The Strong Arm Part 41

Rising, he crossed again the broad square, and hurried up the street by which he had entered it. This street led to the northern gate, whose dark arch he saw at the end of it, and just as he was about to turn down a lane which led to his palace, he found himself confronted with a fourth problem. One leaf of the ponderous gate swung inward, and through the opening he caught a glimpse of the moonlit country beyond. Knowing that the gates were never opened at night, except through the direct order of the Prince, he paused for a moment, and then saw a man on horseback enter, fling himself hurriedly from his steed, leaving it in care of those in charge of the gates, and disappear down the street that led directly to the Prince's palace. In a most perturbed state of mind the amba.s.sador sought his own house, and there wrote his final despatch to Damascus. He told of his discovery of the water-tank, and said that his former advice regarding the diverting of the stream was no longer of practical value. He said he would investigate further the reservoir under the Temple of Life, and discover, if possible, how the water was discharged. If he succeeded in his quest he would endeavour, in case of a long siege, to set free Baalbek's store of water; but he reiterated his belief that it was better to attempt the capture of the city by surprise and fierce a.s.sault. The message that actually went to Damascus, carried by the third pigeon, was again different in tenor.

"Come at once," it said. "Baalbek is unprotected, and the Prince has gone on a hunting expedition. March through the Pa.s.s of El-Zaid, which is unprotected, because it is the longer route. The armies of Baalbek are at Tripoli and at Antioch, and the city is without even a garrison.

The southern gate will be open awaiting your coming."

Days pa.s.sed, and the amba.s.sador paced the roof of his house, looking in vain towards the south. The streamed flowed as usual through the city.

Anxiety at the lack of all tidings from Damascus began to plough furrows in his brow. He looked careworn and haggard. To the kindly inquiries of the Prince regarding his health, he replied that there was nothing amiss.

One evening, an urgent message came from the palace requesting his attendance there. The Prince met him with concern on his brow.

"Have you had word from your master, Omar, Governor of Damascus, since you parted with him?" asked Ismael.

"I have had no tidings," replied the amba.s.sador.

"A messenger has just come in from Damascus, who says that Omar is in deadly peril. I thought you should know this speedily, and so I sent for you."

"Of what nature is this peril?" asked the amba.s.sador, turning pale.

"The messenger said something of his falling a prisoner, sorely wounded, in the hands of his enemies."

"Of his enemies," echoed the amba.s.sador. "He has many. Which one has been victorious?"

"I have had no particulars and perhaps the news may not be true,"

answered the Prince, soothingly.

"May I question your messenger?"

"a.s.suredly. He has gone to the Temple of Life, to pray for some of his own kin, who are in danger. Let us go there together and find him."

But the messenger had already left the Temple before the arrival of his master, and the two found the great place entirely empty. Standing near the edge of the slab before the mammoth statue, the Prince said:

"Stand upon that slab facing the statue, and it will tell you more faithfully than any messenger whether your master shall live or die, and when."

"I am a Moslem," answered Haziddin, "and pray to none but Allah."

"In Baalbek," said the Prince, carelessly, "all religions are tolerated.

Here we have temples for the worship of the Roman and the Greek G.o.ds and mosques for the Moslems. Here Christian, or Jew, Sun-worshipper or Pagan implore their several G.o.ds unmolested, and thus is Baalbek prosperous. I confess a liking for this Temple of Life, and come here often. I should, however, warn you that it is the general belief of those who frequent this place that he who steps upon the marble slab facing the G.o.d courts disaster, unless his heart is as free, from treachery and guile as this stone beneath him is free from flaw. Perhaps you have heard the rumour, and therefore hesitate."

"I have not heard it heretofore, but having heard it, do not hesitate."

Saying which, the amba.s.sador stepped upon the stone. Instantly, the marble turned under him, and falling, he clutched its polished surface in vain, dropping helplessly into the reservoir beneath. The air under his cloak bore him up and kept him from sinking. The reservoir into which he had fallen proved to be as large as the Temple itself, circular in form, as was the edifice above it. Steps rose from the water in unbroken rings around it, but even if he could have reached the edge of the huge tank in which he found himself, ascent by the steps was impossible, for upon the first three burned vigorously some chemical substance, which luridly illuminated the surface of this subterranean lake. He was surrounded immediately by water, and beyond that by rising rings of flame, and he rightly surmised that this substance was Greek fire, for where it dripped into the water it still burned, floating on the surface. A moment later the Prince appeared on the upper steps, outside the flaming circ.u.mference.

"Amba.s.sador," he cried, "I told you that if you stepped on the marble slab, you would be informed truly of the fate of your master. I now announce to you that he dies to-night, being a prisoner in my hands. His army was annihilated in the Pa.s.s of El-Zaid, while he was on his way to capture this city through your treachery. In your last communication to him you said that you would investigate our water storage, and learn how it was discharged. This secret I shall proceed to put you in possession of, but before doing so, I beg to tell you that Damascus has fallen and is in my possession. The reservoir, you will observe, is emptied by pulling this lever, which releases a trap-door at the centre of the bottom of the tank."

The Prince, with both hands on the lever, exerted his strength and depressed it. Instantly the amba.s.sador felt the result. First, a small whirlpool became indented in the placid surface of the water, exactly in the centre of the disc: enlarging its influence, it grew and grew until it reached the outer edges of the reservoir, bringing lines of fire round with it. The amba.s.sador found himself floating with increased rapidity, dizzily round and round. He cried out in a voice that rang against the stone ceiling:

"An amba.s.sador's life is sacred, Prince of Baalbek. It is contrary to the law of nations to do me injury, much less to encompa.s.s my death."

"An amba.s.sador is sacred," replied the Prince, "but not a spy. Aside from that, it is the duty of an amba.s.sador to precede his master, and that you are about to do. Tell him, when you meet him, the secret of the reservoir of Baalbek."

This reservoir, now a whirling maelstrom, hurled its shrieking victim into its vortex, and then drowned shriek and man together.