Elissa
by
H. Rider Haggard

Part 1 out of 3










Elissa
or
The Doom of Zimbabwe

by H. Rider Haggard




DEDICATION

To the Memory of the Child

Nada Burnham,

who "bound all to her" and, while her father cut his way through
the hordes of the Ingobo Regiment, perished of the hardships of
war at Buluwayo on 19th May, 1896, I dedicate these tales--and
more particularly the last, that of a Faith which triumphed over
savagery and death.

H. Rider Haggard.

Ditchingham.



AUTHOR'S NOTE

Of the three stories that comprise this volume[*], one, "The
Wizard," a tale of victorious faith, first appeared some years ago
as a Christmas Annual. Another, "Elissa," is an attempt, difficult
enough owing to the scantiness of the material left to us by time,
to recreate the life of the ancient Phœnician Zimbabwe, whose
ruins still stand in Rhodesia, and, with the addition of the
necessary love story, to suggest circumstances such as might have
brought about or accompanied its fall at the hands of the
surrounding savage tribes. The third, "Black Heart and White
Heart," is a story of the courtship, trials and final union of a
pair of Zulu lovers in the time of King Cetywayo.

[*] This text was prepared from a volume published in 1900 titled
"Black Heart and White Heart, and Other Stories."--JB.



NOTE

The world is full of ruins, but few of them have an origin so utterly
lost in mystery as those of Zimbabwe in South Central Africa. Who
built them? What purpose did they serve? These are questions that must
have perplexed many generations, and many different races of men.

The researches of Mr. Wilmot prove to us indeed that in the Middle
Ages Zimbabwe or Zimboe was the seat of a barbarous empire, whose
ruler was named the Emperor of Monomotapa, also that for some years
the Jesuits ministered in a Christian church built beneath the shadow
of its ancient towers. But of the original purpose of those towers,
and of the race that reared them, the inhabitants of mediæval
Monomotapa, it is probable, knew less even than we know to-day. The
labours and skilled observation of the late Mr. Theodore Bent, whose
death is so great a loss to all interested in such matters, have shown
almost beyond question that Zimbabwe was once an inland Phœnician
city, or at the least a city whose inhabitants were of a race which
practised Phœnician customs and worshipped the Phœnician deities.
Beyond this all is conjecture. How it happened that a trading town,
protected by vast fortifications and adorned with temples dedicated to
the worship of the gods of the Sidonians--or rather trading towns, for
Zimbabwe is only one of a group of ruins--were built by civilised men
in the heart of Africa perhaps we shall never learn with certainty,
though the discovery of the burying-places of their inhabitants might
throw some light upon the problem.

But if actual proof is lacking, it is scarcely to be doubted--for the
numerous old workings in Rhodesia tell their own tale--that it was the
presence of payable gold reefs worked by slave labour which tempted
the Phœnician merchants and chapmen, contrary to their custom, to
travel so far from the sea and establish themselves inland. Perhaps
the city Zimboe was the Ophir spoken of in the first Book of Kings. At
least, it is almost certain that its principal industries were the
smelting and the sale of gold, also it seems probable that expeditions
travelling by sea and land would have occupied quite three years of
time in reaching it from Jerusalem and returning thither laden with
the gold and precious stones, the ivory and the almug trees (1 Kings
x.). Journeying in Africa must have been slow in those days; that it
was also dangerous is testified by the ruins of the ancient forts
built to protect the route between the gold towns and the sea.

However these things may be, there remains ample room for speculation
both as to the dim beginnings of the ancient city and its still dimmer
end, whereof we can guess only, when it became weakened by luxury and
the mixture of races, that hordes of invading savages stamped it out
of existence beneath their blood-stained feet, as, in after ages, they
stamped out the Empire of Monomotapa. In the following romantic sketch
the writer has ventured--no easy task--to suggest incidents such as
might have accompanied this first extinction of the Phœnician
Zimbabwe. The pursuit indeed is one in which he can only hope to fill
the place of a humble pioneer, since it is certain that in times to
come the dead fortress-temples of South Africa will occupy the pens of
many generations of the writers of romance who, as he hopes, may have
more ascertained facts to build upon than are available to-day.





ELISSA



CHAPTER I

THE CARAVAN

The sun, which shone upon a day that was gathered to the past some
three thousand years ago, was setting in full glory over the expanses
of south-eastern Africa--the Libya of the ancients. Its last burning
rays fell upon a cavalcade of weary men, who, together with long
strings of camels, asses and oxen, after much toil had struggled to
the crest of a line of stony hills, where they were halted to recover
breath. Before them lay a plain, clothed with sere yellow grass--for
the season was winter--and bounded by mountains of no great height,
upon whose slopes stood the city which they had travelled far to seek.
It was the ancient city of Zimboe, whereof the lonely ruins are known
to us moderns as Zimbabwe.

At the sight of its flat-roofed houses of sun-dried brick, set upon
the side of the opposing hill, and dominated by a huge circular
building of dark stone, the caravan raised a great shout of joy. It
shouted in several tongues, in the tongues of Phœnicia, of Egypt, of
the Hebrews, of Arabia, and of the coasts of Africa, for all these
peoples were represented amongst its numbers. Well might the wanderers
cry out in their delight, seeing that at length, after eight months of
perilous travelling from the coast, they beheld the walls of their
city of rest, of the golden Ophir of the Bible. Their company had
started from the eastern port, numbering fifteen hundred men, besides
women and children, and of those not more than half were left alive.
Once a savage tribe had ambushed them, killing many. Once the
pestilential fever of the low lands had taken them so that they died
of it by scores. Twice also had they suffered heavily through hunger
and thirst, to say nothing of their losses by the fangs of lions,
crocodiles, and other wild beasts which with the country swarmed. Now
their toils were over; and for six months, or perhaps a year, they
might rest and trade in the Great City, enjoying its wealth, its
flesh-pots, and the unholy orgies which, among people of the Phœnician
race, were dignified by the name of the worship of the gods of heaven.

Soon the clamour died away, and although no command was given, the
caravan started on at speed. All weariness faded from the faces of the
wayworn travellers, even the very camels and asses, shrunk, as most of
them were, to mere skeletons, seemed to understand that labour and
blows were done with, and forgetting their loads, shambled unurged
down the stony path. One man lingered, however. Clearly he was a
person of rank, for eight or ten attendants surrounded him.

"Go," said he, "I wish to be alone, and will follow presently." So
they bowed to the earth, and went.

The man was young, perhaps six or eight and twenty years of age. His
dark skin, burnt almost to blackness by the heat of the sun, together
with the fashion of his short, square-cut beard and of his garments,
proclaimed him of Jewish or Egyptian blood, while the gold collar
about his neck and the gold graven ring upon his hand showed that his
rank was high. Indeed this wanderer was none other than the prince
Aziel, nick-named the Ever-living, because of a curious mole upon his
shoulder bearing a resemblance to the /crux ansata/, the symbol of
life eternal among the Egyptians. By blood he was a grandson of
Solomon, the mighty king of Israel, and born of a royal mother, a
princess of Egypt.

In stature Aziel was tall, but somewhat slimly made, having small
bones. His face was oval in shape, the features, especially the mouth,
being fine and sensitive; the eyes were large, dark, and full of
thought--the eyes of a man with a destiny. For the most part, indeed,
they were sombre and over-full of thought, but at times they could
light up with a strange fire.

Aziel the prince placed his hand against his forehead in such fashion
as to shade his face from the rays of the setting sun, and from
beneath its shadow gazed long and earnestly at the city of the hill.

"At length I behold thee, thanks be to God," he murmured, for he was a
worshipper of Jehovah, and not of his mother's deities, "and it is
time, since, to speak the truth, I am weary of this travelling. Now
what fortune shall I find within thy walls, O City of Gold and devil-
servers?"

"Who can tell?" said a quiet voice at his elbow. "Perhaps, Prince, you
will find a wife, or a throne, or--a grave."

Aziel started, and turned to see a man standing at his side, clothed
in robes that had been rich, but were now torn and stained with
travel, and wearing on his head a black cap in shape not unlike the
fez that is common in the East to-day. The man was past middle age,
having a grizzled beard, sharp, hard features and quick eyes, which
withal were not unkindly. He was a Phœnician merchant, much trusted by
Hiram, the King of Tyre, who had made him captain of the merchandise
of this expedition.

"Ah! is it you, Metem?" said Aziel. "Why do you leave your charge to
return to me?"

"That I may guard a more precious charge--yourself, Prince," replied
the merchant courteously. "Having brought the child of Israel so far
in safety, I desire to hand him safely to the governor of yonder city.
Your servants told me that by your command they had left you alone, so
I returned to bear you company, for after nightfall robbers and
savages wander without these walls."

"I thank you for your care, Metem, though I think there is little
danger, and at the worst I can defend myself."

"Do not thank me, Prince; I am a merchant, and now, as in the past, I
protect you, knowing that for it I shall be paid. The governor will
give me a rich reward when I lead you to him safely, and when in years
to come I return with you still safe to the court of Jerusalem, then
the great king will fill my ship's hold with gifts."

"That depends, Metem," replied the prince. "If my grandfather still
reigns it may be so, but he is very old, and if my uncle wears his
crown, then I am not sure. Truly you Phœnicians love money. Would you,
then, sell me for gold also, Metem?"

"I said not so, Prince, though even friendship has its price----"

"Among your people, Metem?"

"Among all people, Prince. You reproach us with loving money; well, we
do, since money gives everything for which men strive--honour, and
place, and comfort, and the friendship of kings."

"It cannot give you love, Metem."

The Phœnician laughed contemptuously. "Love! with gold I will buy as
much of it as I need. Are there no slaves upon the market, and no free
women who desire ornaments and ease and the purple of Tyre? You are
young, Prince, to say that gold cannot buy us love."

"And you, Metem, who are growing old, do not understand what I mean by
love, nor will I stay to explain it to you, for were my words as wise
as Solomon's, still you would not understand. At the least your money
cannot bring you the blessing of Heaven, nor the welfare of your
spirit in the eternal life that is to come."

"The welfare of my spirit, Prince? No, it cannot, since I do not
believe that I have a spirit. When I die, I die, and there is an end.
But the blessing of Heaven, ah! that can be bought, as I have proved
once and again, if not with gold, then otherwise. Did I not in bygone
years pass the first son of my manhood through the fire to Baal-Sidon?
Nay, shrink not from me; it cost me dear, but my fortune was at stake,
and better that the boy should die than that all of us should live on
in penury and bonds. Know you not, Prince, that the gods must have the
gifts of the best, gifts of blood and virtue, or they will curse us
and torment us?"

"I do not know it, Metem, for such gods are no gods, but devils,
children of Beelzebub, who has no power over the righteous. Truly I
would have none of your two gods, Phœnician; upon earth the god of
gold, and in heaven the devil of slaughter."

"Speak no ill of him, Prince," answered Metem solemnly, "for here you
are not in the courts of Jehovah, but in his land, and he may chance
to prove his power on you. For the rest, I had sooner follow after
gold than the folly of a drunken spirit which you name Love, seeing
that it works its votary less mischief. Say now, it was a woman and
her love that drove you hither to this wild land, was it not, Prince?
Well, be careful lest a woman and her love should keep you here."

"The sun sets," said Aziel coldly; "let us go forward."

With a bow and a murmured salute, for his quick courtier instinct told
him that he had spoken too freely, Metem took the bridle of the
prince's mule, holding the stirrup while he mounted. Then he turned to
seek his own, but the animal had wandered, and a full half hour went
by before it could be captured.

By now the sun had set, and as there is little or no twilight in
Southern Africa it became difficult for the two travellers to find
their way down the rough hill path. Still they stumbled on, till
presently the long dead grass brushing against their knees told them
that they had lost the road, although they knew that they were riding
in the right direction, for the watch-fires burning on the city walls
were a guide to them. Soon, however, they lost sight of these fires,
the boughs of a grove of thickly-leaved trees hiding them from view,
and in trying to push their way through the wood Metem's mule stumbled
against a root and fell.

"Now there is but one thing to be done," said the Phœnician, as he
dragged the animal from the ground, "and it is to stay here till the
moon rises, which should be within an hour. It would have been wiser,
Prince, if we had waited to discuss love and the gods till we were
safe within the walls of the city, for the end of it is that we have
fallen into the hands of king Darkness, and he is the father of many
evil things."

"That is so, Metem," answered the prince, "and I am to blame. Let us
bide here in patience, since we must."

So, holding their mules by the bridles, they sat down upon the ground
and waited in silence, for each of them was lost in his own thoughts.



CHAPTER II

THE GROVE OF BAALTIS

At length, as the two men sat thus silently, for the place and its
gloom oppressed them, a sound broke upon the quiet of the night, that
beginning with a low wail such as might come from the lips of a
mourner, ended in a chant or song. The voice, which seemed close at
hand, was low, rich and passionate. At times it sank almost to a sob,
and at times, taking a higher note, it thrilled upon the air in tones
that would have been shrill were they not so sweet.

"Who is it that sings?" said Aziel to Metem.

"Be silent, I pray you," whispered the other in his ear; "we have
wandered into one of the sacred groves of Baaltis, which it is death
for men to enter save at the appointed festivals, and a priestess of
the grove chants her prayer to the goddess."

"We did not come of our own will, so doubtless we shall be forgiven,"
answered Aziel indifferently; "but that song moves me. Tell me the
words of it, which I can scarcely follow, for her accent is strange to
me."

"Prince, they seem to be holy words to which I have little right to
hearken. The priestess sings an ancient hallowed chant of life and
death, and she prays that the goddess may touch her soul with the wing
of fire and make her great and give her vision of things that have
been and that shall be. More I dare not tell you now; indeed I can
barely hear, and the song is hard to understand. Crouch down, for the
moon rises, and pray that the mules may not stir. Presently she will
go, and we can fly the holy place."

The Israelite obeyed and waited, searching the darkness with eager
eyes.

Now the edge of the great moon appeared upon the horizon, and by
degrees her white rays of light revealed a strange scene to the
watchers. About an open space of ground, some eighty paces in
diameter, grew seven huge and ancient baobab trees, so ancient indeed
that they must have been planted by the primæval hand of nature rather
than by that of man. Aziel and his companion were hidden with their
mules behind the trunk of one of these trees, and looking round it
they perceived that the open space beyond the shadow of the branches
was not empty. In the centre of this space stood an altar, and by it
was placed the rude figure of a divinity carved in wood and painted.
On the head of this figure rose a crescent symbolical of the moon, and
round its neck hung a chain of wooden stars. It had four wings but no
hands, and of these wings two were out-spread and two clasped a
shapeless object to its breast, intended, apparently, to represent a
child. By these symbols Aziel knew that before him was an effigy
sacred to the goddess of the Phœnicians, who in different countries
passed by the various names of Astarte, or Ashtoreth, or Baaltis, and
who in their coarse worship was at once the personification of the
moon and the emblem of fertility.

Standing before this rude fetish, between it and the altar, whereon
lay some flowers, and in such fashion that the moonlight struck full
upon her, was a white-robed woman. She was young and very beautiful
both in shape and feature, and though her black hair streaming almost
to the knees took from her height, she still seemed tall. Her rounded
arms were outstretched; her sweet and passionate face was upturned
towards the sky, and even at that distance the watchers could see her
deep eyes shining in the moonlight. The sacred song of the priestess
was finished. Now she was praying aloud, slowly, and in a clear voice,
so that Aziel could hear and understand her; praying from her very
heart, not to the idol before her, however, but to the moon above.

"O Queen of Heaven," she said, "thou whose throne I see but whose face
I cannot see, hear the prayer of thy priestess, and protect me from
the fate I fear, and rid me of him I hate. Safe let me dwell and pure,
and as thou fillest the night with light, so fill the darkness of my
soul with the wisdom that I crave. O whisper into my ears and let me
hear the voice of heaven, teaching me that which I would know. Read me
the riddle of my life, and let me learn wherefore I am not as my
sisters are; why feasts and offerings delight me not; why I thirst for
knowledge and not for wealth, and why I crave such love as here I
cannot win. Satisfy my being with thy immortal lore and a love that
does not fail or die, and if thou wilt, then take my life in payment.
Speak to me from the heaven above, O Baaltis, or show me some sign
upon the earth beneath; fill up the vessel of my thirsty soul and
satisfy the hunger of my spirit. Oh! thou that art the goddess, thou
that hast the gift of power, give me, thy servant, of thy power, of
thy godhead, and of thy peace. Hear me, O Heaven-born, hear me,
Elissa, the daughter of Sakon, the dedicate of thee. Hear, hear, and
answer now in the secret holy hour, answer by voice, by wonder, or by
symbol."

The woman paused as though exhausted with the passion of her prayer,
hiding her face in her hands, and as she stood thus silent and
expectant, the sign came, or at least that chanced which for a while
she believed to have been an answer to her invocation. Her face was
hidden, so she could not see, and fascinated by her beauty as it
appeared to them in that unhallowed spot, and by the depth and dignity
of her wild prayer, the two watchers had eyes for her alone. Therefore
it happened that not until his arm was about to drag her away, did
either of them perceive a huge man, black as ebony in colour, clad in
a cloak of leopard skins and carrying in his right hand a broad-bladed
spear who, following the shadow of the trees, had crept upon the
priestess from the farther side of the glade.

With a guttural exclamation of triumph he gripped her in his left arm,
and, despite her struggles and her shrill cry for help, began half to
drag and half to carry her towards the deep shade of the baobab grove.
Instantly Aziel and Metem sprang up and rushed forward, drawing their
bronze swords as they ran. As it chanced, however, the Israelite
caught his foot in one of the numerous tree-roots, which stood above
the surface of the ground and fell heavily upon his face. In a few
seconds, twenty perhaps, he found his breath and feet again, to see
that Metem had come up with the black giant who, hearing his approach,
suddenly wheeled round to meet him, still holding the struggling
priestess in his grasp. Now the Phœnician was so close upon him that
the savage could find no time to shift the grip upon his spear, but
drove at him with the knobbed end of its handle, striking him full
upon the forehead and felling him as a butcher fells an ox. Then once
more he turned to fly with his captive, but before he had covered ten
yards the sound of Aziel's approaching footsteps caused him to wheel
round again.

At sight of the Israelite advancing upon him with drawn sword, the
great barbarian freed himself from the burden of the girl by throwing
her heavily to the ground, where she lay, for the breath was shaken
out of her. Then snatching the cloak from his throat he wound it over
his left arm to serve as a shield, and with a savage yell, rushed
straight at Aziel, purposing to transfix him with the broad-headed
spear.

Well was it for the prince that he had been trained in sword-play from
his youth, also, notwithstanding his slight build, that he was strong
and active as a leopard. To await the onslaught would be to die, for
the spear must pierce him before ever he could reach the attacker's
body with his short sword. Therefore, as the weapon flashed upward he
sprang aside, avoiding it, at the same time, with one swift sweep of
his sword, slashing its holder across the back as he passed him.

With a howl of pain and rage the savage sprang round and charged him a
second time. Again Aziel leapt to one side, but now he struck with all
his force at the spear shaft which his assailant lifted to guard his
head. So strong was the blow and so sharp the heavy sword, that it
shore through the wood, severing the handle from the spear, which fell
to the ground. Casting away the useless shaft, the warrior drew a long
knife from his girdle, and before Aziel could strike again faced him
for the third time. But he no longer rushed onward like a bull, for he
had learnt caution; he stood still, holding the skin cloak before him
shield fashion, and peering at his adversary from over its edge.

Now it was Aziel's turn to take the offensive, and slowly he circled
round the huge barbarian, watching his opportunity. At length it came.
In answer to a feint of his the protecting cloak was dropped a little,
enabling him to prick its bearer in the neck, but only with the point
of his sword. The thrust delivered, he leapt back, and not too soon,
for forgetting his caution in his fury, the savage charged straight at
him with a roar like that of a lion. So swift and terrible was his
onset that Aziel, having no time to spring aside, did the only thing
possible. Gripping the ground with his feet, he bent his body forward,
and with outstretched arm and sword, braced up his muscles to receive
the charge. Another instant, and the leopard skin cloak fluttered
before him. With a quick movement of his left arm he swept it aside;
then there came a sudden pressure upon his sword ending in a jarring
shock, a flash of steel above his head, and down he went to the ground
beneath the weight of the black giant.

"Now there is an end," he thought; "Heaven receive my spirit." And his
senses left him.

When they returned again, Aziel perceived dimly that a white-draped
figure bent over him, dragging at something black which crushed his
breast, who, as she dragged, sobbed in her grief and fear. Then he
remembered, and with an effort sat up, rolling from him the corpse of
his foe, for his sword had pierced the barbarian through breast and
heart and back. At this sight the woman ceased her sobbing, and said
in the Phœnician tongue:--

"Sir, do you indeed live? Then the protecting gods be thanked, and to
Baaltis the Mother I vow a gift of this hair of mine in gratitude."

"Nay, lady," he answered faintly, for he was much shaken, "that would
be a pity; also, if any, it is my hair which should be vowed."

"You bleed from the head," she broke in; "say, stranger, are you
deeply wounded."

"I will tell you nothing of my head," he replied, with a smile,
"unless you promise that you will not offer up your hair."

"So be it, stranger, since I must; I will give the goddess this gold
chain instead; it is of more worth."

"You would do better, lady," said the shrill voice of Metem again, who
by now had found his wits again, "to give the gold chain to me whose
scalp has been broken in rescuing you from that black thief."

"Sir," she answered, "I am grateful to you from my heart, but it is
this young lord who killed the man and saved me from slavery worse
than death, and he shall be rewarded by my father."

"Listen to her," grumbled Metem. "Did I not rush in first in my folly
and receive what I deserved for my pains? But am I to have neither
thanks nor pay, who am but an old merchant; they are for the young
prince who came after. Well, so it ever was; the thanks I can spare,
and the reward I shall claim from the treasury of the goddess.

"Now, Prince, let me see your hurt. Ah! a cut on the ear, no more, and
thank your natal star that it is so, for another inch and the great
vein of the neck would have been severed. Prince, if you are able,
draw out your sword from the carcase of that brute, for I have tried
and cannot loosen the blade. Then perhaps this lady will guide us to
the city before his fellows come to seek him, seeing that for one
night I have had a stomach full of fighting."

"Sirs, I will indeed. It is close at hand, and my father will thank
you there; but if it is your pleasure, tell me by what names I shall
make known to him you whose rank seems to be so high?"

"Lady, I am Metem the Phœnician, captain of the merchandise of the
caravan of Hiram, King of Tyre, and this lord who slew the thief is
none other than the prince Aziel, the twice royal, for he is grandson
to the glorious King of Israel, and through his mother of the blood of
the Pharaohs of Egypt."

"And yet he risked his life to save me," the girl murmured astonished;
then dropping to her knees before Aziel, she touched the ground with
her forehead in obeisance, giving him thanks, and praising him after
the fashion of the East.

"Rise, lady," he broke in, "because I chance to be a prince I have not
ceased to be a man, and no man could have seen you in such a plight
without striking a blow on your behalf."

"No," added Metem, "none; that is, as you happen to be noble and young
and lovely. Had you been old and ugly and humble, then the black man
might have carried you from here to Tyre ere I risked my neck to stop
him, or for the matter of that, although he will deny it, the prince
either."

"Men do not often show their hearts so clearly," she answered with
sarcasm. "But now, lords, I will guide you to the city before more
harm befalls us, for this dead man may have companions."

"Our mules are here, lady; will you not ride mine?" asked Aziel.

"I thank you, Prince, but my feet will carry me."

"And so will mine," said Aziel, ceasing from a prolonged and fruitless
effort to loosen his sword from the breast-bone of the savage, "on
such paths they are safer than any beasts. Friend, will you lead my
mule with yours?"

"Ay, Prince," grumbled Metem, "for so the world goes with the old; you
take the fair lady for company and I a she-ass. Well, of the two give
me the ass which is more safe and does not chatter."

Then they started, Aziel leaving his short sword in the keeping of the
dead man.

"How are you named, lady?" he said presently, adding "or rather I need
not ask; you are Elissa, the daughter of Sakon, Governor of Zimboe,
are you not?"

"I am so called, though how you know it I cannot guess."

"I heard you name yourself, lady, in the prayer you made before the
altar."

"You heard my prayer, Prince?" she said starting. "Do you not know
that it is death to that man who hearkens to the prayer of a priestess
of Baaltis, uttered in her holy grove? Still, none know it save the
goddess, who sees all, therefore I beseech you for your own sake and
the sake of your companion, say nothing of it in the city, lest it
should come to the ears of the priests of El."

"Certainly it would have been death to you had I /not/ chanced to hear
it, having lost my way in the darkness," answered the prince laughing.
"Well, since I did hear it I will add that it was a beautiful prayer,
revealing a heart high and pure, though I grieve that it should have
been offered to one whom I hold to be a demon."

"I am honoured," she answered coldly; "but, Prince, you forget that
though you, being a Hebrew, worship Him they call Jehovah, or so I
have been told, I, being of the blood of the Sidonians, worship the
lady Baaltis, the Queen of Heaven the holy one of whom I am a
priestess."

"So it is, alas!" he said, with a sigh, adding:--

"Well, let us not dispute of these matters, though, if you wish, the
prophet Issachar, the Levite who accompanies me, can explain the truth
of them to you."

Elissa made no reply, and for a while they walked on in silence.

"Who was that black robber whom I slew?" Aziel asked presently.

"I am not sure, Prince," she answered, hesitating, "but savages such
as he haunt the outskirts of the city seeking to steal white women to
be their wives. Doubtless he watched my steps, following me into the
holy place."

"Why, then, did you venture there alone, lady?"

"Because, to be heard, such prayers as mine must be offered in
solitude in the consecrated grove, and at the hour of the rising of
the moon. Moreover, cannot Baaltis protect her priestess, Priest, and
did she not protect her?"

"I thought, lady, that I had something to do with the matter," he
answered.

"Ay, Prince, it was your hand that struck the blow which killed the
thief, but Baaltis, and no other, led you to the place to rescue me."

"I understand, lady. To save you, Baaltis, laying aside her own power,
led a mortal man to the grove, which it is death that mortal man
should violate."

"Who can fathom the way of the gods?" she replied with passion, then
added, as though reasoning with a new-born doubt, "Did not the goddess
hear my prayer and answer it?"

"In truth, lady, I cannot say. Let me think. If I understood you
rightly, you prayed for heavenly wisdom, but whether or not you have
gained it within this last hour, I do not know. And then you prayed
for love, an immortal love. O, maiden, has it come to you since yonder
moon appeared upon the sky? And you prayed----"

"Peace!" she broke in, "peace and mock me not, or, prince that you
are, I will publish your crime of spying upon the prayer of a
priestess of Baaltis. I tell you that I prayed for a symbol and a
sign, and the prayer was answered.

"Did not the black giant spring upon me to bear me away to be his
slave--his, or another's? And is he not a symbol of the evil and the
ignorance which are on the earth and that seek to drag down the beauty
and the wisdom of the earth to their own level? Then the Phœnician ran
to rescue me and was defeated, since the spirit of Mammon cannot
overcome the black powers of ill. Next you came and fought hard and
long, till in the end you slew the mighty foe, you a Prince born of
the royal blood of the world----" and she ceased.

"You have a pretty gift of parable, lady, as it should be with one who
interprets the oracles of a goddess. But you have not told me of what
I, your servant, am the symbol."

She stopped in her walk and looked him full in the face.

"I never heard," she said, "that either the Jews or the Egyptians,
being instructed, were blind to the reading of an allegory. But,
Prince, if you cannot read this one it is not for me, who am but a
woman, to set it out to you."

Just then their glances met, and in the clear moonlight Aziel saw a
wave of doubt sweep over his companion's dark and beautiful eyes, and
a faint flush appear upon her brow. He saw, and something stirred at
his heart that till this hour he had never felt, something which even
now he knew it would trouble him greatly to escape.

"Tell me, lady," he asked, his voice sinking almost to a whisper, "in
this fable of yours am I even for an hour deemed worthy to play the
part of that immortal love embodied which you sought so earnestly a
while ago?"

"Immortal love, Prince," she answered, in a new voice, a voice low and
deep, "is not for one hour, but for all hours that are and are to be.
You, and you alone, can know if you would dare to play such a part as
this--even in a fable."

"Perchance, lady, there lives a woman for whom it might be dared."

"Prince, no such woman lives, since immortal love must deal, not with
the flesh, but with the spirit. If a spirit worthy to be thus loved
and worshipped now wanders in earthly shape upon the world, seeking
its counterpart and its completion, I cannot tell. Yet were it so, and
should they chance to meet, it might be happy for such brave spirits,
for then the answer to the great riddle would be theirs."

Wondering what this riddle might be, Aziel bent towards her to reply,
when suddenly round a bend in the path but a few paces from them came
a body of soldiers and attendants, headed by a man clad in a white
robe and walking with a staff. This man was grey-headed and keen-eyed,
thin in face and ascetic in appearance, with a brow of power and a
bearing of dignity. At the sight of the pair he halted, looking at
them in question, and with disapproval.

"Our search is ended," he said in Hebrew, "for here is he whom we
seek, and alone with him a heathen woman, robed like a priestess of
the Groves."

"Whom do you seek, Issachar?" asked Aziel hurriedly, for the sudden
appearance of the Levite disturbed him.

"Yourself, Prince. Surely you can guess that your absence has been
noted. We feared lest harm should have come to you, or that you had
lost your path, but it seems that you have found a guide," and he
stared at his companion sternly.

"That guide, Issachar," answered Aziel, "being none other than the
lady Elissa, daughter of Sakon, governor of this city, and our host,
whom it has been my good fortune to rescue from a woman-stealer yonder
in the grove of the goddess Baaltis."

"And whom it was my bad fortune to try to rescue in the said grove, as
my broken head bears witness," added Metem, who by now had come up,
dragging the two mules after him.

"In the grove of the goddess Baaltis!" broke in the Levite with a
kindling eye, and striking the ground with his staff to emphasise his
words. "You, a Prince of Israel, alone in the high place of
abomination with the priestess of a fiend? Fie upon you, fie upon you!
Would you also walk in the sin of your forefathers, Aziel, and so
soon?"

"Peace!" said Aziel in a voice of command; "I was not in the grove
alone or by my own will, and this is no time or place for insults and
wrangling."

"Between me and those who seek after false gods, or the women who
worship them, there is no peace," replied the old priest fiercely.

Then, followed by all the company, he turned and strode towards the
gates of the city.



CHAPTER III

ITHOBAL THE KING

Two hours had gone by, and the prince Aziel, together with his
retinue, the officers of the caravan, and many other guests, were
seated at a great feast made in their honour, by Sakon, the governor
of the city. This feast was held in the large pillared hall of Sakon's
house, built beneath the northern wall of the temple fortress, and not
more than a few paces from its narrow entrance, through which in case
of alarm the inhabitants of the palace could fly for safety. All down
this chamber were placed tables, accommodating more than two hundred
feasters, but the principal guests were seated by themselves upon a
raised daïs at the head of the hall. Among them sat Sakon himself, a
middle-aged man stout in build, and thoughtful of face, his daughter
Elissa, some other noble ladies, and a score or more of the notables
of the city and its surrounding territories.

One of these strangers immediately attracted the attention of Aziel,
who was seated in the place of honour at the right of Sakon, between
him and the lady Elissa. This man was of large stature, and about
forty years of age; the magnificence of his apparel and the great gold
chain set with rough diamonds which hung about his neck showing him to
be a person of importance. His tawny complexion marked him of mixed
race. This conclusion his features did not belie, for the brow, nose,
and cheek-bones were Semitic in outline, while the full, prominent
eyes, and thick, sensuous lips could with equal certainty be
attributed to the Negroid stock. In fact, he was the son of a native
African queen, or chieftainess, and a noble Phœnician, and his rank no
less than that of absolute king and hereditary chief of a vast and
undefined territory which lay around the trading cities of the white
men, whereof Zimboe was the head and largest. Aziel noticed that this
king, who was named Ithobal, seemed angry and ill at ease, whether
because he was not satisfied with the place which had been allotted to
him at the table, or for other reasons, he could not at the time
determine.

When the meats had been removed, and the goblets were filled with
wine, men began to talk, till presently Sakon called for silence, and
rising, addressed Aziel:--

"Prince," he said, "in the name of this great and free city--for free
it is, though we acknowledge the king of Tyre as our suzerain--I give
you welcome within our gates. Here, far in the heart of Libya, we have
heard of the glorious and wise king, your grandfather, and of the
mighty Pharaoh of Egypt, whose blood runs also within your veins.
Prince, we are honoured in your coming, and for the asking, whatever
this land of gold can boast is yours. Long may you live; may the
favour of those gods you worship attend you, and in the pursuit of
wisdom, of wealth, of war, and of love, may the good grain of all be
garnered in your bosom, and the wind of prosperity winnow out the
chaff of them to fall beneath your feet. Prince, I have greeted you as
it behoves me to greet the blood of Solomon and Pharaoh; now I add a
word. Now I greet you as a father greets the man who has saved his
only and beloved daughter from death, or shameful bondage. Know you,
friends, what this stranger did since to-night's moonrise? My daughter
was at worship alone yonder without the walls, and a great savage set
on her, purposing to bear her away captive. Ay, and he would have done
it had not the prince Aziel here given him battle, and, after a fierce
fight, slain him."

"No great deed to kill a single savage," broke in the king Ithobal,
who had been listening with impatience to Sakon's praises of this
high-born stranger.

"No great deed you say, King," answered Sakon. "Guards, being in the
body of the man and set it before us."

There was a pause, till presently six men staggered up the hall
bearing between them the corpse of the barbarian, which, still covered
with the leopard skin mantle, they threw down on the edge of the daïs.

"See!" said one of the bearers, withdrawing the cloak from the huge
body. Then pointing to the sword which still transfixed it, he added,
"and learn what strength heaven gives to the arms of princes."

Such as the guests as were near enough rose to look at the grizzly
sight, then turned to offer their congratulations to the conqueror.
but there was one of them--the king Ithobal--who offered none; indeed,
as his eyes fell upon the face of the corpse, they grew alight with
rage.

"What ails you, King? Are you jealous of such a blow?" asked Sakon,
watching him curiously.

"Speak no more of that thrust, I pray you," said Aziel, "for it was
due to the weight of the man rushing on the sword, which after he was
dead I could not find the power to loosen from his breast-bone."

"Then I will do you that service, Prince," sneered Ithobal, and,
setting his foot upon the breast of the corpse, with a sudden effort
of his great frame, he plucked out the sword and cast it down upon the
table.

"Now, one might think," said Aziel, flushing with anger, "that you,
King, who do a courtesy to a man of smaller strength, mean a
challenge. Doubtless, however, I am mistaken, who do not understand
the manners of this country."

"Think what you will, Prince," answered the chieftain, "but learn that
he who lies dead before us by your hand--as you say--was no slave to
be killed at pleasure, but a man of rank, none other, indeed, than the
son of my mother's sister."

"Is it so?" replied Aziel, "then surely, King, you are well rid of a
cousin, however highly born, who made it his business to ravish
maidens from their homes."

By way of answer to these words Ithobal sprang from his seat again,
laying hand upon his sword. But before he could speak or draw it, the
governor Sakon addressed him in a cold and meaning voice:--

"Of your courtesy, King," he said, "remember that the prince here is
my guest, as you are, and give us peace. If that dead man was your
cousin, at least he well deserved to die, not at the hand of one of
royal blood, but by that of the executioner, for he was the worst of
thieves--a thief of women. Now tell me, King, I pray you, how came
your cousin here, so far from home, since he was not numbered in your
retinue?"

"I do not know, Sakon," answered Ithobal, "and if I knew I would not
say. You tell me that my dead kinsman was a thief of women, which, in
Phœnician eyes, must be a crime indeed. So be it; but thief or no
thief, I say that there is a blood feud between me and the man who
slew him, and were he great Solomon himself, instead of one of fifty
princelets of his line, he should pay bitterly for the dead.
To-morrow, Sakon, I will meet you before I leave for my own land, for
I have words to speak to you. Till then, farewell!"--and rising, he
strode down the hall, followed by his officers and guard.

*****

The sudden departure of king Ithobal in anger was the signal for the
breaking up of the feast.

"Why is that half-bred chief so wrath with me?" asked Aziel in a low
voice of Elissa as they followed Sakon to another chamber.

"Because--if you would know the truth--he set his dead cousin to
kidnap me, and you thwarted him," she answered, looking straight
before her.

Aziel made no reply, for at that moment Sakon turned to speak with
him, and his face was anxious.

"I crave your pardon, Prince," he said, drawing him aside, "that you
should have met with such insults at my board. Had it been any other
man who spoke thus to you, by now he had rued his words, but this
Ithobal is the terror of our city, for if he chooses he can bring a
hundred thousand savages upon us, shutting us within our walls to
starve, and cutting us off from the working of the mines whence we win
gold. Therefore, in this way or that, he must be humoured, as indeed
we have humoured him and his father for years, though now," he added,
his brow darkening, "he demands a price that I am loth to pay," and he
glanced towards his daughter, who stood watching them at a little
distance, looking most beautiful in her white robes and ornaments of
gold.

"Can you not make war upon him, and break his power?" asked Aziel,
with a strange anxiety, guessing that this price demanded by Ithobal
was none other than Elissa, the woman whom he had rescued, and whose
wisdom and beauty had stirred his heart.

"It might be done, Prince, but the risk would be great, and we are
here to work the mines and grow rich in trade--not to make war. The
policy of Zimboe has always been a policy of peace."

"I have a better and cheaper plan," said a calm voice at his elbow--
that of Metem. "It is this: Slip a bow-string over the brute's head as
he lies snoring, and pull it tight. An eagle in a cage is easy to deal
with, but once on the wing the matter is different."

"There is wisdom in your counsel," said Sakon, in a hesitating voice.

"Wisdom!" broke in Aziel; "ay, the wisdom of the assassin. What, noble
Sakon, would you murder a sleeping guest?"

"No, Prince, I would not," he answered hastily; "also, such a deed
would bring the Tribes upon us."

"Then, Sakon, you are more foolish than you used to be," said Metem
laughing. "A man who will not despatch a foe, whenever he can catch
him, by means fair or foul, is not the man to govern a rich city set
in the heart of a barbarous land, and so I shall tell Hiram, our king,
if ever I live to see Tyre again. As for you, most high Prince,
forgive the humblest of your servants if he tells you that the
tenderness of your heart and the nobility of your sentiments will, I
think, bring you to an early and evil end;" and, glancing towards
Elissa as though to put a point upon his words, Metem smiled
sarcastically and withdrew.

At this moment a messenger, whose long white hair, wild eyes and red
robe announced him to be a priest of El, by which name the people of
Zimboe worshipped Baal, entered the room, and whispered something into
the ear of Sakon which seemed to disturb him much.

"Pardon me, Prince, and you, my guests, if I leave you," said the
governor, "but I have evil tidings that call me to the temple. The
lady Baaltis is seized with the black fever, and I must visit her. For
an hour, farewell."

This news caused consternation among the company, and in the general
confusion that followed its announcement Aziel joined Elissa, who had
passed on to the balcony of the house, and was seated there alone,
looking out over the moonlit city and the plains beyond. At his
approach she rose in token of respect, then sat herself down again,
motioning him to do likewise.

"Give me of your wisdom, lady," he said. "I thought that Baaltis was
the goddess whom I heard you worshipping yonder in the grove; how,
then, can she be stricken with a fever?"

"She is the goddess," Elissa answered smiling; "but the /lady/ Baaltis
is a woman whom we revere as the incarnation of that goddess upon
earth, and being but a woman in her hour she must die."

"Then, what becomes of the incarnation of the goddess?"

"Another is chosen by the college of the priests of El, and the
company of the priestesses of Baaltis. If that lady Baaltis who is
dead chances to leave a daughter, it is usual for the lot to fall upon
her; if not, upon such one of the noble maidens as may be chosen."

"Does the lady Baaltis marry, then?"

"Yes, Prince, within a year of her consecration, she must choose
herself a husband, and he may be whom she will, provided only that he
is of white blood, and does public sacrifice to El and Baaltis. Then
after she has named him, this husband takes the title of Shadid, and
for so long as his wife shall live he is the high priest of the god
El, and clothed with the majesty of the god, as his wife is clothed
with the majesty of Baaltis. But should she die, another wins his
place."

"It is a strange faith," said Aziel, "which teaches that the Lord of
Heaven can find a home in mortal breasts. But, lady, it is yours, so
of it I say no more. Now tell me, if you will, what did you mean when
you said that this barbarian king, Ithobal, set the savage whom I slew
to kidnap you? Do you know this, or do you suspect it only?"

"I suspected it from the first, Prince, and for good reasons;
moreover, I read it in the king's face as he looked upon the corpse,
and when he perceived me among the feasters."

"And why should he wish to carry you away this brutally, lady, when he
is at peace with the great city?"

"Perchance, Prince, after what passed to-night you can guess," she
answered lowering her eyes.

"Yes, lady, I can guess, and though it is shameful that such an one
should dare to think of you, still, since he is a man, I cannot blame
him overmuch. But why should he press his suit in this rough and
secret fashion instead of openly as a king might do?"

"He may have pressed it openly and been repulsed," she replied in a
low voice. "But if he could have carried me to some far fortress, how
should I flout him there, that is, if I still lived? There, with no
price to pay in gold or lands or power, he would have been my master,
and I should have been his slave till such time as he wearied of me.
That is the fate from which you have saved me, Prince, or rather from
death, for I am not one who could bear such shame at the hands of a
man I hate."

"Lady," he said bowing, "I think that perhaps for the first time in my
life I am glad to-night that I was born."

"And I," she answered, "who am but a Phœnician maiden, am glad that I
should have lived to hear one who is as royal in thought and soul as
he is in rank speak thus to me. Oh! Prince," she added, clasping her
hands, "if your words are not those of empty courtesy alone, hear me,
for you are great, a Lord of the Earth whom none refuse, and it may be
in your power to give me aid. Prince, I am in a sore strait, for that
danger from which I prayed to be delivered this night presses me hard.
Prince, it is true that Ithobal has been refused my hand, both by
myself and by my father, and therefore it was that he strove to steal
me away. But the evil is not done with, for the great nobles of the
city and the chief priests of El came to my father at sunset and
prayed him that he would let Ithobal take me, seeing that otherwise in
his rage he will make war upon Zimboe. When a man placed as is my
father must choose between the safety of thousands and the honour and
happiness of one poor girl, what will his answer be, think you?"

"Now," said Aziel, "save that no wrong can right a wrong, I almost
grieve that I cried shame upon the counsel of Metem. Sweet lady, be
sure of this, that I will give all I have, even to my life, to protect
you from the vile fate you dread--yes, all I have--except my soul."

"Ah!" she cried with a sudden flash of her dark eyes, "all except your
soul. If we women could find the man who would risk both life and soul
for us, then, were he but a slave, we would worship him as never man
was worshipped since Baaltis mounted her heavenly throne."

"Were I not a Hebrew you would tempt me, lady," Aziel answered
smiling, "but being one I may not risk my soul even were such a prize
within my reach."

"Nay, Prince," she broke in, "I did but jest; forget my words, for
they were wrung from a heart torn with fears. Oh! did you know the
terror of this half-savage Ithobal which oppresses me, you would
forgive me all--a terror that to-night lies upon me with a tenfold
weight."

"Why so, lady?"

"Doubtless because it is nearer," Elissa whispered, but her beautiful
pleading eyes and quivering lips seemed to belie her words and say,
"because /you/ are near, and a change has come upon me."

For the second time that day Aziel's glance met hers, and for the
second time a strange new pang that was more pain than joy, and yet
half-divine, snatched at his heart-strings, for a while numbing his
reason and taking from him the power of speech.

"What was it?" he wondered vaguely. He had seen many lovely faces, and
many noble women had shown him favour, but why had none of them
stirred him thus? Could it be that this stranger Gentile maiden was
his soul-mate--she whom he was destined to love above all upon the
earth, nay, whom he did already love, and so soon?

"Lady," he said, taking a step towards her, "lady----" and he paused.

Elissa bowed her dark head till her gold-bedecked and scented hair
almost fell upon his feet, but she made no answer.

Then another voice broke upon the silence, a clear, strident voice
that said:--

"Prince, forgive me, if for the second time to-day I disturb you; but
the guests have gone; your chamber is made ready, and, not knowing the
customs of the women of this country, I sought you, little guessing
that, at such an hour, I should find you alone with one of them."

Aziel looked up, although there was no need for him to do so, for he
knew that voice well, to see the tall form of the Levite Issachar
standing before them, a cold light of anger shining in his eyes.

Elissa saw also, and, with some murmured words of farewell, she turned
and went, leaving them together.



CHAPTER IV

THE DREAM OF ISSACHAR

For a moment there was silence, which Aziel broke, saying:--

"It seems to me, Issachar, that you are somewhat over zealous for my
welfare."

"I think otherwise, Prince," replied the Levite sternly. "Did not your
grandsire give you into my keeping, and shall I not be faithful to my
trust, and to a higher duty than any which he could lay upon me?"

"Your meaning, Issachar?"

"It is plain, Prince; but I will set it out. The great king said to me
yonder in the hall of his golden palace at Jerusalem, 'To others, men
of war, I have given charge of the body of my grandson to keep him
safe. To you, Issachar the Levite, who have fostered him, I give
charge over his soul to keep it safe--a higher task, and more
difficult. Guard him, Issachar, from the temptation of strange
doctrines and the whisperings of strange gods, but guard him most of
all from the wiles of strange women who bow the knee to Baal, for such
are the gate of Gehenna upon earth, and those who enter by it shall
find their place in Tophet.'"

"Truly my grandsire speaks wisely on this matter as on all others,"
answered Aziel, "but still I do not understand."

"Then I will be more clear, Prince. How comes it that I find you alone
with this beautiful sorceress, this worshipper of the she-devil,
Baaltis, with whom you should scorn even to speak, except such words
as courtesy demands?"

"Is it then forbidden to me," asked Aziel angrily, "to talk with the
daughter of my host, a lady whom I chanced to save from death, of the
customs of her country and the mysteries of worship?"

"The mysteries of worship!" answered Issachar scornfully. "Ay! the
mysteries of the worship of that fair body of hers, that ivory chalice
filled with foulness--whereof, if a man drink, his faith shall be
rotted and his soul poisoned. The mysteries of that worship was it,
Prince, that caused you but now to lean towards this woman as though
to embrace her, with words of love burning in your heart if not
between your lips? Ah! these witches of Baaltis know their trade well;
they are full of evil gifts, and of the wisdom given to them by the
fiend they serve. With touch and sigh and look they can stir the blood
of youth, having much practice in the art, till it seethes within the
veins and drowns conscience in its flood.

"Nay, Prince, hear the truth," continued Issachar. "Till moonrise you
had never seen this woman, and now your quick blood is aflame, and you
love her. Deny it if you can--deny it on your honour and I will
believe you, for you are no liar."

Aziel thought for a moment and answered:--

"Issachar, you have no right to question me on this matter, yet since
you have adjured me by my honour, I will be open with you. I do not
know if I love this woman, who, as you say, is a stranger to me, but
it is true that my heart turns towards her like flowers to the sun.
Till to-day I had never seen her, yet when my eyes first fell upon her
face yonder in that accursed grove, it seemed to me that I had been
born only that I might find her. It seemed to me even that for ages I
had known her, that for ever she was mine and that I was hers. Read me
the riddle, Issachar? Is this but passion born of youth and the sudden
sight of a fair woman? That cannot be, for I have known others as
fair, and have passed through some such fires. Tell me, Issachar, you
who are old and wise and have seen much of the hearts of men, what is
this wave that overwhelms me?"

"What is it, Prince? It is witchery; it is the wile of Beelzebub
waiting to snatch your soul, and if you hearken to it you shall pass
through the fire--through the fire to Moloch, if not in the flesh,
then in the spirit, which is to all eternity. Oh! not in vain do I
fear for you, my son, and not without reason was I warned in a dream.
Listen: Last night, as I lay in my tent yonder upon the plain, I
dreamed that some danger overshadowed you, and in my sleep I prayed
that your destiny might be revealed to me. As I prayed thus, I heard a
voice saying, 'Issachar, you seek to learn the future; know then that
he who is dear to you shall be tried in the furnace indeed. Yes,
because of his great love and pity, he shall forswear his faith, and
with death and sorrow he shall pay the price of his sin.'

"Then I was troubled and besought Heaven that you, my son, might be
saved from this unknown temptation, but the voice answered me:--

"'Of their own will only can they who were one from the beginning be
held apart. Through good and ill let them work each other's woe or
weal. The goal is sure, but they must choose the road.'

"Now as I wondered what these dark sayings might mean, the gloom
opened and I saw you, Aziel, standing in a grove of trees, while
towards you with outstretched hands drew a veiled woman who bore upon
her brow the golden bow of Baaltis. Then fire raged about you, and in
the fire I beheld many things which I have forgotten, and moving
through it was the Prince of Death, who slew and slew and spared not.
So I awoke heavy at heart, knowing that there had fallen on me who
love you a shadow of doom to come."

In these latter days any educated man would set aside Issachar's wild
vision as the vapourings of a mind distraught. But Aziel lived in the
time of Solomon, when men of his nation guided their steps by the
light of prophecy, and believed that it was the Divine pleasure, by
means of dreams and wonders and through the mouths of chosen seers, to
declare the will of Jehovah upon earth. To this faith, indeed, we
still hold fast, at least so far as that period and people are
concerned, seeing that we acknowledge Isaiah, David, and their
company, to have been inspired from above. Of that company Issachar
the Levite was one, for to him, from his youth up, voices had spoken
in the watches of the night, and often he had poured his warnings and
denunciations into the ears of kings and peoples, telling them with no
uncertain voice of the consequences of sin and idolatry, and of
punishment to come. This Aziel, who had been his ward and pupil, knew
well, and therefore he did not mock at the priest's dream or set it
aside as naught, but bowed his head and listened.

"I am honoured indeed," he said with humility, "that the destiny of my
poor soul and body should be a thing of weight to those on high."

"Of your poor soul, Aziel?" broke in Issachar. "That soul of yours, of
which you speak so lightly, is of as great value in the eyes of Heaven
as that of any cherubim within its gates. The angels who fell were the
first and chiefest of the angels, and though now we are clad with
mortal shape in punishment of our sins, again redeemed and glorified
we can become among the mightiest of their hosts. Oh! my son, I
beseech you, turn from this woman while there yet is time, lest to you
her lips should be a cup of woe and your soul shall pay the price of
them, sharing the hell of the worshippers of Ashtoreth."

"It may be so," said Aziel; "but, Issachar, what said the voice? That
this, the woman of your dream and I were one from the beginning?
Issachar, you believe that the lady Elissa is she of whom the voice
spoke in your sleep and you bid me turn from her because she will
bring me sin and punishment. In truth, if I can, I will obey you,
since rather than forswear my faith, as your dream foretold, I would
die a hundred deaths. Nor do I believe that for any bribe of woman's
love I shall forswear it in act or thought. Yet if such things come
about it is fate that drives me on, not my will--and what man can flee
his fate? But even though this lady be she whom I am doomed to love,
you say that because she is heathen I must reject her. Shame upon the
thought, for if she is heathen it is through ignorance, and it may be
mine to change her heart. Because I stand in danger shall I suffer her
who, as you tell me, was one with me from the beginning, to be lost in
that hell of Baal of which you speak? Nay, your dream is false. I will
not renounce my faith, but rather will win her to share it, and
together we shall triumph, and that I swear to you, Issachar."

"Truly the evil one has many wiles," answered the Levite, "and I did
ill to tell you of my dream, seeing that it can be twisted to serve
the purpose of your madness. Have your will, Aziel, and reap the fruit
of it, but of this I warn you--that while I can find a way to thwart
it, never, Prince, shall you take that witch to your bosom to be the
ruin of your life and soul."

"Then, Issachar, on this matter there may be war between us!"

"Ay! there is war," said the Levite, and left him.

*****

The sun was already high in the heavens when Aziel awoke from the deep
and dreamless sleep which followed on the excitements and exhaustion
of the previous day. After his servants had waited upon him and robed
him, bringing him milk and fruit to eat, he dismissed them, and sat
himself down by the casement of his chamber to think a while.

Below him lay the city of flat-roofed houses enclosed with a double
wall, without the ring of which were thousands of straw huts, shaped
like bee-hives, wherein dwelt natives of the country, slaves or
servants of the occupying Phœnician race. To Aziel's right, and not
more than a hundred paces from the governor's house in which he was,
rose the round and mighty battlements of the temple, where the
followers of El and Baaltis worshipped, and the gold refiners carried
on their business. At intervals on its flat-topped walls stood towers
of observation, alternating with pointed monoliths of granite and
soapstone columns supporting vultures, rudely carved emblems of
Baaltis. Between these towers armed soldiers walked continually,
watching the city below and the plain beyond, for though the mission
of the Phœnicians here was one of peaceful gain it was evident that
they considered it necessary to be always prepared for war. On the
hillside above the great temple towered another fortress of stone--a
citadel deemed to be impregnable even should the temple fall into the
hands of an enemy--while on the crest of the precipitous slope,
stretching as far to right and left as the eye could reach, were many
smaller detached strongholds.

The scene that Aziel saw from his window was a busy one, for beneath
him a market was being held in an open square in the city. Here,
sheltered from the sun by grass-thatched booths, the Phœnician
merchants who had been his companions in their long and perilous
journey from the coast were already in treaty with numerous customers,
hoping, not in vain, to recoup themselves amply for the toils and
dangers which they had survived. Beneath these booths were spread
their goods; silks from Cos, bronze weapons and copper rods, or ingots
from the rich mines of Cyprus, linens and muslins from Egypt; beads,
idols, carven bowls, knives, glass ware, pottery in all shapes, and
charms made of glazed faience or Egyptian stone; bales of the famous
purple cloth of Tyre; surgical instruments, jewellery, and objects of
toilet; scents, pots of rouge, and other unguents for the use of
ladies in little alabaster and earthenware vases; bags of refined
salt, and a thousand other articles of commerce produced or stored in
the workshops of Phœnicia. These the chapmen bartered for raw gold by
weight, tusks of ivory, ostrich feathers, and girls of approved
beauty, slaves taken in war, or in some instances maidens whom their
unnatural parents or relatives did not scruple to sell into bondage.

In another portion of the square, provisions and stock, alive and
dead, were being offered for sale, for the most part by natives of the
country. Here were piles of vegetables and fruits grown in the
gardens, sacks of various sorts of grain, bundles of green forage from
the irrigated lands without the walls, calabashes full of curdled
milk, thick native beer and trusses of reed for thatching. Here again
were oxen, mules and asses, or great bucks such as we now know as
eland or kudoo, carried in on rough litters of boughs to be disposed
of by parties of savage huntsmen who had shot them with arrows or
trapped them in pitfalls. Every Eastern tribe and nation seemed to be
represented in the motley crowd. Yonder stalked savages, naked except
for their girdles, and armed with huge spears, who gazed with
bewilderment on the wonders of this mart of the white man; there moved
grave, long-bearded Arab merchants or Phœnicians in their pointed
caps, or bare-headed white-robed Egyptians, or half-bred mercenaries
clad in mail. Their variety was without end, while from them came a
very babel of different tongues as they cried their wares, bargained
and quarrelled.

Aziel gazed at this novel sight with interest, till, as he was
beginning to weary of it, the crowd parted to right and left, leaving
a clear lane across the market-place to the narrow gate of the temple.
Along this lane advanced a procession of the priests of El clad in red
robes, with tall red caps upon their heads, beneath which their
straight hair hung down to their shoulders. In their hands were gilded
rods, and round their necks hung golden chains, to which were attached
emblems of the god they worshipped. They walked two-and-two to the
number of fifty, chanting a melancholy dirge, one hand of each priest
resting upon his fellow's shoulder, and as they passed, with the
exception of certain Jews, all the spectators uncovered, while some of
the more pious of them even fell upon their knees.

After the priests came a second procession, that of the priestesses of
Baaltis. These women, who numbered at least a hundred, were clad in
white, and wore upon their heads a gauze-like veil that fell to the
knees, and was held in place by a golden fillet surmounted with the
symbol of a crescent moon. Instead of the golden rods, however, each
of them held in her left hand a growing stalk of maize, from the
sheathed cob of which hung the bright tassel of its bloom. On her
right wrist, moreover, a milk-white dove was fastened by a wire, both
corn and dove being tokens of that fertility which, under various
guises, was the real object of worship of these people. The sight of
these white-veiled women about whose crescent-decked brows the doves
fluttered, wildly striving to be free, was very strange and beautiful
as they advanced also singing a low and melancholy chant. Aziel
searched their faces with his eyes while they passed slowly towards
him, and presently his heart bounded, for there among them, clasping
the dove she bore to her breast, as though to still its frightened
strugglings, was the Lady Elissa. He noticed, too, that as she went
beneath the palace walls, she glanced at the window-place of his
chamber, but without seeing him for he was seated in the shadow.

Presently the long line of priestesses, followed by hundreds of
worshippers, had vanished through the tortuous and narrow entrance of
the temple, and Aziel leaned back to think.

There, among the principal votaries of a goddess, the wickedness of
whose worship was a scandal and a by-word even in the ancient world,
walked the woman to whom he felt so strangely drawn and with whom, if
there were any truth in the visions of Issachar and the mysterious
warnings of his own soul, his fate was intertwined. As he thought of
it a sudden revulsion filled his heart. She was wise and beautiful,
and she seemed innocent, but Issachar was right; this girl was the
minister of an abominable creed; nay, for aught he knew, she was
herself defiled with its abominations, and her wisdom but an evil gift
from the evil powers she served. Could he, a prince of the royal blood
of the House of Israel and of the ancient Pharaohs of Khem, desire to
have anything to do with such an one, he a child of the Chosen People,
a worshipper of the true and only God? Yesterday she had thrown a
spell upon him, a spell of black magic, or the spell of her imperial
beauty, which, it mattered not, but to-day he was the lord of his own
mind, and would shake himself free of it and her.

*****

In the market-place below, the Levite Issachar also had watched the
passing of the priests and priestesses of El and Baaltis.

"Tell me, Metem," he asked of the Phœnician who stood beside him, his
head respectfully uncovered, "what mummery is this?"

"It is no mummery, worthy Issachar, but a ceremony of public
sacrifice, which is to be offered in the temple yonder, for the
recovery from her sickness of the Lady Baaltis, the high-priestess."

"Where then is the offering. I see none, unless it be those doves that
are tied to the wrists of the women?"

"Nay, Issachar," answered Metem smiling darkly, "the gods ask nobler
blood than that of doves. The offering is within, and it is the first-
born child of a priestess of Baaltis."

"O Lord of Heaven!" said Issachar lifting up his eyes, "how long will
you suffer that this murderous and accursed race should defile the
face of earth?"

"Softly, friend," broke in Metem, "I have read your Scriptures, and is
it not set out in them that your great forefather was commanded to
offer up his first-born in such a sacrifice?"

"Blaspheme not," answered the Jew. "He was commanded indeed, that his
heart might be proved, but his hand was stayed. He Whom I worship
delights not in the blood of children."

Here Issachar broke off, suddenly recognising the lady Elissa among
the white-robed priestesses. Watching her, he noted her glance at the
window of Aziel's chamber, and saw what she could not see, that the
prince was seated there. "This daughter of Satan spreads her nets," he
muttered between his teeth. Then a thought struck him, and he added
aloud, "Say, Metem, is it permitted to strangers to witness the rites
in yonder temple?"

"Surely," answered the Phœnician; "that is, if they guard their
tongues, and do nothing to offend."

"Then I desire to see them, Metem, and so doubtless does the prince
Aziel. Therefore, if it is your will, do me the service to enter his
chamber in the palace where he is sitting, and bid him to a great
ceremony that goes forward in the temple. And, Metem, if he asks what
that ceremony is, I charge you, say only that a dove is to be
sacrificed.

"I will wait for you at the gate of the temple, but do not tell him
that I send you on this errand. Metem, you love gain; remember that if
you humour me in this and other matters which may arise, doing my
bidding faithfully, I have the treasury of Jerusalem to draw upon."

"No ill paymaster," replied Metem cheerfully. "Certainly I will obey
you in all things, holy Issachar, as the king commanded me yonder in
Judea."

"Now," he reflected to himself, as he went upon his message, "I see
how the bird flies. The prince Aziel is in love with the lady Elissa,
or far upon the road to it, as at his age it is right and proper that
he should be, after a twelve months' journey by sea and land with
never a pretty face to sigh for. The holy Issachar, on the other hand,
is minded that his charge shall have naught to do with a priestess of
Baaltis, as, his age and calling considered, is also right and proper.
Then there is that black savage Ithobal, who wishes to win the girl,
and the girl herself, who after the fashion of her sex, will probably
play them all off one against the other. Well, so much the better for
me, since I shall be a richer man even than I am before this affair is
done with. I have two hands, and gold is gold whoever be the giver,"
and smiling craftily to himself Metem passed into the palace.



CHAPTER V

THE PLACE OF SACRIFICE

Suddenly Aziel, looking up from his reverie, saw the Phœnician bowing
before him, cap in hand.

"May the Prince live for ever," he said, "yet if he suffer melancholy
to overcome him thus, his life, however long, will be but sad."

"I was only thinking, Metem," answered Aziel with a start.

"Of the lady Elissa, whom you rescued, Prince? Ah! I guessed as much.
She is beautiful, is she not--I have never seen the equal of those
dreamy eyes and that mysterious smile--and learned also, though
myself, in a woman I prefer the beauty without the learning. It is a
pity now that she should chance to be a priestess of our worship, for
that will not please the holy Issachar whom, I fear, Prince, you find
a stern guide for the feet of youth."

"Your business, merchant?" broke in Aziel.

"I crave your pardon, Prince," answered the Phœnician, spreading out
his hands in deprecation. "I struck a good bargain for my wares this
morning, and drank wine to seal it, therefore, let me be forgiven if I
have spoken too freely in your presence, Prince. This is my business:
Yonder in the temple they celebrate a service which it is lawful for
strangers to witness, and as the opportunity is rare, I thought that,
having heard something of our mysteries in the grove last night, you
might wish to see the office. If this be so, I am come to guide you."

"Aziel's first impulse was to refuse to go; indeed, the words of
dismissal were on his lips when another purpose entered his mind. For
this once he would look upon these abominations and learn what part
Elissa played in them, and thus be cured for ever of the longings that
had seized him.

"What is the ceremony?" he asked.

"A sacrifice for the recovery of the lady Baaltis who is sick,
Prince."

"And what is the sacrifice?" asked Aziel.

"A dove, as I am told," was the indifferent answer.

"I will come with you, Metem."

"So be it, Prince. Your retinue awaits you at the gate."

At the main entrance to the palace Aziel found his guard and other
servants gathered there to escort him. With them was Issachar, whom he
greeted, asking him if he knew the errand upon which they were bent.

"I do, Prince; it is to witness the abomination of a sacrifice of
these heathens."

"Will you then accompany me there, Issachar?"

"Where my lord goes I go," answered the Levite gravely. "Moreover,
Prince, if you have your reasons for wishing to see this devil-
worship, I may have mine."

Then they set out, Metem guiding them. At the north gate of the
temple, which was not more than a yard in width, the Phœnician spoke
to the guards on duty, who drew back to let them pass. In single file,
for the passages were too narrow to allow of any other means of
progression, they threaded the tortuous and mazy paths of the great
building, passing between huge walls built of granite blocks laid
without mortar, till at length they reached a large open space. Here
the ceremony had already begun. Almost in the centre of this space,
which was paved with blocks of granite, stood two conical towers, the
larger of which measured thirty feet in height and the smaller about
half as much. These towers, also build of blocks of stone, were, as
Metem informed them, sacred to and emblematical of the gods El and
Baaltis. In front of them was a platform surmounted by a stone altar,
and between them, built in a pit in the ground, burned a great furnace
of wood. All the centre of the enclosure was occupied by the
marshalled ranks of the priests and priestesses. Without this sacred
ring stood the closely packed masses of spectators, amongst whom Aziel
and his following were given place, though some of the more pious
worshippers murmured audibly at the admission of these Jews.

When they entered, the companies of priests and priestesses were
finishing a prayer, the sentences of which they chanted alternately
with strange effect. In part it was formal, and in part an improvised
supplication to the protecting gods to restore health to that woman or
high-priestess who was known as the lady Baaltis. The prayer ended, a
beautiful bold-faced girl advanced to an open space in front of the
altar, and with a sudden movement threw off her white robe, revealing
herself to the spectators in a many-coloured garment of gauze, through
which her fair flesh gleamed.

The black hair of this woman was adorned with a coronet of scarlet
flowers and hung loose about her; her feet and arms were naked, and in
each hand she held a knife of bronze. Very slowly she began to dance,
her painted lips parted as though to speak, and her eyes, brightened
with pigments, turned up to heaven. By degrees her movements grew more
rapid, till at length, as she whirled round, her long locks streamed
out straight upon the air and the crown of flowers looked like a
scarlet ring. Suddenly the bronze knife in her right hand flashed, and
a spot of red appeared above her left breast; then the knife in the
left hand flashed, and another spot appeared over the right breast. At
each stroke the multitude cried, "/Ah!/" as with one voice, and then
were silent.

Now the maddened dancer, ceasing her whirlings, leapt high into the
air, clashing the knives above her head and crying, "Hear me, hear me,
Baaltis!"

Again she leapt, and this time the answer that came from her lips was
spoken in another voice, which said, "I am present. What seek you?"

A third time the priestess leapt, replying in her own voice, "Health
for thy servant who is sick." Then came the answer in the second voice
--"I hear you, but I see no sacrifice."

"What sacrifice would'st thou, O Queen? A dove?"

"Nay."

"What then, Queen?"

"One only, the first-born child of a woman."

As this command, which they supposed to be divine and from above,
issued out of the lips of the gashed and bleeding Pythoness, the
multitude that hitherto had listened in perfect silence, shouted
aloud, while the girl herself, utterly exhausted, fell to the earth
swooning.

Now the high priest of El, who was named the Shadid, none other indeed
than the husband of her who lay sick, sprang upon the platform and
cried:--

"The goddess has spoken by the mouth of her oracle. She who is the
mother of all demands one life out of the many she has given, that the
Lady Baaltis, who is her priestess upon earth, may be recovered of her
sickness. Say, who will lay down a life for the honour of the goddess,
and that her regent in this land may be saved alive?"

Now--for all this scene had been carefully prepared--a woman stepped
forward, wearing the robe of a priestess, who bore in her arms a
drugged and sleeping child.

"I, father," she cried in a shrill, hard voice, though her lips
trembled as she spoke. "Let the goddess take this child, the first-
fruit of my body, that our mother the Lady Baaltis may be cured of her
sickness, and that I, her daughter, may be blessed by the goddess, and
through me, all we who worship her." And she held out the little
victim towards him.

The Shadid stretched out his arms to take it, but he never did take
it, for at that moment appeared upon the platform the tall and bearded
figure of Issachar clad in his white robes.

"Hold!" he cried in a loud, clear voice, "and touch not the innocent
child. Spawn of Satan, would you do murder to appease the devils whom
you worship? Well shall they repay you, people of Zimboe. Oh! mine
eyes are open and I see," he went on, shaking his thin arms above his
head in a prophetic frenzy. "I see the sword of the true God, and it
flames above this city of idolaters and abominations. I see this place
of sacrifice, and I tell you that before the moon is young again it
shall run red with the blood of you, idol worshippers, and of you,
women of the groves. The heathen is at your gates, ye followers of
demons, and my God sends them as He sends the locusts of the north
wind to devour you like grass, to sweep you away like the dust of the
desert. Cry then upon El and Baaltis, and let El and Baaltis save you
if they can. Doom is upon you; Azrael, angel of death, writes his name
upon your foreheads, every one of you, giving your city to the owls,
your bodies to the jackals, and your souls to Satan----"

Thus far the priests and the spectators had listened to Issachar's
denunciations in bewildered amazement not unmixed with fear. Now with
a roar of wrath they awoke, and suddenly he was dragged from the
platform by a score of hands and struck down with many blows. Indeed,
he would then and there have been torn to pieces had not a guard of
soldiers, knowing that he was Sakon's guest and in the train of the
prince Aziel, snatched him from the maddened multitude, and borne him
swiftly to a place of safety without the enclosure.

While the tumult was at its height, a Phœnician, who had arrived in
the temple breathless with haste, might have been seen to pluck Metem
by the sleeve.

"What is it?" Metem asked of the man, who was his servant.

"This: the lady Baaltis is dead. I watched as you bade me, and, as she
had promised to do, in token of the end, her woman waved a napkin from
the casement of that tower where she lies."

"Do any know of this?"

"None."

"Then say no word of it," and Metem hurried off in search of Aziel.

Presently he found him seeking for Issachar in company with his
guards.

"Have no fear, Prince," Metem said, in answer to his eager questions,
"he is safe enough, for the soldiers have borne the fool away. Pardon
me that I should speak thus of a holy man, but he has put all our
lives in danger."

"I do not pardon you," answered Aziel hotly, "and I honour Issachar
for his act and words. Let us begone from this accursed place whither
you entrapped me."

Before Metem could reply a voice cried, "Close the doors of the
sanctuary, so that none can pass in or go out, and let the sacrifice
be offered."

"Listen, Prince," said Metem, "you must stay here till the ceremony is
done."

"Then I tell you, Phœnician," answered Aziel, "that rather than suffer
that luckless child to be butchered before my eyes I will cut my way
to it with my guards, and rescue it alive."

"To leave yourself dead in place of it," answered Metem sarcastically;
"but, see, a woman desires to speak with you," and he pointed to a
girl in the robe of a priestess, whose face was hidden with a veil,
and who, in the tumult and confusion, had worked her way to Aziel.

"Prince," whispered the veiled form, "I am Elissa. For your life's
sake keep still and silent, or you will be stabbed, for your words
have been overheard, and the priests are mad at the insult that has
been put upon them."

"Away with you, woman," answered Aziel; "what have I to do with a girl
of the groves and a murderess of children?"

She winced at his bitter words, but said quietly:--

"Then on your own head be your blood, Prince, which I have risked much
to keep unshed. But before you die, learn that I knew nothing of this
foul sacrifice, and that gladly would I give my own life to save that
of yonder child."

"Save it, and I will believe you," answered the prince, turning from
her.

Elissa slipped away, for she saw that the priestesses, her companions,
were reforming their ranks, and that she must not tarry. When she had
gone a few yards, a hand caught her by the sleeve, and the voice of
Metem, who had overheard something of this talk, whispered in her
ear:--

"Daughter of Sakon, what will you give me if I show you a way to save
the life of the child, and with it that of the prince, and at the same
time to make him think well of you again?"

"All my jewels and ornaments of gold, and they are many," she answered
eagerly.

"Good; it is a bargain. Now listen: The lady Baaltis is dead; she died
a few minutes since, and none here know it save myself and one other,
my servant, nor can any learn it, for the gates are shut. Do you be,
therefore, suddenly inspired--of the gods--and say so, for then the
sacrifice must cease, seeing that she for whom it was to be offered is
dead. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she answered, "and though the blasphemy bring on me
the vengeance of Baaltis, yet it shall be dared. Fear not, your pay is
good," and she pressed forward to her place, keeping the veil wrapped
about her head till she reached it unobserved, for in the general
confusion none had noticed her movements.

When the noise of shouting and angry voices had at length died away,
and the spectators were driven back outside the sacred circle, the
priest upon the platform cried:--

"Now that the Jew blasphemer has gone, let the sacrifice be offered,
as is decreed."

"Yea, let the sacrifice be offered," answered the multitude, and once
more the woman with the sleeping child stepped forward. But before the
priest could take it another figure approached him, that of Elissa,
with arms outstretched and eyes upturned.

"Hold, O priest!" she said, "for the goddess, breathing on my brow,
inspires me, and I have a message from the goddess."

"Draw near, daughter, and speak it in the ears of men," the priest
answered wondering, for he found it hard to believe in such
inspiration, and indeed would have denied her a hearing had he dared.

So Elissa climbed the platform, and standing upon it still with
outstretched hands and upturned face, she said in a clear voice:--

"The goddess refuses the sacrifice, since she has taken to herself her
for whom it was to have been offered--the Lady Baaltis is dead."

At this tidings a groan went up from the people, partly of grief for
the loss of a spiritual dignitary who was popular, and partly of
disappointment because now the sacrifice could not be offered. For the
Phœnicians loved these horrible spectacles, which were not, however,
commonly celebrated by daylight and in the presence of the people.

"It is a lie," cried a voice, "but now the Lady Baaltis was living."

"Let the gates be opened, and send to see whether or no I lie," said
Elissa, quietly.

Then for a while there was silence while a priest went upon the
errand. At length he was seen returning. Pushing his way through the
crowd, he mounted the platform, and said:--

"The daughter of Sakon speaks truth; alas! the lady Baaltis is dead."

Elissa sighed in relief, for had her tidings proved false she could
scarcely have hoped to escape the fury of the crowd.

"Ay!" she cried, "she is dead, as I told you, and because of your sin,
who would have offered human sacrifice in public, against the custom
of our faith and city and without the command of the goddess."

*****

Then in sullen silence the priests and priestesses reformed their
ranks, and departed from the sanctuary, whence they were followed by
the spectators, the most of them in no good mood, for they had been
baulked of the promised spectacle.



CHAPTER VI

THE HALL OF AUDIENCE

When Elissa reached her chamber after the break up of the procession,
she threw herself upon her couch, and burst into a passion of tears.
Well might she weep, for she had been false to her oath as a
priestess, uttering as a message from the goddess that which she had
learnt from the lips of man. More, she could not rid herself of the
remembrance of the scorn and loathing with which the Prince Aziel had
looked upon her, or of the bitter insult of his words when he called
her, "a girl of the groves, and a murderess of children."

It chanced that, so far as Elissa was concerned, these charges were
utterly untrue. None could throw a slur upon her, and as for these
rare human sacrifices, she loathed the very name of them, nor, unless
forced to it, would she have been present had she guessed that any
such offering was intended.

Like most of the ancient religions, that of the Phœnicians had two
sides to it--a spiritual and a material side. The spiritual side was a
worship of the far-off unknown divinity, symbolised by the sun, moon
and planets, and visible only in their majestic movements, and in the
forces of nature. To this Elissa clung, knowing no truer god, and from
those forces she strove to wring their secret, for her heart was deep.
Lonely invocations to the goddess beneath the light of the moon
appealed to her, for from them she seemed to draw strength and
comfort, but the outward ceremonies of her faith, or the more secret
and darker of them, of which in practice she knew little, were already
an abomination in her eyes. And now what if the Jew prophet spoke
truly? What if this creed of hers were a lie, root and branch, and
there did lie in the heavens above a Lord and Father who heard and
answered the prayers of men, and who did not seek of them the blood of
the children He had given?

A great doubt took hold of Elissa and shook her being, and with the
doubt came hope. How was it--if her faith were true--that when she
took the name of the goddess in vain, nothing had befallen her? She
desired to learn more of this matter, but who was to teach her? The
Levite turned from her with loathing as from a thing unclean, and
there remained, therefore, but the prince Aziel, who had put her from
him with those bitter words of scorn. Ah! why did they pain her so,
piercing her heart as with a spear? Was it because--because--he had
grown dear to her? Yes, that was the truth. She had learned it even as
he cursed her; all her quick southern blood was alight with a new
fire, the like of which she had never known before. And not her blood
only, it was her spirit--her spirit that yearned to his. Had it not
leapt within her at the first sight of him as to one most dear, one
long-lost and found again? She loved him, and he loathed her, and oh!
her lot was hard.

As Elissa lay brooding thus in her pain, the door opened and Sakon,
her father, hurried into the chamber.

"What is it that chanced yonder?" he asked, for he had not been
present in the sanctuary, "and, daughter, why do you weep?"

"I weep, father, because your guest, the prince Aziel, has called me
'a girl of the groves, and a murderess of children,'" she replied.

"Then, by my head, prince that he is, he shall answer for it to me,"
said Sakon, grasping at his sword-hilt.

"Nay, father, since to him I must have seemed to deserve the words.
Listen." And she told him all that had passed, hiding nothing.

"Now it seems that trouble is heaped upon trouble," said the Phœnician
when she had finished, "and they were mad who suffered the prince and
that fierce Issachar to be present at the sacrifice. Daughter, I tell
you this: though I am a worshipper of El and Baaltis, as my fathers
were before me, I know that Jehovah of the Jews is a great and
powerful Lord, and that His prophets do not prophesy falsely, for I
have seen it in my youth, yonder in the coasts of Sidon. What did
Issachar say? That before the moon was young again, this temple should
run red with blood? Well, so it may happen, for Ithobal threatens war
against us, and for your sake, my daughter."

"How for my sake, father?" she asked heavily, as one who knew what the
answer would be.

"You know well, girl. Ever since you danced before him at the great
welcoming feast I made in his honour a month ago the man is besotted
of you; moreover, he is mad with jealousy of this new-comer, the
prince Aziel. He has demanded public audience of me this afternoon,
and I have it privately that then he will formally ask you in marriage
before the people, and if he is refused will declare war upon the
city, with which he has many an ancient quarrel. Yes, yes, king
Ithobal is that sword of God which the Jew said he saw hanging over
us, and should it fall it will be because of you, Elissa."

"The Jew did not say that, father; he said it would be because of the
sins of the people and their idolatries."

"What does it matter what he said?" broke in Sakon hastily. "How shall
I answer Ithobal?"

"Tell him," she replied with a strange smile, "that he does wisely to
be jealous of the prince Aziel."

"What! Of the stranger who this very day reviled you in words of such
shame, and so soon?" asked her father astonished.

Elissa did not speak in answer; she only looked straight before her,
and nodded her head.

"Had ever man such a daughter?" Sakon went on in petulant dismay.
"Truly it is a wise saying which tells that women love those best who
beat them, be it with the tongue or with the fist. Not but what I
would gladly see you wedded to a prince of Israel and of Egypt rather
than of this half-bred barbarian, but the legions of Solomon and of
Pharaoh are far away, whereas Ithobal has a hundred thousand spears
almost at our gate."

"There is no need to speak of such things, father," she said, turning
aside, "since, even were I willing, the prince would have nought to do
with me, who am a priestess of Baaltis."

"The matter of religion might be overcome," suggested Sakon; "but, no,
for many reasons it is impossible. Well, this being so, daughter, I
may answer Ithobal that you will wed him."

"I!" she said; "I wed that black-hearted savage? My father, you may
answer what you will, but of this be sure, that I will go to my grave
before I pass as wife to the board of Ithobal."

"Oh! my daughter," pleaded Sakon, "think before you say it. As his
wife at least you, who are not of royal blood, will be a queen, and
the mother of kings. But if you refuse, then either I must force you,
which is hateful to me, or there will be such a war as the city has
not known for generations, for Ithobal and his tribes have many
grievances against us. By the gift of yourself, for a while, at any
rate, you can, as it chances, make peace between us, but if that is
withheld, then blood will run in rivers, and perhaps this city, with
all who live in it, will be destroyed, or at the least its trade must
be ruined and its wealth stolen away."

"If it is decreed that all these things are to be, they will be,"
answered Elissa calmly, "seeing that this war has threatened us for
many years, and that a woman must think of herself first, and of the
fate of cities afterwards. Of my own free will I shall never take
Ithobal for husband. Father, I have said."

"Of the fate of cities, yes; but how of my fate, and that of those we
love? Are we all to be ruined, and perhaps slaughtered, to satisfy
your whim, girl?"

"I did not say so, father. I said that of my own free will I would not
wed Ithobal. If you choose to give me to him you have the right to do
it, but know then that you give me to my death. Perhaps it is best
that it should be thus."

Sakon knew his daughter well, and it did not need that he should
glance at her face to learn that she meant her words. Also he loved
her, his only child, more dearly than anything on earth.

"In truth my strait is hard, and I know not which way to turn," he
said, covering his face with his hand.

"Father," she replied, laying her fingers lightly on his shoulder,
"what need is there to answer him at once? Take a month, or if he will
not give it, a week. Much may happen in that time."

"The counsel is wise," he said, catching at this straw. "Daughter, be
in the great hall of audience with your attendants three hours after
noon, for then we must receive Ithobal boldly in all pomp, and deal
with him as best we may. And now I go to ask peace for the Levite from
the priests of El, and to discover whom the sacred colleges desire to
nominate as the new Baaltis. Doubtless it will be Mesa, the daughter
of her who is dead, though many are against her. Oh! if there were no
priests and no women, this city would be easier to govern," and with
an impatient gesture Sakon left the room.

****

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and the great hall of audience
in Zimboe was crowded with a brilliant assemblage. There sat Sakon,
the governor, and with him his council of the notables of the city;
there were prince Aziel and among his retinue, Issachar the prophet,
fierce-eyed as ever, though hardly recovered from the rough handling
he had experienced in the temple. There were representatives of the
college of the priests of El. There were many ladies, wives and
daughters of dignitaries and wealthy citizens, and with them a great
crowd of spectators of all classes gathered in the lower part of the
hall, for a rumour had spread about that the farewell audience given
by Sakon to King Ithobal was likely to be stormy.

When all were gathered, a herald announced that Ithobal, King of the
Tribes, waited to take his leave of Sakon, Governor of Zimboe, before
departing to his own land on the morrow.

"Let him be admitted," said Sakon, who looked weary and ill at ease.
Then as the herald bowed and left, he turned and whispered something
into the ear of his daughter Elissa, who stood behind his chair, her
face immovable as that of an Egyptian Sphinx, but magnificently
apparelled in gleaming robes and jewelled ornaments--which Metem,
looking on them, reflected with satisfaction were now his property.

Presently, preceded by a burst of savage music, Ithobal entered. He
was gorgeously arrayed in a purple Tyrian robe decked with golden
chains, while on the brow, in token of his royalty, he wore a golden
circlet in which was set a single blood-red stone. Before him walked a
sword-bearer carrying a sword of ceremony, a magnificent ivory-handled
weapon encrusted with rough gems and inlaid with gold, while behind
him, clad in barbaric pomp, marched a number of counsellors and
attendants, huge and half-savage men who glared wonderingly at the
splendour of the place and its occupants. As the king came, Sakon rose
from his chair of state and, advancing down the hall, took him by the
hand and led him to a similar chair placed at a little distance.

Ithobal seated himself and looked around the hall. Presently his
glance fell upon Aziel, and he scowled.

"Is it common, Sakon," he asked, "that the seat of a prince should be
set higher than that of a crowned king?" And he pointed to the chair
of Aziel, which was placed a little above his own upon the daïs.

The governor was about to answer when Aziel said coldly:--

"Where it was pointed out to me that I should sit, there I sat,
though, for aught I care, the king Ithobal may take my place. The
grandson of Pharaoh and of Solomon does not need to dispute for
precedence with the savage ruler of savage tribes."

Ithobal sprang to his feet and cried, grasping his sword:--

"By my father's soul, you shall answer for this, Princelet."

"You should have sworn by your mother's soul, King Ithobal," replied
Aziel quietly, "for doubtless it is the black blood in your veins that
causes you to forget your courtesy. For the rest, I answer to no man
save to my king."

"Yet there is one other who will make you answer," replied Ithobal, in
a voice thick with rage, "and here he is," and he drew his sword and
flashed it before the prince's eyes. "Or if you fear to face him, then
the wands of my slaves shall cause you to cry me pardon."

"If you desire to challenge me to combat, king Ithobal, for this
purpose only I am your servant, though the fashion of your challenging
is not that of any nation which I know."

Before Ithobal could reply, Sakon cried out in a loud voice:--

"Enough, enough! Is this a place for brawling, king Ithobal, and would


 


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