Prisoners of Chance Part 38

"We are securely blocked, Master Benteen," he a.s.serted gruffly. "A fit reward for a.s.sociating with papists."

"Blocked?" failing to comprehend. "How? Are the savages already astir?"

"Look for yourself. See yonder; lights are on the pathway as high as the tree-bridge."

I dropped upon my knees, clinging to a bowlder, and peered over. He spoke truth, and my heart rose choking into my throat. Resembling innumerable fireflies tiny flames were gleaming along the entire front of the cliff--torches borne by human hands. Breathless the three of us clung there staring down, each realizing the utter futility of our efforts at escape, yet none reckless enough to give the thought utterance. The Puritan first found speech.

"The sp.a.w.n of h.e.l.l!" he growled savagely, shaking his great fist, remembering the indignities of the altar-house. "Good Lord, deliver us from this iniquity; lead us through the waters dry-shod, even as Thou didst Thy people of old from the land of Egypt."

"Come," I said, "we must seek whatever hiding-place is within, and trust G.o.d for it."

The priest looked at me pleadingly, his eyes like stars.

"I would at such an hour you were of my faith, Monsieur."

"I might do worse," I admitted, watching intently the lights on the cliff-path, "but it was not the teaching of my childhood. There is one below whose prayers are as yours."

"Madame de Noyan?"

I bowed my head in gesture of reverence.

"Yes, Monsieur, and whatever she loves is not far from my heart. But come, we have scant time for preparation; no, do not endeavor to walk; your weight is nothing to my arms."

There was no spot within where, even for a short period, we might hope to avoid discovery, except the rock gallery. Here, crouching behind the parapet, we could see without being seen, unless some savage chanced to stray that way. At my order the sullen, psalm-quoting preacher dragged the helpless old chief priest after him, and so we went groping forward through the darkness of the short pa.s.sage, until we attained the stone steps. Stumbling blindly upward, our hearts throbbing in realization of the peril that was closing us in, we flung our bodies flat behind the concealing rocks, peering fearfully forth into the great deserted chamber. Even amid that lonely silence it was a sight to chill the heart; and to us, comprehending something of what it would soon reveal of savage orgy. It was like gazing down into the mouth of the Pit. The single touch of color in the drear picture came from the crimson drapery hanging over the edge of the raised platform.

Seeing all this at one glance my anxious eyes sought the deeper gloom shrouding the tunnel leading toward the entrance. As I stared that way a sudden flash of fierce lightning illumined it. So brilliant it burst forth from the opaque night, I hid my blinded eyes, every nerve of my body quivering.

"Great G.o.d!" burst forth Cairnes, his voice so close as to startle me.

"'T is like the end of the world!"

"Be still," I commanded hastily, pressing him flat, "there they come."

A dozen flaming torches rounded the rock projection the lights glistening over the half-naked bodies of the bearers. Saint Andrew! it was a weird sight, one to strike terror to the soul! With gritted teeth, my heart pounding, I looked out upon it. The leader was a priest, black from head to heel, his face showing devilish in the torch flare, his coa.r.s.e hair matted high in horrid resemblance to some wild beast. Behind surged a mob of warriors, women, and children, half-nude bodies striped with red and yellow, a malignant demoniacal crew, yelling and pushing under the flaming lights, rushing tumultuously forward to fling themselves prostrate before the altar. It seemed they would never cease pouring forth from the narrow tunnel, a struggling, gesticulating stream. Behind them lightning played in jagged streaks across the little patch of sky, and the black smoke of the torches curled upward to the roof. Their appearance was not human, but that of demons incarnate; some ran upon all fours like wolves, gnashing their teeth and howling; many yelped in fiendish chorus; others brandished weapons aloft in the yellow flame, or lay, writhing like glistening snakes on the rock floor. It was a pandemonium, a babel, an unspeakable h.e.l.l. To count was impossible, but the great room was filled with bodies, and rang with guttural, inarticulate cries. The busily flitting priests stirred up the wood until the blaze leaped nearly to the roof, mumbling as they worked, the incessant moaning of the tribesmen deepening into a weird chant. The frenzied singers leapt into the air, flinging their limbs about in wild contortion, their movements increasing in violence, their grotesquely painted faces becoming h.e.l.lish from awakening pa.s.sion. They became brutes, fiends, whose only thought was cruelty. I saw them strike each other with stone knives, slashing the flesh till blood ran. Heartsick and trembling, I glanced aside at my companions. The _pere_ lay clasping the stone, his eyes wide with horror, his countenance death-like; Cairnes was upon his knees, his great hands gripped, staring straight down like some animal crouching for a spring.

It was when I turned back, loathing the sight yet unable to resist facing it, that I beheld for the first time those I sought--Eloise, De Noyan, and the Queen Naladi. An instant I blinded my eyes with uplifted arm, half believing that the horror had turned my brain, that all this was vision. Yet, as I ventured to look again, they were there before me in the flesh--Naladi all in red, a wondrous figure amid that spectral glow, tall, straight, with proud, imperious face, crowned by the brilliant hair, radiant and sparkling in the flame. Beside her loitered De Noyan, like one who enjoyed a spectacle arranged for his pleasure, his face darkening somewhat as though the sight were not altogether to his liking, yet debonair and careless, his waxed moustaches standing forth conspicuous, his fingers in his waist-belt.

About the two were ranged a fringe of warriors, their flint-headed spears rising an impenetrable wall, while farther behind, separated and alone, the light of the fire barely revealing her presence, stood Eloise, a savage guard on either side of her. I caught the outline of her face, imprinted with horror, the lips moving as if in supplication; then I perceived something else--_her hands were bound_! Smothering an oath, I crept back to the pile of weapons in the corner, gripped a war-club, and, returning as silently, thrust a second into the unconscious hands of Cairnes. Our eyes met, the sectary nodding grimly, his jaws set like a steel trap. If need should arise we would die fighting like cornered rats.

Their yells reverberating to the vaulted roof, the smoking torches gyrating wildly above them, the throng of crazed fanatics were now upon their feet, crowding toward the platform, every tongue clamoring in incessant demand. All was confusion, a medley of noise and motion, tossing arms, and painted faces. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Naladi's red robe scarcely ten feet away, and behind her the countenance of De Noyan, still contemptuously smiling at that shrieking rabble. G.o.d! my face burned, my grasp tightened on the club. Yet I lay motionless, knowing well the time of sacrifice was not yet.

The woman stood at the edge of the rock platform, gazing intently down, a silent, motionless statue, her red robe sweeping to her feet, and below her the crimson drapery; the flaring torches in the hands of her barbaric followers cast their light full upon her. I stared at the strange creature, comprehending something of the power of pa.s.sion such as she could exercise over De Noyan, causing him to forget all honor in her presence. Saint Andrew! she was a witch, a h.e.l.l-cat, whose smile was death. Ay! and she was smiling then, a smile of cruel, unrelenting triumph, gazing down upon the howling slaves who should do her pleasure. She knew them well, every superst.i.tion, every wild impulse, and she played contemptuously on their savagery. Not fear, but command, was stamped upon her features; she ruled by legerdemain, by lie and trick, and she stood, the supreme she-devil, the master spirit in that raging h.e.l.l. It seemed to me my heart would burst as I waited, seeing nothing then of Eloise amid the crush, and compelled to gaze on that dominant scarlet figure.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The woman gazing intently down, her red robe sweeping to her feet; below the flaring torches in the hands of her barbaric followers cast their light full upon her.]

The cries of the mult.i.tude ceased, and a black-draped priest shouted unintelligible words. Naladi listened, extending one hand. Then her thin lips spoke a single sentence in the sharp tone of command.

Instantly burst forth a fierce roar of disapproval; war-clubs pounded the floor, spears rattled as they were brandished overhead, while above the din I caught, again and again, the shriek, "_Francais_!

_Francais_!" The Queen shook her head, her fair face darkening, and glanced aside into the questioning eyes of De Noyan. Below them the tumult increased, the ma.s.s surging forward and staring upward, every voice yelping that one term of hate, "_Francais_!" There was no doubting the dread menace--they were demanding French victims for the torture of sacrifice; they clamored for white blood with which to sprinkle the altar. I could dimly perceive now a dozen crouching slaves against the farther wall, the whites of their eyes showing in terror, and--oh, G.o.d!--there, to the right of them, alone, except for her burly guards, kneeling on the rock floor, with face hidden in her hands, was Eloise. I half rose to my feet, my whole body pulsating with agony. What was to be the ending? What was that mad woman's purpose? Could she control the fierce blood-l.u.s.t of those savage fanatics? If she cared to do so, would she dare test her power in so desperate a game? If one must be sacrificed which would she spare, De Noyan or his hapless wife? Looking at her, cold, cynical, l.u.s.tful, her eyes still turned on his face, I felt no doubt. Let the foul fiend choose! by all the G.o.ds, Cairnes should brain her where she stood, and, Heaven helping me to do the deed, the one I loved should never die by torture!

She took her own time for decision, indifferently ignoring the howls of rage, her thin lips curling in contemptuous smile, her glance yet upon the startled Chevalier. Laying her hand upon his sleeve, she said in French:

"You hear the wolves howl, Monsieur? They are mad for French blood."

He shrugged his shoulders, staring into her expressionless face, then down upon the surging mob below.

"Saint Giles! give them sufficient of something else," he replied, striving to pretend indifference, yet with a falter in his voice. "You pledged us safety if we would accompany you here."

"I pledged _you_ safety, Monsieur," she corrected haughtily. "I gave no word of promise as to others. Yet circ.u.mstances have changed. I supposed then we had enough of victims to appease even such blood-l.u.s.t as yelps yonder."

"You mean the preacher and Benteen?"

"Ay; they would suffice, with plenty of slaves for good measure. But now, only two remain from which to choose. _Sacre_! there are times when those dogs break away even from my control, and mock me. I know not now whether one alone will glut their desire, yet I am of a mind to try the experiment before the wolves drag me to h.e.l.l also. Heard you ever such yelping of wild beasts?"

"You would sacrifice me?" his face whitening from horror. "You would give me to the knife and fire? _Mon Dieu_! is this the end of all your vows?"

She smiled, a cold, cruel smile, her eyes burning.

"I did not say you," tauntingly. "There is another here."

He drew away from her grasp, lips ashen, eyes unbelieving.

"Eloise! _Mon Dieu_! not Eloise?"

"And if not Eloise, what then, Monsieur?" The low voice hardened, becoming oddly metallic. "The wolves cry for blood--French blood. Is it your wish to die together? _Pardi_! if it be between you two, am I to have no choice which one I deliver? Why should you shrink back like a baby at first sight of blood? I thought you a soldier, a man. Did you not tell me you loved her no longer? did you not swear it with your lips to mine?"

He made no response, staring at her with eyes full of unbelief, the hideous uproar clanging about them in ceaseless volume. Naladi's face flushed with rising anger.

"Yet you do! _Mon Dieu_, you do!" she panted, the tiger within breaking loose. "Your words were a lie! Here, look at me," extending her arms, the white flesh of her bosom clearly revealed in the parting of her drapery. "Am I such as she? will I shrink like a coward, mumbling prayer and fingering rosary? Am I afraid to work my will? Am I not worth being loved? Am I the kind you think to play with? G.o.d's mercy! I am minded to throw you both to the beasts. No, no, not that; you dare not front me! I make my own choice of who shall die and who live." She laughed mockingly. "Bah! I know your sort, Monsieur--'tis as the wind blows; you love to-day, and forget to-morrow. Yet I keep you for a plaything--I have no use for her. I care no longer how the wolves tear her dainty limbs. Before this I have tasted vengeance and found it sweet."

He shrank before her fury, all conceit and audacity fled, and words failed him. Not even yet could he believe it true, but she permitted no recovery.

"You think I lie. You think I threaten, but dare not act. You think me a soft-hearted fool because I listened to your words of love. By the G.o.ds! you shall learn better. I have heard love words before; none ever spoke them to my ears without paying the price of deceit. _Mon Dieu_! and shall you escape? I can hate as well as love; strike as well as caress. So you played with me, Monsieur? used me to pa.s.s a dull hour in the wilderness? _Sacre_! 't is now my chance to sport with you. You forget who I am--I, Naladi, Daughter of the Sun, Queen of the Natchez. Look down! there are hands waiting to rend at my word.

I will give them the girl-face for their blood-l.u.s.t. Seek to stop me if you dare!"

Never can I forget the expression on De Noyan's face as he listened.

Incredulity changed to loathing, then to despair. As though the woman had s.n.a.t.c.hed a mask from off her features he gazed now upon the demon soul revealed in all its hideousness. Instantly all that was physically beautiful became loathsome from the foulness within. He endeavored to speak, to protest, but all his recklessness had deserted him and he trembled like a leaf. Already the gesticulating priests, thinking themselves cheated of their victims, were half way up the rude steps of stone; behind them surged the mob, screaming "_Francais_,"

their torches waving madly. Naladi laughed.

"So your nerve fails, Monsieur," she sneered coldly. "'Tis well it does, for you need expect no mercy from me. I also hate the French."

She turned from him, her arms outspread, the crimson drapery extended like wings. The glare of a hundred torches reflected on her face, and her lips spoke one word of stern command. Every voice ceased its howling, every form became motionless, the silence so sudden it was painful. The woman stood above them, dominant; every eye was fastened upon her; the priests were prostrate on the stair. I saw De Noyan leaning forward, his teeth clinched, his face death-like. From wall to wall Naladi's gaze wandered; once she looked into his eyes, then down again upon the mob of savages. Like the sharp hiss of a snake a single sentence leaped from her thin lips. The effect was magical. I scarcely realized the transformation, so rapidly was it accomplished.

Confusion filled the chamber, yet out of the tumult I caught sight of Madame being driven toward the altar, her white face full of pleading, her hands, now freed, clasping her rosary. De Noyan must have beheld her at the same instant. With shout of rage he leaped recklessly forward, hurled aside the scarlet figure, and, uttering an oath, sprang on the parapet.

"By G.o.d! you foul fiend of h.e.l.l!" he screamed madly. "I 'll fight for it; fight like a gentleman of France!"

I leaped to my feet, Cairnes beside me. Desperate as the chance was, we would be with him on that floor, with him smiting to the death. Yet even as he poised for the leap downward the woman's scarlet arms struck, and he went over like a stone, crashing into a huddled heap on the rock floor. Naladi laughed, leaning far out to look down, like a gloating devil.

"Fight, you poor fool!" she exclaimed in French. "_Sacre_! who struck hardest?"

Sick, trembling like a frightened child, I dragged the dazed Puritan down again, crouching behind the stones.