Then ensued, between the two, a hot discussion or dispute, though those within the wood were too far away to understand its purport. The man advanced again and again in a threatening manner towards the girl, who as often retreated a short distance up the slope; then, each time, turned and faced her adversary.
Suddenly, the man seemed to give way to a burst of fury; with a gesture whose murderous import there was no possibility of mistaking, he drew his dagger from its sheath, and tried to seize the girl; but she, eluding him, turned and ran farther up the slope. The man followed, and coming up with her, seized her by the wrist, and raised the hand that held the dagger.
At this moment Monella stepped out from the wood and called loudly to the assailant, at the same time holding up his hand in warning; but Elwood, revolver in hand, rushed forward in advance of him, and levelled the pistol at the moment when the blade was poised in the air and was about to be plunged into the bosom of the girl, who had now fallen upon her knees. He was only just in time; for the weapon had already commenced its fatal downward sweep when the report rang out; the murderer’s arm gave a jerk that cast the dagger a distance of some yards, and the man himself fell backwards with a bullet through his heart.
Elwood hastened to the assistance of the girl, who swayed as though about to faint; but the sight of the strangers seemed to rouse her, for she rose to her feet and stood regarding them with wondering and evidently doubtful looks. Then she turned her glance upon the dead man, and shuddered at the thought of the death she had so narrowly escaped. Looking once more at the three who now stood in a group a short distance from her – for Elwood had drawn back on seeing her rise to her feet – she drew herself up with a charming dignity and grace, and, to the surprise of the two young men, asked, in the language Monella had taught them,
“Who are you?”
The words were intelligible enough. The inflection, the accent, or the exact pronunciation, may have been slightly different from Monella’s, but the words rang out clear enough.
“Who are you?”
Monella stepped a pace or two towards her. His lofty form seemed to grow in dignity the while he bent his gaze upon her; and, looking up into his face, she could scarcely fail to read the true meaning of the glance she met. She felt its extraordinary fascination, and yielded to its influence, as so many had before. Her confidence went out to him at once; and her look, that for the moment had been proud and distrustful, softened into one of friendly interest. She bowed her head as though in involuntary respect – the respect a dutiful child might show to a parent – and spoke again; this time varying the form of her question: —
“My father, whence come you?”
“We are strangers from far countries, my daughter,” Monella made reply. “We came here in peaceful and friendly intent, but fate has so ordered it that our arrival has been marked by the shedding of blood. Still, though of that I am deeply regretful in one way, I cannot pretend to be sorry, if, as I see reason to believe, it has saved your young life.”
“Truly it has, and I thank you; and the king, my father, will thank you too; though I know not by what marvel it was accomplished, nor by what other marvel ye have come here, you who wield the lightning and the thunder, who hold men’s lives in the hollows of your hands, and yet speak our language.”
“Time enough to explain that, anon, my child,” was Monella’s answer. “For the moment we must know what yonder people are about to do. Their intentions seem scarcely to be friendly.”
This referred to the small company of guards or soldiers, who were being harangued by one who appeared to be their officer, and who, when he had ended his speech, formed them into line, as though for a charge upon the strangers.
The girl turned round and looked at them; and, doing so, her face grew pale.
“Alas, yes!” she exclaimed. “I had forgotten them for the moment. They are the special soldiers of Zelus whom ye have slain; and their officer will seek to carry you all before the father of Zelus, the dread High Priest. His vengeance will be cruel and terrible, if you fall into his power; but, if we could but get back to my father’s palace, you would be safe; for he would protect you for my sake – for the sake of what ye have done for me to-day. But alas! How can that be? They are many and ye are but three. Ye have not even swords or spears – unless, indeed, ye can serve them as ye have served this one.”
“Fear nothing for us, my daughter. We can truly serve these others in the same way, if the necessity unfortunately should arise. But we seek it not; we have come here, as I have told you, with peaceful intentions, and we have no wish to signalise our arrival by further bloodshed. Will you not, yourself, speak to these foolish people, and warn them not to rush upon destruction? Tell them we are powerful, and that, in your own words, we hold their lives in the hollows of our hands. If they will depart in peace, they may, and bear with them the body of their chief; but, if they dare approach with hostile intent, then shall they fall before us, ere even they have time to come a dozen paces, even as men are struck down by lightning. Tell them this, and urge them to be friendly; for we are not of the nature of those who take delight in slaying. To us, to slay is easy, but abhorrent.”
The girl heard this with increasing wonder. She viewed the rifles (which all three were now handling) with a curiosity she did not care to hide. She took them for some sort of magic wands.
“I will perform your wish,” she said, “but I doubt my power to stay them, for they are men used to working their own will, and now they seek your lives in revenge for this man’s death. Indeed, they well know they go to their own deaths if they return to Coryon, the High Priest, and bring not with them those who slew his son.”
She turned to go towards the soldiers, who were now standing in two ranks, with spears in rest, awaiting the word of command.
“Stay,” said Monella. “If they listen to your words, they will want to come here to take up the body of their chief. We are willing they should do so; but it were better we did not meet, for I do not trust them, and they might plot treachery. See!” And he took his lasso from where it hung at his waist and laid it in a straight line on the ground about twenty feet from the dead body. “We will retire towards the wood; and let it be clearly understood that they must not cross that line nor touch that cord. If any man do so, he shall surely die then and there. Let them not think, however, that we retire from fear, because of their number. But now, my daughter, take heed lest they seize you. Be sure you keep near enough to avail yourself of our protection; but stand not between us and them, lest the lightning strike your own form in its course. Once launched, it goes straight to its mark, and blasts all whom it meets upon its path.”
“I understand,” she answered. “But you need have no fear for me, so far as these people are concerned. Their chief has dared more to-day than has ever been known before; but none of these would lay hand upon Ulama, the daughter of their king.”
“Then,” said Monella, “if you feel sure as to that, do not approach them, but go thirty or forty yards to the right, and bid them come near enough for you to address them from there. For the rest we will answer.” And, with a sign to his companions, he walked slowly up the slope towards the wood they had left but a few minutes before.
CHAPTER XII
A PRELIMINARY SKIRMISH
The words that had been spoken on both sides in this conversation the two young men had followed fairly well; though they had listened in silence and made no attempt to join in the discussion. On their way back towards the wood, Elwood was at first very thoughtful; then he turned to Monella and said excitedly,
“How do we know she is safe, out there alone? And what will her father, the king, say to us, if harm come to her? It seems to me we are acting in strange fashion to leave her thus.”
“Patience, my son,” returned Monella quietly; “we must avoid the shedding of blood, if it be possible. We have come here, as I have already said, with peaceful motives. If violent acts be forced upon us in self-defence, let us keep at least our conscience clear; let us be in a position to show that they were forced upon us. Let it not be said of us that we have come into a strange land to introduce dissension, and discord, and internal warfare; and all for no other reason than the gratification of an adventurous spirit.”
“But,” said Elwood, “we have not introduced dissension and trouble. It is clear enough that a terrible murder would have been perpetrated had we not been here to prevent it. Surely, no one can accuse us of commencing bloodshed; and, as to the rest, why, what are the lives of two or three scoundrels like these, the infamous myrmidons – if we may believe what we heard – of a bloodthirsty ‘high priest’; what are the lives of two or three such wretches, compared with the safety of this gentle, trustful girl, whom we are leaving now almost at their mercy? In my view this is one of those cases in which offence is the best defence. They are showing their intentions pretty clearly; let us anticipate them by shooting one or two. That will frighten the remainder, and stop further hostile action; and, moreover, prevent their coming near this young lady, or princess, as I suppose she really is.”
“I am bound to say I rather agree with Leonard,” said Templemore. “I see, clearly enough, we are in for a fight, and shall have to kill two or three. Why not as well do it first as last? If, as she says, they are used to do as they please in the land, and if what we have just seen is a specimen of their style, pity is thrown away upon them. And, besides, is it good generalship, Monella? To attack first would be sure to scare them; but, if they make a rush, in absolute ignorance of the power of our rifles, may they not, some of them, charge home? And then we should have a hand-to-hand fight where they would be four or five to one.”
Monella passed his hand over his face, and answered almost sadly,
“There is a time to be forward in attack, and a time to be forbearing. If the time come for the former, no man will ever see me flinch from it. But you know what has been said, that the shedding of blood is like unto the letting out of water, and that he who begins it is accursed. If these people begin it, we will not shrink; but at least we shall have clear consciences. Now listen to my plan. We must not enter the wood, or they will think we have fled. If they cross the line I have laid down, let each take the man opposite to him in the line, and bring him down. Then, if they still rush on, fire once more, and step back into the shelter of the wood. If they follow, you know what to do; your revolvers will suffice.”
Meantime, Ulama, as she had called herself, had been addressing the soldiers. Their officer had advanced to speak to her, and angry talk had been exchanged, which those standing at the edge of the wood, with rifles at the ‘ready’, could not hear. But when, finally, she shook her head meaningly, and began to retire towards them, Jack Templemore set his teeth and said,
“I told you so! I knew it meant a fight! We might just as well have begun it, as let them think we are afraid.”
“There is yet a chance,” replied Monella. “They may hesitate to pass the line I have laid down. In any case, all we can now do is to wait and see.” And, as Ulama came towards them, he signed to her to step aside, out of the line of fire.
The officer had returned to his men, and, after a short consultation with one who seemed to be next in command, the two ranks advanced, with the slow, measured tread of a well-disciplined troop, up the slope. On reaching the dead body they were halted while the two officers examined it. They had not understood how their leader had been killed; nor did they understand it now. They had heard the report of the pistol and had seen their chief fall, but the report had not been a loud one; and as Elwood had run forward at the time, for all they could see (Ulama being between them) he might have hurled a spear at Zelus. Yet the sound of the explosion had puzzled them, and stayed them from rushing instantly to the assistance of their leader. Altogether, they were perplexed. The dress of their opponents showed them to be strangers. They appeared to be unarmed, yet had they killed their dreaded master in the face of his guard. This argued conscious power; and it behoved them not to be too precipitate. After this fashion, probably, reasoned the two officers.
If so, the examination of the dead body could but add to their uncertainty; for they found there a wound they were quite unable to account for. It was not a spear thrust; it was not a wound from a sword or dagger. The scrutiny, in effect, yielded them no enlightenment; but the sight of the dead body of their leader and of the blood exasperated both officers and men, and murmurs were heard, and cries for vengeance. They probably began, too, to remember what Ulama had suggested – that if they went back with the dead body of their chief and without the slayer, their own lives would be forfeited. And all this time the strangers stood calmly regarding them, watchful of their movements, but offering neither to retreat nor to attack them.
After some further consultation, the one who seemed to be in command turned towards where the three strangers stood; flinging down his sword, he stepped forward and threw out both his hands, to signify that he desired a parley.
Thereupon Monella also advanced a few paces; then paused for the other to address him.
“Who are you? Whence come you? Why do you enter our land in this fashion by killing one of the greatest in the country?” asked the captain of the guard.
“The answers to your first questions are for your king’s ear alone,” returned Monella. “As to the last, we came in peace, but interfered to save a maiden from being murdered.”
The other’s face expressed an evil sneer, and he made answer:
“It is not usual, with us, for men to throw away their lives for women. For what you have done yours may be required. Still,” he added diplomatically, “I am not judge nor executioner – unless you resist me. If, therefore, you will surrender like men of peace – as you say you are – and will come with me to tell your tale to my master, I promise you good treatment while in my custody.”
Monella shook his head.
“You have had my answer,” he said. “We seek your king. We will yield ourselves to no one else. And,” he continued, with louder voice, “since you, my friend, dare to deride us for taking a woman’s part, know that in the land we come from we are not accustomed to stand still and look on while women are being murdered. What manner of men are ye who dare openly proclaim so vile a doctrine? Soldiers of a High Priest? Guardians of a ‘religion’ that teaches things like this? The span that shall be left to such a being as ye serve is growing short. His power is waning, his days are even now numbered.” He raised his arm, and extended it towards him he was addressing; then, with gathering force, and even passion, till he seemed like an inspired prophet of old thundering his denunciations against evil-doers – “We came here in goodwill and peace; we may remain to be a withering scourge to you and him you call your master. See to it, and take warning! There must – and there shall– be an end of such deeds as we have this day seen attempted by – as ye have no shame in avowing – the favoured son of your High Priest. Hence from my sight, ere scorn and anger overcome me! I have but to move my finger, and you fall dead before me!”
For the first time in their knowledge of him Templemore and Elwood saw their leader, usually so calm and equable, moved by a passion that was almost uncontrollable. They glanced at one another in surprise; and well indeed they might. For whereas, at first, they had felt almost impatient of his equanimity, and had feared he lacked the sternness to deal with those they were opposed to, yet now they thought only how to restrain his sudden and unlooked-for passion, lest it should embroil them further than was actually necessary.
But the fire of Monella’s rage expired as suddenly as it had kindled.
“You have heard,” he went on, coldly and disdainfully, to the captain of the hostile group. “I have warned you. I spare your life to give you time to do better.”
But this contemptuous treatment, so far from having the effect intended, seemed to rouse the other’s fury.
“Think not to impose on me by empty threats and vain-glorious boasting,” he retorted. “I summon you to yield and come with me. If not, and we have to kill you in striving to enforce obedience, the consequences be upon your own heads.”
“And I say that I have warned you,” returned Monella quietly. He stooped and picked up a stone, then threw it to within three or four feet of the cord that lay between them.
“If,” he said, “you but cross that cord so far as that stone, you die.”
Instantly the other took up the challenge. He stepped back for his sword, then walked boldly forward, Monella meanwhile falling back in line with his companions; but the instant the other crossed the cord, Monella’s rifle rang out, and the fatuous soldier fell prone upon the sward.
Then a tall fellow burst from the ranks and, brandishing his spear, rushed towards the fatal cord; he was followed by an adventurous comrade; but, e’en as they stepped across the line, they both bit the dust. Then all the others turned and fled; all save the second officer, who stood his ground, neither advancing nor retreating. He remained leaning on his sword, and looked, by turns, first at his flying men, then at the dead bodies that lay around him, finally at Monella and his companions.
Monella advanced and thus addressed him,
“How is it you stand thus in hesitation, friend? Are you in two minds, whether to fight or to fly?”
The second officer was a fine-looking young fellow with features that were not unpleasing. With a steady glance he looked Monella in the face and answered,
“I am no coward to run away, and no fool to rush to meet a thunderbolt. Whoever you are, it is plain that we are powerless against you. But indeed,” he went on, with something almost like a sigh, “when I heard your words I felt no stomach to fight against you, if so be that they are true.”
“I am well pleased to hear you say so, friend,” Monella said, laying his hand upon the other’s shoulder. “You have seen what it is in our power to do. I call upon you to be a witness in the presence of your king – of all your people – that we did not resort to force until all other means had failed.”
“That will I gladly do,” returned the officer, bending his head in courteous salutation. “Few would have been so persistent in their merciful intention. For myself, I know my fate if I rejoin my master; therefore, if you will accept my service, I would fain join myself to you. One can but fight and die; better to do so in the service of such a chief as you, than of him I have lately served,” and he seemed to shudder while he spoke.
Just then the maiden joined them, and he saluted her respectfully. She looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
“And is it Ergalon,” she said, “that could stand by to-day and see another man raise his hand to slay the daughter of his king, and not move a step to hinder him? Has Ergalon indeed sunk so low as this?”
The words were said in pained surprise rather than in anger; and in the gentle eyes she turned upon him there was no sign of aught but mild reproach. But this seemed to cut him to the heart, when ringing words of accusation would, perhaps, have failed to move him. He fell upon one knee and bent his head.
“Alas! Princess,” he cried, “I well deserve your scorn; yet knowest thou not how that against my will I have been forced into this service. Well I know that to ask pardon would be useless – the king will never pardon, should this reach his ears; still less will Coryon. Yet I care not if thou wilt but grant me thy forgiveness. If these strangers are thy friends, grant me to serve thee by serving them; and should this service be even to death, it will content me that thou shouldst say of me that Ergalon had done his duty, and redeemed himself in thine eyes.”
“Be it so, Ergalon,” Ulama answered, her voice and manner charged with a sweet graciousness that quite captivated the three bystanders. Then, turning to Monella, she continued, “My father, I owe you much for what you have done to-day. I shall try in the future to repay you to some measure. Meantime you will need friends – accept from Ergalon this proffered service. I feel sure, after what has happened, you may trust him – even to the death. I know not who you are, whether immortals, or beings of like nature to myself, thus timely sent by the Great Spirit to my aid. But this I know, that I may trust you; that you have come to be my friends, and my friends from henceforth you shall be.”
It would be difficult to convey an idea of the wonderful mixture of simple gentleness and queenly dignity with which these words were spoken. Further, it would be hard to say which of her hearers was most impressed. She had the art of winning hearts without intending or desiring it; and few could long resist the fascination of her presence. Small wonder then if Leonard Elwood had already fallen incontinently, helplessly, irretrievably in love.
“And now,” she finished, “I invite you to my home, where my father will bid you welcome.”
“And these?” Monella asked, pointing to the dead bodies.
“Ergalon will know what to do,” she answered; and moved away in the direction she had indicated.
But by this time a small crowd was on its way to meet them. Those forming it were, as it appeared, chiefly her maidens and attendants and a file of soldiers – her guards. They looked curiously at the strangers, but, at a sign from her, fell in respectfully behind the little party.
“Doubtless you marvel,” she observed to Elwood and Monella, between whom she walked, “how it comes about that with all these people to attend and guard me, I was alone this morning. But for that chance the dead Zelus had never found his opportunity of saying that he did to me. He must have been watching for it; perchance had heard that I sometimes like to steal away alone for a little ramble. One gets so tired of always having people around one,” she added, with an almost childish wilfulness. “But this will cure me. For the future I shall be more careful.”
Templemore, meantime, strolling along behind the others, found himself somehow placed between Ergalon and a dainty little damsel whose name, he afterwards found, was Zonella. She was Ulama’s close friend, and was most busy plying Ergalon with questions about what had taken place. At the noise of the firing they had rushed out in alarm; then, missing the princess, had set out to seek her. In reply to her inquiries, Ergalon gloomily referred her to Templemore, and on this slender introduction the two soon found themselves in friendly converse, rather to the increase of their companion’s moodiness.
It was well for Templemore that day that his affections were unalterably fixed upon a chosen fair one; else, inevitably, had he lost his heart either to the fair Ulama or to the dark-eyed, captivating Zonella. As it was, he was compelled to own that he had never seen two more fascinating maidens – save – save, of course, Maud Kingsford. In that reservation – and in that alone – lay the salvation of his heart. But this Ergalon knew not; and since he had long ardently – but vainly – sought the favour of Zonella, he was none too pleased to see her so quickly place herself on friendly terms with a total stranger.
But Templemore’s acquaintance with the language was so limited, that his part in the conversation consisted more in listening than in talking; and his thoughts were more concerned in observing all that went on around him than in studying Zonella herself.