father, who forget that I am also of this religion which you revile. But for good or ill, so the matter stands; and now what is it that you wish of me?”

“I wish that you should make it impossible that the prince Aziel should take this woman to wife. Not by murder, indeed, for ‘thou shalt not kill,’ saith the law, but by bringing it about that she should marry the king Ithobal, or if that fail, in any other fashion which seems good to you.”

“‘Thou shalt not kill,’ saith your law; tell me then, Issachar, does it say also that thou shalt hand over a woman to a fate that she chances to hold to be worse than death? Doubtless it is foolish of her, and we should not heed such woman’s folly. Yet this one has a certain strength of will, and I question if all the elders of the city will bring her living to the arms of Ithobal.”

“It is nought to me, Metem, if she weds Ithobal, or weds him not, save that I do not love this heathen man, and surely her temper and her witcheries would bring ruin on him. What I would have you do is to prevent her from marrying Aziel; the way I leave to you.”

“And what should I be paid for this service, holy Issachar?”

The Jew thought and answered, “A hundred golden shekels.”

“Two hundred gold shekels,” replied Metem reflectively, “nay, I am sure you said /two/ hundred, Issachar. At least, I do not work for less, and it is a small sum enough, seeing that to earn it I must take upon myself the guilt of severing two loving hearts. But I know well that you are right, and that this would be an evil marriage for the prince Aziel, and also for the lady Elissa, who then day by day and year by year must bear the scourge of your reproaches, Issachar. Therefore I will do my best, not for the money indeed, but because I see herein a righteous duty. And now here is parchment, give me the lamp that I may prepare the bond.”

“My word is my bond, Phœnician,” answered the Levite haughtily.

Metem looked at him. “Doubtless,” he said, “but you are old, and this is–a rough country where accidents chance at times. Still, the thing would read very ill, and, as you say, your word is your bond. Only remember, Issachar, two hundred shekels, bearing interest at two shekels a month. And now you are weary, holy Issachar, with plotting for the welfare of others, and so am I. Farewell, and good dreams to you.”

The Levite watched him go, muttering to himself, “Alas that I should have fallen to such traffic with a knave, but it is for your sake and for your soul’s sake, O Aziel my son. I pray that Fate be not too strong for me and you.”

*****

For two days from this night Elissa lay almost senseless, and by many it was thought that she would die. But when Metem saw her on the morning after she had been wounded, and noted that her arm was but little swollen, and had not turned black, he announced that she would certainly live, whatever the doctors of the city might declare. Thereon Sakon, her father, and Aziel blessed him, but Issachar said nothing.

As the Phœnician was walking through the market-place early on the next day an aged black woman, whom he did not know, accosted him, saying that she had a message for his ear from the king Ithobal who was camped without the city and who desired to see the merchandise that he had brought with him from the coasts of Tyre. Now Metem had already sold all his wares at a great advantage; still, as he would not neglect this opportunity of trade, he purchased others from his fellow merchants, and loading two camels with them, set out for the camp of Ithobal, riding on a mule. By midday he had reached it. The camp was pitched near water in a pleasant grove of trees, and on one of these not far from the tent of Ithobal Metem noted that there hung the body of a black dwarf.

“Behold the fate of him who shoots at the buck and hits the doe. Well, I have always said that murder is a dangerous game, since blood calls out for blood,” thought Metem as he rode towards the tent.

At its door stood king Ithobal looking very huge and sullen in the sunlight. Metem dismounted and prostrated himself obsequiously.

“May the King live for ever,” he said, “the great King, the King to whom all the other kings of the earth are as the little gods to Baal, or the faint stars to the sun.”

“Rise, and cease from flatteries,” said Ithobal shortly; “I may be greater than the other kings, but at least you do not think it.”

“If the king says so, so let it be,” replied Metem calmly. “A woman yonder in the market-place told me that the king wished to trade for my merchandise. So I have brought the best of it; priceless goods that which much toil I have carried hither from Tyre,” and he pointed to the two camels laden with the inferior articles which he had purchased, and began to read the number and description of the goods from his tablets.

“What value do you set upon the whole of them, merchant?” asked Ithobal.

“To the traders of the country so much, but to you, O King, so much only,” and he named a sum twice that which he had paid in the city.

“So be it,” assented Ithobal indifferently; “I do not haggle over wares. Though your price is large, presently my treasurer shall weigh you out the gold.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Metem said:–

“The trees in this camp of yours bear evil fruit, O King. If I might ask, why does that little black monkey hang yonder.”

“Because he tried to do murder with his poisoned arrows,” answered Ithobal sullenly.

“And failed? Well, it must comfort you to think that he did fail if he was of the number of your servants. It is strange now that some knave unknown attempted murder last night in the palace gardens, also with poisoned arrows. I say attempted, but as yet I cannot be sure that he did not succeed.”

“What!” exclaimed Ithobal, “was—-” and he stopped.

“No, King, prince Aziel was not hit; the Lady Elissa took that shaft through her hand, and lies between life and death. I am doctoring her, and had it not been for my skill she would now be stiff and black–as the rogue who shot the arrow.”

“Save her,” said Ithobal hoarsely, “and I will pay you a doctor’s fee of a hundred ounces of pure gold. Oh! had I but known, the clumsy fool should not have died so easily.”

Metem took out his tablets and made a note of the amount.

“Take comfort, King,” he said, “I think that I shall earn the fee. But to speak truth, this matter looks somewhat ugly, and your name is mentioned in it. Also it is said that your cousin, the great man whom the prince Aziel slew, was charged to abduct a certain lady by your order.”

“Then false tales are told in Zimboe, and not for the first time,” answered Ithobal coldly. “Listen, merchant, I have a question to ask of you. Will the prince Aziel meet me in single combat with whatever weapons he may choose?”

“Doubtless, and–pardon me if I say it–slay you as he slew your cousin, for he is a fine swordsman, who has studied the art in Egypt, where it is understood, and your strength would not avail against him. But your question is already answered, for though the prince would be glad enough to fight you, Sakon will have none of it. Have you nothing else to ask me, King?”

Ithobal nodded and said:–

“Listen, merchant. I know your repute of old, that you love money and will do much to gain it, and that you are craftier than any hill-side jackal. Now, if you can do my will, you will have more wealth than ever you won in your life before.”

“The offer sounds good in a poor man’s ears, King, but it depends upon what is your will.”

Ithobal went to the door of the tent, and commanded the sentries who stood without to suffer none to disturb him or draw near. Then he returned and said:–

“I will tell you, but beware that you do not betray my counsels in this or in any other matter, for I have sharp ears and a long arm. You know how things are between me and the lady Elissa and her father Sakon and the city which he governs. They stand thus: Unless within eight days she is given to me in marriage, I have sworn that I will make war upon Zimboe. Ay, and I will make it, for, filled with hate for the white man, already the great tribes are gathering to my banners in ten armies, each of them ten thousand strong. Once let them march beneath yonder walls, and before they leave it Zimboe, city of gold, shall be nothing but a heap of ruins, and a habitation of the dead. Such shall be my vengeance; but I seek love more than vengeance, for what will it avail me to butcher all that people of traders if–as well may chance in the accidents of war–I lose her whom I desire, whose beauty shall be my crown of crowns, and whose mind shall make me great indeed?

“Therefore, Metem, if may be, I would win her without war; let the war come afterwards, as come it must, for the time is ripe. And though she turned from me, this I should have done, had it not been for yonder prince Aziel, whom she met in a strange fashion, and straightway learned to love. Now the thing is more difficult. Nay, while the prince Aziel can take her to wife it is well-nigh impossible, since no threats of war or ruin can turn a woman’s heart from him she seeks–to him she flies. Therefore, I ask you—-“

“Your pardon, King,” Metem broke in, “I see that you, like your rival, are so besotted with the beauty of this girl, that in all with which she has to do you have lost the rule of your own reason. I would save you perchance from saying words to which I do not wish to listen, and when you find a quiet mind again, that you may regret having spoken. If you were about to require of me that I should cause or be privy to the death of the prince Aziel, you would require it in vain; yes, even if you were willing to pay me gold in mountains, and gems in camel loads. With murder I will have nothing to do; moreover, the prince, your rival, is my friend and master, and I will not harm him. Further, I may tell you that after the adventure of last night none will be able to come near him to hurt a hair of his head, seeing that through daylight and through darkness he is guarded by two men.”

“With a woman’s body to set before him as a shield,” said Ithobal bitterly. “But you speak too fast; I was not about to ask you to kill this man, or even to procure his death, because I know it would be useless, but rather that you should so contrive that he cannot take Elissa. How you contrive it I care nothing, so that she is not harmed. You may kidnap him, or stir up the city against him, as one destined to be the source of war, and cause him to be despatched back to the great sea, or bribe the priests of El to hide him away, or what you will, if only you separate him from this woman for ever. Say, merchant, are you willing to undertake the task, or must my good gold go elsewhere?”

Metem pondered awhile and answered:–

“I think that I will undertake it, King; that is, if we come to terms, though whether I shall succeed is another matter. I will undertake it not only because I seek to enrich myself, but because I and others who serve him think it is a very evil thing that this prince, Aziel, whose blood is the most royal in the whole world, without the consent of the great king of Israel, his grandfather, should wed the daughter of a Phœnician officer, however beautiful and loving she may be. Also I love yonder city, which I have known for forty years, and would not see it plunged in a bloody war and perhaps destroyed because a certain man desires to call a certain girl his sweetheart. And now if I succeed in this, what will you give me?”

Ithobal named a great sum.

“King,” replied Metem, “you must double it, for that amount you speak of I shall be forced to spend in bribes. More; you must give me the gold now, before I leave your camp, or I will do nothing.”

“That you may steal it–and do nothing,” laughed Ithobal angrily.

“As you will, King. Such are my terms; if they do not please you, well, let me go. But if you accept them, I will sign a bond under which if within eight days I do not make it impossible for the prince Aziel to marry the lady Elissa, you may reclaim so much of the gold as I do not prove to you to have been spent upon your service, and no bond of Metem the Phœnician was ever yet dishonoured. No, on second thought I will learn wisdom from Issachar the Levite and put my hand to no writing which it would pain me that some should read. King, my sworn word must content you. Another thing, soon war may break out, or I may be forced to fly. Therefore, I demand of you a pass sealed with your seal that will enable me to ride with twenty men and all my goods and treasure, even through the midst of your armies. Moreover you shall swear the great oath to me that notice of this pass will be given to your generals and that it shall be respected to the letter. Do you consent to these terms?”

“I consent,” said the king presently.

*****

That evening Metem returned to the city of Zimboe, but those who led his two camels little guessed that now they were laden, not with merchandise, but with treasure.

CHAPTER IX

GREETING TO THE BAALTIS

When Metem accepted bribes from Issachar and from Ithobal, in consideration of his finding means to make the union of Aziel and Elissa impossible, he had already thought out his scheme. It was one which, while promoting, as he considered, the true welfare of the lovers, if successful would separate them effectually and for ever.

It will be remembered that Elissa had explained to the prince how, on the death of the lady Baaltis, another woman was elected by the colleges of the priests and priestesses to fill her place. This lady could marry, indeed she was expected to do so, but her husband must take the title of Shadid, and for her lifetime act as high-priest of El. Therefore, thought Metem, if it could be brought about that Elissa should be chosen as the new Baaltis, it was obvious that there would be an end of the possibility of her marriage to Aziel. Then, in order to wed her, he must renounce his own religion–a thing which no Jew would do–and pose as the earthly incarnation of one whom he considered a false divinity or a devil.

Indeed, not only marriage, but any further intimacy between the pair would be rendered impracticable, for upon this point the religious law, lax enough in many particulars, was very strict. In fact, so strict was it that for the lady Baaltis of the day to be found alone with any man meant death to her and him. The reason of this severity was that she was supposed to represent the goddess; and her husband, the Shadid, a god, so that any questionable behaviour on her part became an insult to the most powerful divinities of Heaven, which could only be atoned by the death of their unworthy incarnations. That these laws were actual and not formal only was proved by the instance that within the hundred years before the birth of Elissa, a lady Baaltis had been executed for some such offence, having been hurled indeed from the topmost pinnacle of the fortress above the temple to the foot of the precipice beneath.

All these sacerdotal customs were familiar to Metem, who argued from them that to procure the nomination of Elissa as the Baaltis would be to build an impassable wall between her and the prince Aziel. Also, by way of compensation, that office would confer upon her the highest dignity and honour which could be attained by any woman in the city. Moreover, her election would place her beyond the reach of the persecutions of Ithobal, since as lady Baaltis she was entitled to choose her own husband without hindrance or appeal, provided only that he was of pure white blood, which Ithobal was not.

Having thought the matter out, and convinced himself that such a course would not only benefit his own pocket, but prove to the lasting advantage of all concerned, Metem, filled with a glow of righteous zeal, set about his task with the promptitude and cunning of his race. It was not an easy task, for although she had enemies and rivals, the daughter of the dead Baaltis, Mesa by name, was considered to be certain of election at the poll of the priests and priestesses. This ceremony was to take place within two days. Nothing discouraged, however, by the scant time at his disposal or other difficulties, without her knowledge or that of her father, Metem began his canvass on behalf of Elissa.

First with a great sum of gold he bought over the ex-Shadid, the husband of the late lady Baaltis. As it chanced, this worthy had quarrelled with his daughter. Therefore it followed that he would prefer to see some stranger chosen in her place in the hope that, notwithstanding his years, by choosing him in marriage she might confirm him in his position of spouse to the goddess.

All Metem’s further negotiations need not be followed: money played a part in most of them; jealousy and dislike in some. A few there were also whom he won over by urging the beauty and wisdom of Elissa, and her extraordinary fitness for the post, as evinced by her recent inspiration in the temple! He found his most powerful allies, however, among the members of the council of the city. To these grandees he pointed out that Elissa was a woman of great strength of character, who would certainly never consent to be forced into a marriage with Ithobal, although her refusal should mean a desperate war, and that her father was so much under her influence that he could not be brought to put pressure upon her. Therefore it was obvious that the only way out of the difficulty was her election as Baaltis. This must prove a perfect answer to the suit of the savage king, since the goddess could not be compelled, and even Ithobal, fearing the vengeance of Heaven, would shrink from offering her violence.

There support gained, having first sworn him to secrecy, he attacked Sakon himself, using similar arguments with him. He pointed out, in addition, that if the governor hoped to see his daughter married to prince Aziel, who was in love with her, however dazzling might be the prospects of such a match, it would certainly bring upon him the present wrath of Ithobal, and, in all probability, future trouble with the Courts of Egypt, of Israel, and through them, of Tyre. Thus working in many ways, Metem laboured incessantly to win his end, so that when at last the hour of election came he awaited its issue, fairly confident of success.

It was on this same afternoon that for the first time since she had received the arrow which was meant for his heart, Aziel was admitted to see Elissa. Now at length her recovery was certain, although she had not shaken off her weakness, and her right arm and wrist were still stiff and swollen. Except for two or three of her women, who were seated at their work behind a screen near the far end of the great chamber, she was alone, lying upon a couch in the recess of the window-place. Advancing to her, Aziel bent down to kiss her wounded hand.

“Nay,” said Elissa, hiding it beneath the folds of her robe, “it is still black and unsightly with the poison.”

“The more reason that I should kiss it, seeing how the stain came there,” he answered.

Her eyes met his, and she whispered, “Not my hand, but my brow, Prince, for so I shall be crowned.”

He pressed his lips upon her forehead, and replied:–

“Queen of my heart you are already, and though the throne be humble it is sure. The life you saved is yours, and no other’s.”

“I did but repay a debt,” she answered; “but speak of it no more. Gladly would I have died to save you; should such choice arise, would you do so for me, I wonder?”

“There is little need to ask such a question, lady; for your sake I would not only die, I would even endure shame–that is worse than death.”

“Sweet words, Aziel,” she answered, smiling, “of which we shall learn the value when the hour of trial comes, as come, I think, it will. You told me but now that you were mine, and no other’s; but is it so? I have heard the story of a certain princess of Khem with whom your name was mingled. Tell me, if you will, what was it that set you journeying to this far city of ours?”

“The desire to find you,” he answered smiling; then seeing that she still looked at him with questioning eyes, he added, “Nay, this is the truth, if you seek truth. Indeed, it is the best that I should tell you, since it seems that already you have heard something of the tale. A while ago I was sent to the Court of the Pharaoh of Egypt, by the will of my grandsire, the king of Israel, upon an embassy of friendship, and to escort thence a certain beautiful princess, my cousin, who was affianced by treaty to an uncle of mine, a great prince of Israel. This I did, showing to the lady courtesy, and no more. But the end of the matter was that when we came to Jerusalem the princess refused to be married to my uncle, to whom she was betrothed—-” and he hesitated.

“Nay, be not timid, Prince,” said Elissa sharply; “continue, I pray you. I have heard that the lady added somewhat to her refusal.”

“That is so, Elissa. She declared before the king that she would wed no man except myself only, whereon my uncle was very angry, and accused me of playing him false, which, indeed, I had not done.”

“Although the lady was so fair, Aziel? But what said the great king?”

“He said that never having seen him to whom she was affianced, he would not suffer that she should be forced into marriage with him against her will. Yet that her will might be uninfluenced, he commanded that I should be sent upon a long journey. That was his judgment, lady.”

“Yes, but not all of it; surely he added other words?” she broke in eagerly.

“He added,” continued Aziel, with some reluctance, “that if while I was on this journey the princess changed her mind, and chose to wed my uncle, it would be well. But, when I returned from it, if she had not changed her mind, and chose–to marry me–then it would be well also, and, though he was little pleased, with this saying my uncle must be satisfied.”

“It does not satisfy me, prince Aziel,” Elissa answered, the tears starting to her dark eyes. “I know full well that the lady will not change her mind, and take a man who is in years, and whom she hates, in place of one who is young, and whom she loves. Therefore, when you return hence to Jerusalem, by the king’s command you will wed her.”

“Nay, Elissa; if I am already married that cannot be,” he said.

“In Judea, Prince, I am told that men take more wives than one; also, they divorce them,” she replied; then added, “Oh, return not there where I shall lose you. If, indeed, you love me, I pray you return not there.”

Before he could answer, a sound of singing and of all sorts of music caught Aziel’s ear. Looking through the casement, he saw a great procession of the priests and priestesses of El and Baaltis clad in their festal robes and accompanied by many dignitaries of the city, a multitude of people and bands of musicians, advancing across the square towards the door of the palace.

“Why, what passes?” he exclaimed. As he spoke the door opened and two richly arrayed heralds, wands of office in their hands, entered and prostrated themselves before Elissa.

“Greeting to you, most noble and blessed lady, the chosen of the gods!” they cried with one voice. “Prepare, we beseech you, to hear glad tidings, and to receive those who are sent to tell them.”

“Glad tidings?” said Elissa. “Has Ithobal then withdrawn his suit?”

“Nay, lady; it is not of Ithobal that the messengers come to speak.”

“Then I cannot receive them,” she said, sinking back in apprehension. “I am still ill and weak, and I pray to be excused.”

“Nay, lady,” answered the herald, “that which they have to tell will cure your sickness.”

Again Elissa protested. Before the words had left her lips there appeared in the doorway he who had been husband of the dead Baaltis, followed by priests and priestesses, by Sakon her father, with whom was Metem, and many other nobles and dignitaries.

“All hail, lady!” they cried, prostrating themselves before her. “All hail, lady, chosen of the gods!”

Elissa looked at them bewildered.

“Your pardon,” she said, “I do not understand.”

Then, rising from his knees, he who was still the Shadid until his successor was appointed, addressed her as spokesman.

“Listen,” he said, “and learn, lady, the great thing that has befallen you. Know, O divine One, that by the inspiration of El and Baaltis, rulers of the heavens, the colleges of the priests and priestesses of the city, following the voice of the oracles and the pointing of the omens, have set you in that high place which death has emptied. Greeting to you, holder of the spirit of the goddess! Greeting to the Baaltis!”

“I did not seek this honour,” she murmured in the silence that followed, “and I refuse it. The throne of the goddess is Mesa’s right; let her take it, or if she will not, then find some other woman who is more worthy.”

“Lady,” said the Shadid, “these words become you well, but it has pleased the gods to choose you and not my daughter, the lady Mesa, or any other woman, and the choice of the gods may not be set aside. Till death shall take you, you and you alone are the lady Baaltis whom we obey.”

“Must I then be made divine against my will,” she pleaded, and turned to Aziel as though for counsel.

“Be pleased to stand back, prince Aziel,” said the stern voice of the Shadid, interposing. “Remember that henceforth no man may speak to the Baaltis save he whom she names with the name of Shadid to be her husband. Henceforward you are parted, since to seek her company would be to cause her death.”

Now understanding that the doom of life-long separation had fallen upon them like the sudden sword of fate, Aziel and Elissa gazed at each other in despair. Then, before either of them could speak a word, at a sign from the Shadid, the priestesses closed round Elissa. Throwing a white veil over her head, they broke into a joyful pæan of song, and half-led, half-carried her from the chamber to enthrone her in the palace of the goddess, which was henceforth to be her home.

Presently all the company, including the waiting women, having joined the procession, the chamber was empty, with the exception of Aziel, Metem and Issachar the Levite, who, drawn by the sound of singing, had entered the place unnoticed.

“Take comfort, Prince,” said the Phœnician in a half-bantering voice, “if you and the lady Baaltis are truly dear to each other she may still be yours, for you have but to bow the knee to El, and she will name you Shadid and husband.”

“Blaspheme not,” cried Issachar sternly. “Shall a worshipper of the God of Israel do sacrifice to a demon to win a woman’s smile?”

“That time will prove,” answered Metem, shrugging his shoulders; “at least it is certain that he will win it in no other way. Prince,” he added, changing his tone, “if you have any such thoughts, abandon them, I pray of you, for on this matter the law may not be broken. The man spoke truth, moreover, when he told you that should you be found with the Baaltis, not being her husband, you would cause her death.”

Aziel took no notice of his words, but turning to the Levite, he asked in a quiet voice:–

“Did you plot this to separate us, Issachar? If so, you shall live to mourn the deed.”

“Listen, Prince,” broke in Metem, “it was not Issachar who plotted that the lady Elissa should be chosen Baaltis, but I, or at least I helped the plot. Shall I tell you why I did this? It was to save you and her, and if possible to prevent a great war also. You could not wed this woman who is not of your race, or rank, or religion; and if you could, it would bring about a struggle that must cost thousands their lives, and this city its wealth. Nor could you make of her less than a wife, seeing that she is well-born and that you are her father’s guest. Therefore for your own sake it is best that she should be placed beyond your reach. For her sake also it is best, since she is ambitious and born to rule, who henceforth will be clothed with power for all her days. Moreover, had it been otherwise, in the end she must have passed to that savage Ithobal, whom she hates. Now this is scarcely possible, for the lady Baaltis can wed no man who is not of pure white blood, and whom she does not choose of her own free will. That is a decree which may not be broken even by Ithobal. So revile me not, but thank me, though for a little while your heart be sore.”

“My heart is sore indeed,” answered Aziel, “and if you think your words be wise, their medicine does not soothe, Phœnician. You may have laboured for my welfare and for that of the lady Elissa, or, like the huckster that you are, for your own advantage, or for both–I know not, and do not care to know. But this I know, that you, and Issachar also, are striving to snare Fate in a web of sand, and that Fate will be too strong for it and you. I love this woman and she loves me, because such is our destiny, and no barriers which man may build can serve to separate us. Also of this I am assured, that by your plots you draw the evils you would ward away upon the heads of us all, for from them shall spring war, and deaths, and misery.

“For the rest, do not think, Metem and Issachar, that I, whom you betrayed, and the woman you have ruined with a crown of greatness she did not seek, are clay to be moulded at your will. It is another hand than yours which fashioned the vessel of our destiny; nor can you stay our lips from drinking of the pure wine that fills it. Farewell,” and with a grave inclination of the head he left the room.

Metem watched him go, then he turned to Issachar and said:–

“I have earned my hire well, and you must pay the price, but now it troubles me to think that I touched this business. Why it is I cannot say, but it comes upon me that the prince speaks truth, and that no plot of ours can avail to separate these two who were born to each other, although it well may happen that we shall unite them in death alone. Issachar,” he added with fierce conviction, “I will not take your gold, for it is the price of blood! I tell you it is the price of blood!”

“Take it or no, as you will, Phœnician,” answered the Levite; “at least I am well pleased that the promise of it bought your service. Even should the prince Aziel discharge this day’s work with his young life, it is better that he should perish in the body than that he should lose his soul for the bribe of a woman’s passing beauty. Whatever else be lost, that is saved to him, since those sorceress lips of hers are set beyond his reach. An Israelite cannot mate with the oracle of Baaltis, Metem.”

“You say so, Issachar, but I have seen men climb high to pluck such fruit. Yes, I have seen them climb even when they knew that they must fall before the fruit was reached.”

Then he went also, leaving Issachar alone and oppressed with a dread of the future which was none the less real because it could not be defined.

CHAPTER X

THE EMBASSY

Weak as she was still with recent illness, half-fainting also from the shock of the terrible and unexpected fate which had overtaken her, Elissa was borne in triumph to the palace that now was hers. Around her gilded litter priestesses danced and sang their wild chants, half- bacchanalian and half-religious; before it marched the priests of El, clashing cymbals and crying, “Make way, make way for the new-born goddess! Make way for her whose throne is upon the horned moon!” while all about the multitude of spectators prostrated themselves in worship.

Elissa was borne in triumph. Vaguely she heard the shouts and music, dimly she saw the dancing-girls and the bowing crowds. But all the while her heart was alive with pain and her brain, crushed beneath the menace of this misery, could grasp nothing clearly save the completeness of her loss. Loss! Yes, she was lost indeed. One short hour ago and she was rejoicing in the presence of the man she loved, and who, as she believed, loved her, while in her mind rose visions of some happy life with him far away from this city and the dark rites of the worshippers of Baal. And now she found herself the chief priestess of that worship which already she had learned to fear if not to hate. More, as its priestess, till death should come to comfort her, she was cut off for ever from him whom she adored, cut off also from the hope of that new spiritual light which had begun to dawn upon her soul.

Elissa looked upon the beautiful women who leapt and sang about her litter, listening to the clash of their ornaments of gold, and as she listened and looked her eyes seemed to gain power to behold the spirits within them. Surely she could see these, dark and hideous things, with shifting countenances, terrible to look on, and themselves wearing in their eyes of flame a stamp of eternal terror, while in her ears the music of their golden necklaces was changed to a clank as of fetters and of instruments of torment. Yes; and there before the dancers in the red cloud of dust which rose from their beating feet, floated the dim shape of that demon of whom she had been chosen the high-priestess.

Look at her mocking, inhuman countenance, and her bent brow of power! Look at her spread and flaming hair and her hundred hands outstretched to grasp the souls of men! Hark! the clamour of the cymbals and the cry of the dancers blended together and became her voice, a dreadful voice that gave greeting to her princess, promising her pride of place and life-long power in payment for her service.

“I desire none of these,” her heart seemed to answer; “I desire him only whom I have lost.”

“Is it so?” replied the Voice. “Then bid him burn incense upon my altar and take him to yourself. Have I not given you enough of beauty to snare a single soul from among the servants of my enemy the God of the Jews?”

“Nay, nay!” her heart cried; “I will not tempt him to do this evil thing.”

“Yea, yea!” mocked the phantom Voice; “for your sake he shall burn incense upon my altar.”

*****

The phantasy passed, and now the golden gates of the palace of Baaltis rolled open before Elissa. Now, too, the priestesses bore her to the golden throne shaped like a crescent moon, and threw over her a black veil spangled with stars, symbol of the night. Then having shut out the uninitiated, they worshipped her after their secret fashion till she sank down upon the throne overcome with fear and weariness. Then at last they carried her to that wonder of workmanship and allegorical art, the ivory bed of Baaltis, and laid her down to sleep.

*****

At dawn upon the following day an embassy, headed by Sakon, governor of the city, in whose train were Metem and Aziel, went to the camp of Ithobal. The mission of these envoys was to give the king answer to his suit, for he refused to come to Zimboe unless he were allowed to bring a larger force than it was thought prudent to admit into the city gates. At some distance from the tents they halted, while messengers were sent forward inviting Ithobal to a conference on the plain, as it seemed scarcely safe to trust themselves within the stout thorn fence which had been built about the camp. Metem, who said that he had no fear of the king, went with these men, and on reaching the /zeriba/ was at once bidden to the pavilion of Ithobal. He found the great man pacing its length sullenly.

“What seek you here, Phœnician?” he asked, glancing at him over his shoulder.

“My fee, King. The king was pleased to promise me a hundred ounces of gold if I saved the life of the Lady Elissa. I come, therefore, to assure him that my skill has prevailed against the poisoned arrow of that treacherous dog of the desert, which pierced her hand as she spoke with the prince Aziel the other night, and to claim my reward. Here is a note of the amount,” and he produced his tablets.

“If half of what I hear is true, rogue,” answered Ithobal savagely, “the tormentor and the headsman alone could satisfy all my debt to you. Say, merchant, what return have you made me for that sackful of gold which you bore hence some few days gone?”

“The best of all returns, King,” answered Metem cheerfully, although in truth he began to feel afraid. “I have kept my word, and fulfilled the command of the king. I have made it impossible that the prince Aziel should wed the daughter of Sakon.”

“Yes, rogue, you have made it impossible by causing her to be consecrated Baaltis, and thus building a barrier which even I shall find too hard to climb. It is scarcely to be hoped that now she will choose me of her own will, and to offer violence to the Baaltis is a sacrilege from which any man–yes, even a king–may shrink, for such deeds draw the curse of Heaven. Know that for this service I am minded to settle my account with you in a fashion of which you have not thought. Have you heard, Phœnician, that the chiefs of certain of my tribes love to decorate their spear-shafts with the hide of white men, and to bray their flesh into a medicine which gives courage to its eater?”

With this pleasing and suggestive query Ithobal paused, and looked towards the door of the tent as though he were about to call his guard.

Now Metem’s blood ran cold, for he knew that this royal savage was not one who uttered idle threats. Yet the coolness and cunning which had so often served him well did not fail him in his need.

“I have heard that your people have strange customs,” he answered with a laugh, “but I think that even a spear-shaft would scarcely gain beauty from my wrinkled hide, and if anything, the eating of my flesh would make tradesmen and not warriors of your chiefs. Well, let the jest pass, and listen. King, in all my schemings one thought never crossed my mind, namely, that you were a man to suffer scruples to stand between you and the woman you would win. You think that now she is a goddess? Well, if that be so–and it is not for me to say–who could be a fitter mate for the greatest king upon the earth than a goddess from the heavens? Take her, king Ithobal, take her, and this I promise you, that when your armies are encamped without the walls, the priests of El will absolve you of the crime of aspiring to the fair lips of Baaltis.”

“The lips of Baaltis,” broke in Ithobal; “do you think that I shall find them sweet when another man has rifled them? Secret chambers are many yonder in the palace of the gods, and doubtless the Jew will find his way there.”

“Nay, King, for between these two I have indeed built a wall which cannot be climbed. The worshipper of the Lord of Israel may not traffic with the high-priestess of Ashtoreth. Moreover, I shall bring it about that ere long Prince Aziel’s face is set seawards.”

“Do that, and I will believe you, merchant, though it would be better if you could bring it about that his face was set earthwards, as I will if I can. Well, this time I spare you, though be sure that if aught miscarry, you shall pay the price, how, I have told you. Now I go to talk with these traders, these outlanders, of Zimboe. Why do you wait? You are dismissed and–alive.”

Metem looked steadily at the tablets which he still held in his hand.

“I have heard,” he said humbly, “that the king Ithobal, the great king, always pays his debts, and as I–an outlander–shall be leaving Zimboe shortly under his safe conduct, I desire to close this small account.”

Ithobal went to the door of his tent and commanded that his treasurer should attend him, bringing money. Presently he came, and at his lord’s bidding weighed out one hundred ounces of gold.

“You are right, Phœnician,” said Ithobal; “I always pay my debts, sometimes in gold and sometimes in iron. Be careful that I owe you no more, lest you who to-day are paid in gold, to-morrow may receive the iron, weighed out in the fashion of which I have spoken. Now, begone.”

Metem gathered up the treasure, and hiding it in his ample robe, bowed himself from the royal presence and out of the thorn-hedged camp.

“Without doubt I have been in danger,” he said to himself, wiping his brow, “since at one time that black brute, disregarding the sanctity of an envoy, had it in his mind to torture and to kill me. So, so, king Ithobal, Metem the Phœnician is also an honest merchant who ‘always pays his debts,’ as you may learn in the market-places of Jerusalem, of Sidon and of Zimboe, and I owe you a heavy bill for the fright you have given me to-day. Little of Elissa’s company shall you have if I can help it; she is too good for a cross-bred savage, and if before I go from these barbarian lands I can set a drop of medicine in your wine, or an arrow in your gizzard, upon the word of Metem the Phœnician, it shall be done, king Ithobal.”

*****

When Metem reached Sakon and the envoys, he found that a message had already been sent to them announcing that Ithobal would meet them presently upon the plain outside his camp. But still the king did not come; indeed, it was not until Sakon had despatched another messenger, saying that he was about to return to the city, that at length Ithobal appeared at the head of a bodyguard of black troops. Arranging these in line in front of the camp, he came forward, attended by twelve or fourteen counsellors and generals, all of them unarmed. Half-way between his own line and that of the Phœnicians, but out of bowshot of either, he halted.

Thereon Sakon, accompanied by a similar number of priests and nobles, among whom were Aziel and Metem, all of them also unarmed, except for the knives in their girdles, marched out to meet him. Their escort they left drawn up upon the hillside.

“Let us to business, King,” said Sakon, when the formal words of salutation had passed. “We have waited long upon your pleasure, and already troops move out from the city to learn what has befallen us.”

“Do they then fear that I should ambush ambassadors?” asked Ithobal hotly. “For the rest, is it not right that servants should bide at the door of their king till it is his pleasure to open?”

“I know not what they fear,” answered Sakon, “but at least we fear nothing, for we are too many,” and he glanced at his soldiers, a thousand strong, upon the hillside. “Nor are the citizens of Zimboe the servants of any man unless he be the king of Tyre.”

“That we shall put to proof, Sakon,” said Ithobal; “but say, what does the Jew with you?” and he pointed to Aziel. “Is he also an envoy from Zimboe?”

“Nay, King,” answered the prince laughing, “but my grandsire, the mighty ruler of Israel, charged me always to take note of the ways of savages in peace and war, that I might learn how to deal with them. Therefore, I sought leave to accompany Sakon upon this embassy.”

“Peace, peace!” broke in Sakon. “This is no time for gibes. King Ithobal, since you did not dare to venture yourself again within the walls of our city, we have come to answer the demands you made upon us in the Hall of Audience. You demanded that our fortifications should be thrown down, and this we refuse, since we do not court destruction. You demanded that we should cease to enslave men to labour in the mines, and to this we answer that for every man we take we will pay a tax to his lawful chief, or to you as king. You demanded that the ancient tribute should be doubled. To this, out of love and friendship, and not from fear, we assent, if you will enter into a bond of lasting peace, since it is peace we seek, and not war. King, you have our answer.”

“Not all of it, Sakon. How of that first condition–that Lady Elissa the fair, your daughter, should be given me to wife?”

“King, it cannot be, for the gods of heaven have taken this matter from our hands, anointing the lady Elissa their high-priestess.”

“Then as I live,” answered Ithobal with fury, “I will take her from the hands of the gods and anoint her my dancing-woman. Do you think to make a mock of me, you people of Zimboe, whom I have honoured by desiring one of your daughters in marriage? You seek to trick me with your priests’ juggling that you may keep her to be the toy of yonder princeling? So be it, but I tell you that I will tear your city stone from stone, and anoint its ruins with your blood. Yes, your young men shall labour in the mines for me, and your high-born maidens shall wait upon my queens. Listen, you”–and he turned to his generals–“Let the messengers who are ready start east and west, and north and south, to the chiefs whose names you have, bidding them to meet me with their tribesmen, at the time and place appointed. When next I speak with you, Elders of Zimboe, it shall be at the head of a hundred thousand warriors.”

“Then, King, on your hands be all the innocent lives that these words of yours have doomed, and may the weight of their wasted blood press you down to ruin and death.”

Thus answered Sakon proudly, but with pale lips, for do what they would to hide it, something of the fear they felt for the issue of this war was written on the faces of all his company.

Ithobal turned upon his heel, deigning no reply, but as he went he whispered a word into the ear of two of his captains, great men of war, who stayed behind the rest of his party searching for something upon the ground. Sakon and his counsellors also turned, walking towards their escort, but Aziel lingered a little, fearing no danger, and being curious to learn what the men sought.

“What do you seek, captains?” he asked courteously.

“A gold armlet that one of us has lost,” they answered.

Aziel let his eyes wander on the ground, and not far away perceived the armlet half-hidden in a tussock of dry grass, where, indeed, it had been placed.

“Is this the ring?” he asked, lifting it and holding it towards them.

“It is, and we thank you,” they answered, advancing to take the ornament.

The next moment, before Aziel even guessed their purpose, the captains had gripped him by either arm and were dragging him at full speed towards their camp. Understanding their treachery and the greatness of his danger, he cried aloud for help. Then throwing himself swiftly to the ground, he set his feet against a stone that chanced to lie in their path in such fashion that the sudden weight tore his right arm from the group of the man that held him. Now, quick as thought, Aziel drew the dagger from his girdle, and, still lying upon his back, plunged it into the shoulder of the second man so that he loosed him in his pain. Next he sprang to his feet, and, leaping to one side to escape the rush of his captors, ran like a deer towards the party of Sakon, who had wheeled round at the sound of his cry.

Ithobal and his men had turned also and sped towards them, but at a little distance they halted, the king shouting aloud:–

“I desired to hold this foreigner, who is the cause of war between us, hostage for your daughter’s sake, Sakon, but this time he has escaped me. Well, it matters nothing, for soon my turn will come. Therefore, if you and he are wise, you will send him back to the sea, for thither alone I promise him safe conduct.”

Then without more words he walked to his camp, the gates of which were closed behind him.

*****

“Prince Aziel,” said Sakon, as they went towards the city, “it is ill to speak such words to an honoured guest, but it cannot be denied that you bring much trouble on my head. Twice now you have nearly perished at the hands of Ithobal, and should that chance, doubtless I must earn the wrath of Israel. On your behalf, also, the city of Zimboe is this day plunged into a war that well may be her last, since it is because you have grown suddenly dear to her that my daughter has continued to refuse the suit of Ithobal, and because of his outraged pride at this refusal that he has raised up the nations against us. Prince, while you remain in this city there is no hope of peace. Do not, therefore, hate me, your servant, if I pray of you to leave us while there is yet time.”

“Sakon,” answered Aziel, “I thank you for your open speech, and will pay you back in words as honest as your own. Gladly would I go, for here nothing but sorrow has befallen me, were it not for one thing which to you may seem little, but to me, and perhaps to another, is all in all. I love your daughter as I have never loved a woman before, and as my mind is to hers, so is hers to mine. How, then, can I go hence when the going means that I must part from her for ever?”

“How can you stay here, Prince, when the staying means that you must bring her to shame and death, and yourself with her? Say now, are you prepared, for the sake of this maiden, to abandon the worship of your fathers and to become the servant of El and Baaltis?”

“You know well that I am not so prepared, Sakon. For nothing that the world could give me would I do this sin.”

“Then, Prince, it is best that you should go, for that and no other is the price you must pay if you would win my daughter Elissa. Should you seek to do so by other means, I tell you that neither your high rank nor the power of my rule and friendship, nor pity for your youth and hers, can save you both from death, since to forgive you then would be to bring down the wrath of its outraged gods upon Zimboe. Oh! Prince, for your own sake and for the sake of her whom both you and I love thus dearly, linger no longer in temptation, but turn your back upon it as a brave man should, for so shall my blessing follow you to the grave and your years be filled with honour.”

Aziel covered his eyes with his hand, and thought a while; then he answered:–

“Be it as you will, friend. I go, but I go broken-hearted.”

CHAPTER XI

METEM SELLS IMAGES

Upon reaching the palace, Aziel went to the apartments of Issachar. Finding no keeper at the door, he entered, to discover the old priest kneeling in prayer at the window, which faced towards Jerusalem. So absorbed was he in his devotions that it was not until he had ended them and risen that Issachar saw Aziel standing in the chamber.

“Behold, an answer to my prayer,” he said. “My son, they told me that some fresh danger had overtaken you, though none knew its issue. Therefore it was that I prayed, and now I see you unharmed.” And taking him in his arms, he embraced him.

“It is true that I have been in danger, father,” answered Aziel, and he told him the story of his escape from Ithobal.

“Did I not pray thee not to accompany this embassy?”

“Yes, father, yet I have returned in safety. Listen: I come with tidings which you will think good. Not an hour ago I promised Sakon that I would leave Zimboe, where it seems my presence breeds much trouble.”

“Good tidings, indeed!” exclaimed Issachar, “and never shall I know a peaceful hour until we have seen the last of the towers of this doomed city and its accursed people of devil-worshippers.”

“Yes, good for you, father, but for me most ill, for here I shall leave my youth and happiness. Nay, I know what you think; that this is but some passing fancy bred of the pleasant beauty of a woman, but it is not so. I say that from the moment when first I saw Elissa, she became life of my life, and soul of my soul and that I go hence beggared of joy and hope, and carrying with me a cankering memory which shall eat my heart away. You deem her a witch, one to whom Baaltis has given power to drag the minds of men to their destruction, but I tell you that her only spell is the spell of her love for me, also that she whom you named so grossly is no longer the servant of the demon Baaltis.”

“Elissa not the servant of Baaltis? How comes she then to be her high- priestess? Aziel, your passion has made you mad.”

‘She is high-priestess because Metem and others brought about her election without her will, urged on to it by I know not whom.” And he looked hard at Issachar, who turned away. “But what matters it who did the ill deed,” he continued, “since this, at least, is certain, that here my presence breeds sorrow and bloodshed, and therefore I must go as I have promised.”

“When do we depart, Prince?” queried Issachar.

“I know not, it is naught to me. Here comes Metem, ask of him.”

“Metem,” said the Levite, “the prince desires to leave Zimboe and march to the coast, there to take ship to Tyre. When can your caravan be ready?”

“So I have heard, Issachar, for Sakon tells me that he has come to an agreement with the prince upon this matter. Well, I am glad to learn it, for troubles thicken here, and I think that the woe you prophesied is not far from this city of Zimboe where every man seeks to serve his own hand, and is ready to sell his neighbour. When can the caravan be got ready? Well, the night after next; at least, we can start that night. To-morrow evening, so soon as the sun is down, I will send on the camels by ones and twos, and with them the baggage and treasure, to a secret place I know of in the mountains, where we and the prince’s guard can follow upon the mules and join them. As it chances, I have a safe conduct from Ithobal. Still I should not wish to put his troops into temptation by marching through them with twenty laden camels, or to lose certain earnings of my own that will be hidden in the baggage. Moreover, if our departure becomes known, half the city would wish to join us, having no love of soldiering, and misdoubting them much of the issue of this war with Ithobal.”

“As you will,” said Issachar, “you are captain of the caravan, and charged with the safety of the prince upon his journeyings. I am ready whenever you appoint, and the quicker that hour comes, the more praise you will have from me.”

“Come with me, I wish to speak with you,” said Aziel to the Phœnician as they left the presence of Issachar. “Listen,” he added, when they had reached his chamber, “we leave this city soon, and I have farewells to make.”

“To the Baaltis?” suggested Metem.

“To the lady Elissa. I desire to send her a letter of farewell; can you deliver it into her own hand?”

“It may be managed, Prince, at a price–nay, from you I ask no price. I have still some images that I wish to sell, and we merchants go everywhere, even into the presence of the Baaltis if it pleases her to admit them. Write your scroll and I will take it, though, to be plain, it is not a task which I should have sought.”

So Aziel wrote slowly and with care. Then having sealed the writing he gave it to Metem.

“Your face is sat, Prince,” he said, as he hid it in his robe, “but, believe me, you are doing what is right and wise.”

“It may be so,” answered Aziel, “yet I would rather die than do it, and may my curse lie heavy upon the heads of those who have so wrought that it must be done. Now, I pray you, deliver this scroll into the hands of her you know, and bring me the answer if there be any, betraying it to none, for I will double whatever sum is offered for that treachery.”

“Have no fear, Prince,” said Metem quietly, but without taking offence, “this errand is undertaken for friendship, not for profit. The risk is mine alone; the gain–or loss–is yours.”

*****

An hour later the Phœnician stood in the palace of the gods, demanding, under permit from Sakon, governor of the city, to be admitted into the presence of the Baaltis, to whom he desired to sell certain sacred images cunningly fashioned in gold. Presently it was announced that he was allowed to approach, and the officers of the temple led him through guarded passages, to the private chambers of the priestesses. Here he found Elissa in a long, low hall, sweet with scented woods, rich with gold, and supported by pillars of cedar.

She was seated alone at the far end of this hall, beneath the window- plate, clad in her white robes of office, richly broidered with emblems of the moon. Her women, most of whom were employed in needle- work, though some whispered idly to each other, were gathered at the lower end of the hall near to its door.

Metem saluted them as he entered, and they detained him, answering his greeting by requests for news and with jests, not too refined, or by demands for presents of jewels, in return for which they promised him the blessings of the goddess. To each he made some apt reply, for even the priestesses of Baaltis could not abash Metem. But while he bandied words, his quick eyes noted one of their number who did not join in this play. She was a spare, thin-lipped woman whom he knew for Mesa, the daughter of the dead Baaltis, who had been a rival candidate for the throne of the high-priestess when Elissa was chosen in her place.

When he entered the hall Mesa was seated upon a canvas stool, a little apart from the others, her chin resting upon her hand, staring with an evil look towards the place where Elissa was enthroned. Nor did her face grow more gentle at the sight of the cunning merchant, for she knew well it was through his plots and bribery that she had been ousted from her mother’s place.

“A woman to be feared,” thought Metem to himself as, shaking off the priestesses, he passed her upon his way up the long chamber. Presently he had reached the end of it, and was saluting the presence of the Baaltis by kneeling and touching the carpet with his brow.

“Rise, Metem,” said Elissa, “and set out your business, for the hour of the sunset prayer is at hand, and I cannot talk long with you.”

So he rose, and, looking at her while he laid out his store of images, saw that her face was sad, and that her eyes were full of a strange fear.

“Lady,” he said, “on the second night from now I depart from this city of yours, and glad shall I be to leave it living. Therefore I have brought you these four priceless images of the most splendid workmanship of Tyre, thinking that it might please you to purchase them for the service of the goddess.”

“You depart,” she whispered; “alone?”

“No lady, not alone; the holy Issachar goes with me, also the escort of the prince Aziel–and the prince himself, whose presence is no longer desired in Zimboe.” Here he stopped, for he saw that Elissa was about to betray her agitation, and whispered, “Be not foolish, for you are watched; I have a letter for you. Lady,” he continued in a louder voice, “if it will please you to examine this precious image in the light, you will no longer hesitate or think the price too high,” and bowing low he led the way behind the throne, whither Elissa followed him.

Now they were standing beneath the window-place, which they faced, and hidden from the gaze of the women by the gilded back of the high seat.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the parchment into her hand, “read quickly, and return it to me.”

She snatched the roll from him, and as her eyes devoured the lines, her face fell in, and her lips grew pale with anguish.

“Be brave,” murmured Metem, for his heart was stirred to pity; “it is best for all that he should go.”

“For him, perchance it is best,” she answered; as with an unwilling hand she gave him back the letter which she dared not keep, “but what of me? Oh! Metem, what of me?”

“Lady,” he said sadly, “I have no words to soothe your sorrow save that the gods have willed it thus.”

“What gods?” she asked fiercely; “not those they bid me worship.” She shuddered, then went on, “Metem, be pitiful! Oh! if ever you have loved a woman, or have been loved of one, for her sake be pitiful. I must see him for the last time in farewell, and you can help me to it.”

“I! In the name of Baal, how?”

“When do you have to leave the city, Metem?”

“At moonrise on the night after next.”

“Then an hour before moonrise I will be in the temple, whither I can come by the secret way that leads thither from this palace, and he can enter there, for the little gate shall be left unbarred. Pray him to meet me, then–for the last time.”

“Lady,” he urged, “this is but madness, and I refuse. You must find another messenger.”

“Madness or not it is my will, and beware how you thwart me in it, Metem, for at least I am the Lady Baaltis, and have power to kill without question. I swear to you that if I do not see him, you shall never leave this city living.”

“A shrewd argument, and to the point,” said Metem reflectively. “Well, I have prepared myself a rock-hewn tomb at Tyre, and do not wish that my graven sarcophagus of best Egyptian alabaster should be wasted, or sold to some upstart for a song.”

“As assuredly it will be, if you do not obey me in this matter, Metem. Remember–an hour before moonrise, at the foot of the pillar of El in the inner court of the temple.”

As she spoke Metem started, for his quick ears had caught a sound.

“O Queen divine,” he said in a loud voice, as he led the way to the front of the throne, “you are a hard bargainer! Were there many such, a poor trader could not make a living. Ah! here is one who knows the value of such priceless works of art,” and he pointed to Mesa, who, with folded arms and downcast eyes, stood within five paces of the throne, as near, indeed, as custom allowed her to approach. “Lady,” he went on addressing you, “you will have heard the price I asked; say, now, is it too much?”

“I have heard nothing, sir. I stand here, waiting the return of my holy mistress that I may remind her that the hour of sunset prayer is at hand.”

“Would that I had so fair a mentor,” exclaimed Metem, “for then I should lose less time.” But to himself he said, “She /has/ heard something, though I think but little,” then added aloud: “Well judge between us, lady. Is fifty golden shekels too much for these images which have been blessed and sprinkled with the blood of children by the high priest of Baal at Sidon?”

Mesa lifted her cold eyes and looked at them. “I think it too much,” she said, “but it is for the lady Baaltis to judge. Who am I that I should open my lips in the presence of the lady Baaltis?”

“I have appealed to the oracle, and it has spoken against me,” said Metem, wringing his hands in affected dismay. “Well, I abide the result. Queen, you offered me forty shekels and for forty you shall take them, for the honour of the holy gods, though in truth I lose ten shekels by the bargain. Give your order to the treasurer, and he will pay me to-morrow. So now farewell,” and bowing till his forehead touched the ground, he kissed the hem of her robe.

Elissa bent her head in acknowledgment of the salute, and as he rose her eyes met his. In them was written a warning which he could not fail to understand, and although she did not speak, her lips seemed to shape the word, “Remember.”

Ten minutes later Metem stood in the chamber of Aziel.

“Has she seen the letter, and what did she answer?” asked the prince, springing up almost as he passed the threshold.

“In the name of all the gods of all the nations I pray you not to