Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  The effect of these strange words was so extraordinarily impressive, that for one instant the astonished and evidently affrighted crowds pressed round Sah-luma eagerly, staring at him in morbid fear and wonder, as though they expected him to drop dead before them in immediate fulfillment of the Prophet’s solemn valediction. Theos, oppressed by an inward sickening sense of terror, also regarded him with close and anxious solicitude, but was almost reassured at the first glance.

  Never was a greater opposition offered to Khosrul’s gloomy prognostications, than that contained in the handsome Laureate’s aspect at that moment, — his supple, graceful figure alert with life, . . his glowing face flushed by the sun, and touched with that faintly amused look of serene scorn, . . his glorious eyes, brilliant as jewels under their drooping amorous lids, and the regal poise of his splendid shoulders and throat, as he lifted his head a little more haughtily than usual, and glanced indifferently down from his foothold on the edge of the fountain at the upturned, questioning faces of the throng, … all even to the careless balance and ease of his attitude, betokened his perfect condition of health, and the entire satisfaction he had in the consciousness of his own strength and beauty.

  He seemed about to speak, and raised his hand with the graceful yet commanding gesture of one accustomed to the art of elegant rhetoric, … when suddenly his expression changed, . . shrugging his shoulders lightly as who should say.. “Here comes the conclusion of the matter, — no time for further argument” — he silently pointed across the Square, while a smile dazzling yet cruel played on his delicately parted lips, . . a smile, the covert meaning of which was soon explained. For all at once a brazen roar of trumpets split the silence into torn and discordant echoes, — the crowd turned swiftly, and seeing who it was that approached, rushed hither and thither in the wildest confusion, making as though they would have fled, . . and in less than a minute, a gleaming cohort of mounted and armed spearmen galloped furiously into the thick of the melee.

  Following these came a superb car drawn by six jet-black horses that plunged and pranced through the multitude with no more heed than if these groups of living beings had been mere sheafs of corn, . . a car flashing from end to end with gold and precious stones, in which towered the erect, massive form of Zephoranim, the King. His dark face was ablaze with wrath, … tightly grasping the reins of his reckless steeds, he drew himself haughtily upright and turned his rolling, fierce black eyes indignantly from side to side on the scared people, as he drove through their retreating ranks, smiting down and mangling with the sharp spikes of his tall chariot-wheels men, women, and children without care or remorse, till he forced his terrible passage straight to the foot of the Obelisk. There he came to an abrupt standstill, and, lifting high his strong hand and brawny arm glittering with jewels, he cried:

  “Soldiers! Seize yon traitorous rebel! Ten thousand pieces of gold for the capture of Khosrul!”

  There was an instant of hesitation, … not one of the populace stirred to obey the order. Then suddenly, as though released by their monarch’s command from some mesmeric spell, the before inactive mounted guards started into action, cantered sharply forward and surrounded the Obelisk, while the armed spearsmen closed together and made a swift advance upon the venerable figure that stood alone and defenseless, tranquilly awaiting their approach. But there was evidently some unknown and mysterious force pent up within the Prophet’s feeble frame, for when the soldiers were just about an arm’s length from him, they seemed all at once troubled and irresolute, and turned their looks away, as though fearing to gaze too steadfastly upon that grand, thought-furrowed countenance in which the eyes, made young by inward fervor, blazed forth with unearthly lustre beneath a silvery halo of tossed white hair. Zephoranim perceived this touch of indecision on the part of his men, and his black brows contracted in an ominous frown.

  “Halt!” he shouted fiercely, apparently to make it seem to the mob that the pause in the action of the soldiery was in compliance with his own behest, . . “Halt! … Bind him, and bring him hither, . . I myself will slay him!”

  “Halt!” echoed a voice, discordantly sharp and wild.. “Halt thou also, great Zephoranim! for Death bars thy further progress!”

  And Khosrul, manifestly possessed by some superhuman access of frenzy, leaped from his position on the back of the stone Lion, and slipping agilely through the ranks of the startled spearmen and guards, who were all unprepared for the suddenness and rapidity of his movements, he sprang boldly on the edge of the Royal chariot, and there clung to the jewelled wheel, looking like a gaunt aerial spectre, an ambassador of coming ruin. The King, speechless with amazement and fury, dragged at his huge sword till he wrenched it out of its sheath, . . raising it, he whirled it round his head so that it gave a murderous hiss in the air, … and yet.. was his strong arm paralyzed that he forbore to strike!

  “Zephoranim!” Khosrul, in terms that were piercing and dolorous as the whistling of the wind among hollow reeds,— “Zephoranim, THOU SHALT DIE TO-NIGHT! ART THOU READY? Art thou ready, proud King? … ready to be made less than the lowest of the low? Hush! … Hush!” and his aged face took upon itself a ghastly greenish pallor— “Hear you not the muttering of the thunder underground? There are strange powers at work! … powers of the undug earth and unfathomed sea! … hark how they tear at the stately foundations of Al-Kyris! … Flame! flame! it is already kindled! — it shall enwrap thee with more closeness than thy coronation robe, O mighty Sovereign! … with more gloating fondness than the serpent-twining arms of thy beloved! Listen, Zephoranim, listen!”

  Here he stretched out his skinny hand and pointed upwards, — his eyes grew fixed and glassy, — his throat rattled convulsively. At that moment the monarch, recovering his self-possession, once more lifted his sword with direct and deadly aim, but the Prophet, uttering a wild shriek, caught at his descending wrist and gripped it fast.

  “See.. See!” he exclaimed.. “Put up thy weapon! … Thou shalt never need it where thou art summoned! … Lo! how yon blood-red letters blaze against the blue of heaven! … There! … there it comes! — Read.. read! ’tis written plain.. ‘AL-KYRIS SHALL FALL, AND THE KING SHALL DIE!’.. Hist … hist! … Dumb oracles speak and dead voices find tongue! … hark how they chant together the old forgotten warning:

  ‘When the High Priestess

  Is the King’s mistress

  Then fall Al-Kyris!’

  Fall Al-Kyris! … Aye! … the City of a thousand palaces shall fall to-night! … TO-NIGHT! … O night of desperate horror! … and thou, O King, SHALT DIE!”

  And as he shrilled the last word on the air with terrific emphasis, he threw up his arms like a man suddenly shot, and reeling backward fell heavily on the ground, — a corpse.

  A great cry went up from the crowd, . . the King leaned eagerly out of his car.

  “Is the fool dead, or feigning death?” he demanded, addressing one of a group of soldiers standing near.

  The officer stooped and felt the motionless body.

  “O great King, live forever! He is dead!”

  Zephoranim hesitated. Cruelty and clemency struggled for the mastery in the varying expression of his frowning face, but cruelty conquered. Grasping his sword firmly, he bent still further forward out of his chariot, and with one swift, keen stroke, severed the lifeless Prophet’s head from its trunk, and taking it up on, the point of his weapon, showed it to the multitude. A smothered, shuddering sigh that was half a groan rippled through the dense throng — a sound that evidently added fresh irritation to the already heated temper of the haughty sovereign. With a savage laugh, he tossed his piteous trophy on the pavement, where it lay in a pool of its own blood, the white hair about it stained ruddily, and the still open eyes upturned as though in dumb appeal to heaven. Then, without deigning to utter another word, or to bestow another look upon the surrounding crowd of his disconcerted subjects, he gathered up his coursers’ reins and prepared to depart.

  Just then the sun went behind a cloud,
and only a side-beam of radiance shot forth, pouring itself straight down on the royally attired figure of the monarch and the headless body of Khosrul, and at the same time bringing into sudden and prominent relief the silver Cross that glittered on the breast of the bleeding corpse, and that seemed to mysteriously offer itself as the Key to some unsolved Enigma. As if drawn by one strangely mutual attraction, all eyes, even those of Zephoranim himself, turned instinctively toward the flashing Emblem, which appeared to burn like living fire on that perished mass of stiffening clay, . . and there was a brief silence, — a pause, during which Theos, who had watched everything with curiously calm interest, such as may be felt by a spectator watching the progress of a finely acted tragedy, became conscious of the same singular sensation he had already several times experienced, — namely, THAT HE HAD WITNESSED THE WHOLE OF THIS SCENE BEFORE!

  he remembered it quite well, — particularly that apparently trifling incident of the sunlight happening to shine so brilliantly on the dead man and his cross while the rest of the vast assemblage were in comparative shadow. It was very odd! … his memory was like a wonderful art-gallery in which some pictures were fresh of tint, while others were dim and faded, . . but this special “tableau” in the Square of Al-Kyris was very distinctly painted in brilliant and vivid colors on the sombre background of his past recollections, and he found the circumstance so remarkable that he was on the point of saying something to Sah-luma about it, — when the sun came out again in full splendor, and Zephoranim’s spirited steeds started forward at a canter.

  The King, controlling them easily with one hand, extended the other majestically by way of formal salutation to his people, . . his tall, muscular form was displayed to the best advantage, — the narrow jewelled fillet that bound his rough dark locks emitted a myriad scintillations of light, . . his close-fitting coat-of-mail, woven from thousands of small links of gold, set off his massive chest and shoulders to perfection, — and as he moved along royally in his sumptuous car, the effect of his striking presence was such, that a complete change took place in the before sullen humor of the populace. For seeing him thus alive and well in direct opposition to Khosrul’s ominous prediction, — even as Sah-luma also stood unharmed in spite of his having been apostrophized as a “dying” Poet, — the mob, always fickle and always dazzled by outward show, suddenly set up a deafening roar of cheering. The pallid hue of terror vanished from faces that had but lately looked spectrally thin with speechless dread, and crowds of servile petitioners and place-hunters began to press eagerly round their monarch’s chariot, … when all at once a woman in the throng gave a wild scream and rushed away shrieking “THE OBELISK! … THE OBELISK!”

  Every eye was instantly turned toward the stately pillar of white granite that sparkled in the sunlight like an immense carven jewel, … great Heaven! … It was tottering to and fro like the unsteadied mast of a ship at sea! … One look sufficed, — and a frightful panic ensued — a horrible, brutish stampede of creatures without faith in anything human or divine save their own wretched personalities, — the King, infected by the general scare, urged his horses into furious gallop, and dashed through the cursing, swearing, howling throng like an embodied whirlwind, — and for a few seconds nothing seemed distinctly visible But a surging mass of infuriated humanity, fighting with itself for life.

  Theos alone remained singularly calm, — his sole consideration was for his friend Sah-luma, whom he entwined with one arm as he sprang down from the position they had hitherto occupied on the brink of the fountain, and made straight for the nearest of the six broad avenues that opened directly into the Square. Sah-luma looked pale, but was apparently unafraid, — he said nothing, and passively allowed himself to be piloted by Theos through the madly raging multitude, which, oddly enough, parted before them like mist before the wind, so that in a magically short interval they successfully reached a place of safety.

  And they reached it not a moment too soon. For the Obelisk was now plainly to be seen lurching forward at an angle of several degrees, . . strange muffled, roaring sounds were heard at its base, as though demons were digging up its foundations, . . then, seemingly shaken by underground tremors, it began to oscillate violently, — a terrific explosion was heard as of the bursting of a giant bomb, — and immediately afterward the majestic monolith toppled over and fell! — with the crash of a colossal cannonade that sent its thunderous reverberations through and through the length and breadth of the city! Hundreds of persons were killed and wounded, — many of the mounted guards and spearmen, who were striving to force a way of escape through the crowd, were struck down and crushed pell-mell with their horses as they rode, — the desperate people trampled each other to death in their frenzied efforts to reach the nearest outlet to the river embankment, . . but when once the Obelisk had actually fallen, all this turmoil was for an instant checked, and the gasping, torn, and bleeding survivors of the struggle stopped, as it were to take breath, and stared in blank dismay upon the strange ruin before them.

  Theos, still holding Sah-luma by the arm, with the protecting fondness of an elder brother guarding a younger, gazed also at the scene with quiet, sorrowfully wondering eyes. For it meant something to him he was sure, because it was so familiar, — yet he found it impossible to grasp the comprehension of that meaning! It was a singular spectacle enough; the lofty four-sided white pillar, that had so lately been a monumental glory of Al-Kyris, had split itself with the violence of its fall into two huge desolate-looking fragments, which now lay one on each side of the square, as though flung thither by a Titan’s hand, — the great lion had been hurled from its position and overturned like a toy, while the shield it had supported between its paws had entirely disappeared in minutely scattered atoms, . . the fountains had altogether ceased playing. Now and then a thin, vaporous stream of smoke appeared to issue between the crannies of the pavement, — otherwise there was no visible sign of the mysterious force that had wrought so swift and sudden a work of destruction, — the sun shone brilliantly, and over all the havoc beamed the placid brightness of a cloudless summer sky!

  The most prominent object of all amid the general devastation, and the one that fascinated Theos more than the view of the destroyed monolith and the debased Lion, was the uninjured head of the Prophet Khosrul. There it lay, exactly between the sundered halves of the Obelisk, . . pale rays of light glimmered on its bloodstained silvery hair and open glazed eyes, — a solemn smile seemed graven on its waxen-pallid features. And at a little distance off, on the breast of the black-robed headless corpse that remained totally uncrushed in an open space by itself, among the surrounding heaps of slain and wounded, glistened the CROSS like a fiery gem, . . an all-significant talisman that, as he beheld it, filled Theos’s heart with a feverish craving, — an inexplicable desire mingled with remorse far greater than any fear!

  Instinctively he drew Sah-luma away…. away! … still keeping his wistful gaze fixed on that uncomprehended, yet soul-recognized Symbol, till gradually the drooping branches of trees interrupted and shadowed the vista, and, as he moved further and further backward, closed their soft network of green foliage like the closing curtain on the strange but awfully remembered scene, shutting it out from his bewildered sight.. forever!

  CHAPTER XXV.

  A GOLDEN TRESS.

  Once clear of the Square the two friends apparently became mutually conscious of the peril they had just escaped, . . and coming to a sudden standstill they looked at each other in blank, stupefied silence. Crowds of people streamed past them, wandering hither and thither in confused, cloudy masses, — some with groans and dire lamentations bearing away their dead and wounded, — others rushing frantically about, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, calling on the gods and lamenting Khosrul, while not a few muttered curses on the King. And ever and anon the name of “Lysia,” coupled with heavy execrations, was hissed from mouth to mouth, which Theos, overhearing, began to foresee might serve as a likely cause for Sah-luma’s taking of
fence and possibly resenting in his own person this public disparagement of the woman he loved, — therefore, without more ado he roused himself from his momentarily dazed condition, and urged his comrade on at a quick pace toward the safe shelter of his own palace, where at any rate he could be kept out of the reach of immediate harm.

  The twain walked side by side, exchanging scarcely a word, — Sah-luma seemed in a manner stunned by the violence of the late catastrophe, and Theos was too busy with his own thoughts to speak. On their way they were overtaken by the King’s chariot, — it flew by with a glittering whirl and clatter, amid sweeping clouds of dust, through which the dark face of Zephoranim loomed out upon them like an almost palpable shadow. As it vanished Sah-luma stopped short, and stared at his companion in utter amazement.

  “By my soul!” he exclaimed indignantly.. “The whole world must be going mad! ’Tis the first time in all my days of Laureateship that Zephoranim hath failed to reverently salute me as he passed!”