Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self Part 11

FROM WHENCE HAD HE COME? The reply was direct and decisive--FROM ARDATH.

But what was ARDATH? It was neither a country nor a city--it was a "waste field," where he had seen.... ah! WHOM had he seen? He struggled furiously with himself for some response to this, ... none came! Total dumb blankness was the sole result of the inward rack to which he subjected his thoughts!

And where had he been before he ever saw Ardath? ... had he NO recollection of any other place, any other surroundings?--ABSOLUTELY NONE!--torture his wits as he would,--ABSOLUTELY NONE! ... This was frightful ... incredible! ... Surely, surely, he mused piteously, there must have been something in his life before the name of "Ardath" had swamped his intelligence! ...

He lifted his head, ... his face had grown ashen gray and rigid in the deep extremity of his speechless trouble and terror,--there was a sick faintness at his heart, and rising, he moved unsteadily to one of the great fountains, and there dipping his hands in the spray, he dashed some drops on his brow and eyes. Then, making a cup of the hollowed palms, he drank thirstily several draughts of the cool, sweet water,--it seemed to allay the fever in his blood....

He looked around him with a wild, vague smile,--Al-Kyris! ... of course! ... he was in Al-Kyris!--why was he so distressed about it? It was a pleasant city,--there was much to see,--and also much to learn!

... At that instant a loud blast of silver-toned trumpets split the air, followed by a storm-roar of distant acclamation surging up from thousands of throats,--crowds of men and women suddenly flocked into the Square, across it, and out of it again, all pressing impetuously in one direction,--and urged forward by the general rush as well as by a corresponding impulse within himself, he flung all meditation to the winds, and plunged recklessly into the shouting, onsweeping throng. He was borne swiftly with it down a broad avenue lined with grand old trees and decked with flying flags and streamers, to the margin of a n.o.ble river, as still as liquid amber in the wide sheen and heat of the noonday sun. A splendid marble embankment, adorned with colossal statues, girdled it on both sides,--and here, under silken awnings of every color, pattern and design, an enormous mult.i.tude was a.s.sembled,--its white attired, closely packed ranks stretching far away into the blue distance on either hand.

All the attention of this vast concourse appeared to be centered on the slow approach of a strange, gilded vessel, that with great curved prow and scarlet sails flapping idly in the faint breeze, was gliding leisurely yet majestically over the azure blaze of the smooth water.

Huge oars like golden fins projected from her sides and dipped lazily every now and then, apparently wielded by the hands of invisible rowers, whose united voices supplied the lack of the needful wind,--and as he caught sight of this c.u.mbrously quaint galley, Theos, moved by sudden interest, elbowed his way resolutely though the dense crowd till he gained the edge of the embankment, where leaning against the marble bal.u.s.trade, he watched with a curious fascination its gradual advance.

Nearer and nearer it came, ... brighter and brighter glowed the vivid scarlet of its sails, ... a solemn sound of stringed music rippled enchantingly over the gla.s.sy river, mingling itself with the wild shouting of the populace,--shouting that seemed to rend the hollow vault of heaven! ... Nearer ... nearer ... and now the vessel slid round and curtsied forward, ... its propelling fins moved more rapidly ... another graceful sweep,--and lo! it fronted the surging throng like a glittering, fantastic Apparition drawn out of dreamland! ...

Theos stared at it, dazzled and stricken with a half-blind breathless wonder,--was ever a ship like this he thought?--a ship that sparkled all over as though it were carven out of one great burning jewel? ...

Golden hangings, falling in rich, loose folds, draped it gorgeously from stem to stern,--gold cordage looped the sails,--on the deck a band of young gals clad in white, and crowned with flowers, knelt, playing softly on quaintly shaped instruments,--and a cl.u.s.ter of tiny, semi-nude boys, fair as young cupids, were grouped in pretty reposeful att.i.tudes along the edge of the gilded prow holding garlands of red and yellow blossoms which trailed down to the surface of the water beneath.

As a half-slumbering man may note a sudden brilliant glare of sunshine flashing on the wall of his sleeping-chamber, so Theos at first viewed this floating pageant in confused, uncomprehending bewilderment, ...

when all at once his stupefied senses were roused to hot life and pulsing action,--with a smothered cry of ecstasy he fixed his straining, eager gaze on one supreme, fair Figure,--the central Glory of the marvellous picture! ...

A Woman or a G.o.ddess?--a rainbow Flame in mortal shape?--a spirit of earth, air, fire, water? ... or a Thought of Beauty embodied into human sweetness and made perfect? ... Clothed in gold attire, and girdled with gems, she stood, leaning indolently against the middle mast of the vessel, her great, sombre, dusky eyes resting drowsily on the swarming ma.s.ses of people, whose frenzied roar of rapture and admiration sounded like the breaking of billows.

Presently, with a slow, solemn smile on her haughtily curved lips, she extended one hand and arm, snow-white and glittering with jewels, and made an imperious gesture to command silence. Instantly a profound hush ensued. Lifting a long, slender, white wand, at the end of which could be plainly seen the gleaming silver head of a Serpent, she described three circles in the air with a perfectly even, majestic motion, and as she did this, her marvellous eyes turned toward Theos, and dwelt steadily upon him.

He met her gaze fully, absorbing into his inmost soul the mesmeric spell of her matchless loveliness,--he saw, without actually realizing the circ.u.mstance, that the whole vast mult.i.tude around him had fallen prostrate in an att.i.tude of worship,--and still he stood erect, drinking in the warmth of those dark, witching, sleepy orbs that flashed at him half-resentfully, half-mockingly, . . and then, . . the beauty-burdened ship began to sway gently, and move onwards,--she, that wondrous Siren-Queen was vanishing,--vanishing!--she and her kneeling maidens, and music, and flowers,--vanishing ... Where?

With a start he sprang from his post of observation,--he felt he must go after her at all risks,--he must find out her place of abode,--her rank,--her t.i.tle,--her name! ... All at once he was roughly seized by a dozen or more of hands,--loud, angry voices shouted on all sides.. "A traitor! ... a traitor!" ... "An infidel!"

"A spy!" "A malcontent!"

"Into the river with him!"

"He refuses worship!" "He denies the G.o.ds!"

"Bear him to the Tribunal!".. And in a trice of time, he was completely surrounded and hemmed in by an exasperated, gesticulating crowd, whose ominous looks and indignant mutterings were plainly significant of prompt hostility. With a few agile movements he succeeded in wrenching himself free from the grasp of his a.s.sailants, and standing among them like a stag at bay he cried:

"What have I done? How have I offended? Speak! Or is it the fashion of Al-Kyris to condemn a man unheard?"

No one answered this appeal,--the very directness of it seemed to increase the irritation of the mob, that pressing closer and closer, began to jostle and hustle him in a threatening manner that boded ill for his safety,--he was again taken prisoner, and struggling in the grasp of his captors, he was preparing to fight for his life as best he could, against the general fury, when the sound of musical strings, swept carelessly upwards in the ascending scale, struck sweetly through the clamor. A youth, arrayed in crimson, and carrying a small golden harp, marched sedately between the serried ranks that parted right and left at his approach,--thus clearing the way for another personage who followed him,--a graceful, Adonis-like personage in glistening white attire, who wore a myrtle-wreath on his dark, abundant locks, and whom the populace--forgetting for a moment the cause of their recent disturbance--greeted with a ringing and ecstatic shout of "HAIL!

SAH-LUMA!"

Again and again this cry was uplifted, till far away on the extreme outskirts of the throng the joyous echo of it was repeated faintly yet distinctly ... "HAIL! HAIL, SAH-LUMA!"

CHAPTER XII.

SAH-LUMA.

The new-comer thus enthusiastically welcomed bowed right and left, with a condescending air, in response to the general acclamation, and advancing to the spot where Theos stood, an enforced prisoner in the close grip of three or four able-bodied citizens, he said:

"What turbulence is here? By my faith! ... when I heard the noise of quarrelsome contention jarring the sweetness of this nectarous noon, methought I was no longer in Al-Kyris, but rather in some western city of barbarians where music is but an unvalued name!"

And he smiled--a dazzling, child-like smile, half petulant, half-pleased--a smile of supreme self-consciousness as of one who knew his own resistless power to charm away all discord.

Several voices answered him in clamorous unison:

"A traitor, Sah-luma!" "A profane rebel!" ... "An unbeliever!" ... "A most insolent knave!"--"He refused homage to the High Priestess!" ...

"A renegade from the faith!"

"Now, by the Sacred Veil!" cried Sah-luma impatiently--"Think ye I can distinguish your jargon, when like ignorant boors ye talk all at once, tearing my ears to shreds with such unmelodious tongue-clatter! Whom have ye seized thus roughly? ... Let him stand forth!"

At this command, the men who held Theos relaxed their grasp, and he, breathless and burning with indignation at the treatment he had received, shook himself quickly free of all restraint, and sprang forward, confronting his rescuer. There was a brief pause, during which the two surveyed each other with looks of mutual amazement. What mysterious indication of affinity did they read in one another's faces?

... Why did they stand motionless, spell-bound and dumb for a while, eying half-admiringly, half-enviously, each other's personal appearance and bearing? ...

Undoubtedly a curious, far-off resemblance existed between them,--yet it was a resemblance that had nothing whatever to do with the actual figure, mien, or countenance. It was that peculiar and often undefinable similarity of expression, which when noticed between two brothers who are otherwise totally unlike, instantly proclaims their relationship.

Theos realized his own superior height and superior muscular development,--but what were these physical advantages compared to the cla.s.sic perfection of Sah-luma's beauty?--beauty combining the delicate with the vigorous, such as is shadowed forth in the artist-conceptions of the G.o.d Apollo. His features, faultlessly regular, were redeemed from all effeminacy by the enn.o.bling impress of high thought and inward inspiration,--his eyes were dark, with a brilliant under-reflection of steel-gray in them, that at times flashed out like the soft glitter of summer-lightning in the dense purple of an August heaven,--his olive-tinted complexion was flushed warmly with the glow of health,--and he had broad, bold, intellectual brows over which the rich hair cl.u.s.tered in luxuriant waves,--hair that was almost black, with here and there a curious fleck of reddish gold brightening its curling ma.s.ses, as though a stray sunbeam or two had been caught and entangled therein. He was arrayed in a costume of the finest silk,--his armlets, belt, and daggersheath were all of jewels,--and the general brilliancy of his attire was furthermore increased by a finely worked flexible collar of gold, set with diamonds. The first exchange of wondering glances over, he viewed Theos with a critical, half supercilious air.

"What art thou?" he demanded ... "What is thy calling?"

"Theos hesitated,--then spoke out boldly and unthinkingly--

"I am a Poet!" he said.

A murmur of irrepressible laughter and derision ran through the listening crowd. Sah-luma's lip curled haughtily--

"A Poet!" and his fingers played idly with the dagger at his belt --"Nay, not so! There is but one Poet in Al-Kyris, and I am he!"

Theos looked at him steadily,--a subtle sympathy attracted him toward this charming boaster,--involuntarily he smiled, and bent his head courteously.

"I do not seek to figure as your rival ..." he began.

"Rival!" echoed Sah-luma--"I have no rivals!"

A burst of applause from those nearest to them in the throng declared the popular approval of this a.s.sertion, and the boy bearing the harp, who had loitered to listen to the conversation, swept the strings of his instrument with a triumphant force and fervor that showed how thoroughly his feelings were in harmony with the expression of his master's sentiments. Sah-luma conquered, with an effort, his momentary irritation, and resumed coldly:

"From whence do you come, fair sir? We should know your name,--POETS are not so common!" This with an accent of irony.

Taken aback by the question, Theos stood irresolute, and uncertain what to say. For he was afflicted with a strange and terrible malady such as he dimly remembered having heard of, but never expected to suffer from,--a malady in which his memory had become almost a blank as regarded the past events of his life--though every now and then shadowy images of by-gone things flitted across his brain, like the transient reflections of wind-swept clouds on still, translucent water. Presently in the midst of his painful indecision, an answer suggested itself like a whispered hint from some invisible prompter:

"Poets like Sah-luma are no doubt as rare as nightingales in snow!" he said with a soft deference, and an increasing sense of tenderness for his haughty, handsome interlocutor--"As for me, I am a singer of sad songs that are not worth the hearing! My name is Theos,--I come from far beyond the seas, and am a stranger in Al-Kyris,--therefore if I have erred in aught, I must be blamed for ignorance, not malice!"

As he spoke Sah-luma regarded him intently,--Theos met his gaze frankly and unflinchingly. Surely there was some singular power of attraction between the two! ... for as their flashing eyes again dwelt earnestly on one another, they both smiled, and Sah-luma, advancing, proffered his hand. Theos at once accepted it, a curious sensation of pleasure tingling through his frame, as he pressed those slender blown fingers in his own cordial clasp.

"A stranger in Al-Kyris?--and from beyond the seas? Then by my life and honor, I insure thy safety and bid thee welcome! A singer of sad songs?