The People of the Mist by H. Rider Haggard (christmas read aloud .txt) 📗
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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“To another! To whom then?”
“To Olfan the king, who also loves her.”
Now Nam held up his hands in perplexity, saying:
“Oh! my daughter, be plain, I pray of you, for I cannot understand your counsels. Were it not better to give to these people the red stones which they desire, and send them secretly from the land, saying that they had vanished into the earth again, for so it seems to me we should be rid of much shame and trouble?”
“Listen, my father, and I will tell you. Were she whom I love to leave this land, I should see her face no more, and this madness has come upon me that I cannot live without the sight of her. Also, how can these people escape the dangers of the road? But four of them are left alive, and even were they without our borders, they must journey for three months before they come to any place where white men live, passing through swamps and deserts and tribes of wild men. This they could hardly do with arms such as those whereby the Deliverer slew the priests, and now their arms are gone, you alone know where, my father.”
“The instruments of which you speak lie in the deep waters of the temple pool, daughter, for there I caused them to be cast.”
“Their arms are gone,” said Soa, “they are alone, here they must live or die. Three of them I will give to death, and the fourth I would make the wife of the King, seeing that nothing better can be done for her. Let her be hidden awhile, and then let Olfan take her. As for the tale that we shall tell of the matter to the ears of the people, doubtless time will show it. I say that Olfan loves her and will buy her with a great price, and the price which you must ask shall be that henceforth he obeys you in everything.”
“The scheme is good, daughter; at the least, bearing my oath in mind, I have none better, though were it not for my oath, either I should kill them all or set them free. Yet who can say that it shall succeed? It is in the hands of fate, let it go as fate wills. And now follow me, that I may place you where you shall dwell in comfort, then after we have eaten I will speak with these gods whom you have let loose upon us.”
That morning passed heavily enough to the four wretched prisoners in the palace. For some hours they sat together in the throne-room almost silent, for they were crushed by misfortune and fear; the toils were closing on them, and they knew it, nor could they lift a finger to save themselves.
Francisco knelt and prayed, Leonard and Juanna sat hand in hand listening to him, while Otter wandered to and fro like an unquiet spirit, cursing Soa, Saga, and all women in many languages and with a resource and vigour that struck his hearers as unparalleled. At length he vanished through the curtains, to get drunk probably, Leonard reflected.
However, the dwarf sought not drink, but vengeance. A few minutes later, hearing screams in the courtyard, Leonard ran out to find himself witness to a curious scene. There on the ground, surrounded by a group of other women, her companions, who were laughing at her discomfiture, lay the stately Saga, bride of the Snake. Over her stood her lord and master, the god Jâl, his left hand twisted in her long hair, while with his right, in which he grasped a leather thong, despite her screams and entreaties, he administered to her one of the soundest and, be it added, best deserved thrashings that ever fell to the lot of erring woman.
“What are you doing?” said Leonard.
“I am teaching this wife of mine that it is not well to drug a god, Baas,” gasped Otter; then added with a final and most ferocious cut, “There, get you gone, witch, and let me see your ugly face no more.”
The woman rose and went, cursing and weeping, while the dwarf followed Leonard back into the throne-room.
“You have done it now, Otter,” said Leonard. “Well, it does not much matter. I fancy she is gone for good, any way.”
“Yes, Baas, she has gone, and she has gone sore,” replied Otter with a faint grin.
At that moment a messenger arrived announcing that Nam was without waiting for an audience.
“Let him be admitted,” said Juanna with a sigh, and seated herself on one of the thrones, Otter clambering into the other.
They had scarcely taken their places when the curtains were thrown back and the ancient priest entered, attended by about a score of his fellows. He bowed himself humbly before Juanna and the dwarf and then spoke.
“Oh! ye gods,” he said, “I come in the name of the People of the Mist to take counsel with you. Why it is we do not know, but things have gone amiss in the land: the sun does not shine as in past years before you came to bless us, neither does the grain spring. Therefore your people are threatened with a famine, and they pray that you may comfort them out of the store of your wisdom.”
“And if we have no comfort to give, Nam?”
“Then, Queen, the people ask that you will be pleased to meet them to-morrow in the temple at the moon-rise, when the night is one hour old, that they may talk with you there through the mouth of me, your servant.”
“And if we weary of your temple and will not come, Nam?” asked Juanna.
“Then this is the command of the people, O Aca: that we bring you thither, and it is a command that may not be disobeyed,” answered the high priest slowly.
“Beware, Nam,” replied Juanna; “strange things happen here that call for vengeance. Our servants pass away like shadows, and in their place we find such weapons as you carry,” and she pointed to the priests’ knives. “We will come to-morrow night at the rising of the moon, but again I say to you, beware, for now our mercy is but as a frayed rope, and it were well for you all that the cord should not break.”
“Ye know best whither your servants have wandered, O Aca,” said the priest, stretching out his hands in deprecation, and speaking in a tone of which the humility did not veil the insolence, “for true gods such as ye are can guard their servants. We thank you for your words, O ye gods, and we pray you to be merciful to us, for the threats of true gods are very terrible. And now one little word. I ask justice of you, O ye gods. She who was given to be bride of the Snake, my niece who is named Saga, has been cruelly beaten by some evil-doer here in the palace, as I know, for but now I met her bruised and weeping. I ask of you then that ye search out this evil-doer and punish him with death or stripes. Farewell, O ye high gods.”
Leonard looked at the priest as he bowed humbly before the thrones, and a desire to take Otter’s advice and kill him entered his heart, for he knew that he had come to drag them to their trial and perhaps to doom. He still had his revolver, and it would have been easy to shoot him, for Nam’s broad breast was a target that few could miss. And yet, what could it help them to shed his blood? There were many to fill his place if he died, and violence would certainly be answered with violence. No, he would let him be, and they must bide their fate.
JUANNA PREVARICATES
The morrow drew towards its evening. Like those that had gone before it, this day had been misty and miserable, only distinguished from its predecessors by the fall of some sharp showers of sleet. Now, as the afternoon waned, the sky began to clear in its accustomed fashion; but the bitter wind sweeping down the mountains, though it drove away the fog, gave no promise of any break in the weather. At sunset Leonard went to the palace gates and looked towards the temple, about the walls of which a number of people were already gathering, as though in anticipation of some great event. They caught sight of him, and drew as near to the gates of the palace as they dared, howling curses and shaking their fists.
“This is a foretaste of what we must expect to-night, I suppose,” said Leonard to Francisco, who had followed him, as they retreated across the courtyard. “We are in trouble now, friend. I do not so much care for my own sake, but it breaks my heart to think of Juanna. What will be the end of it, I wonder?”
“For me, Outram, the end will be death, of that I am sure; well, I have long expected it, and I am ready to die. What your fate will be I cannot say; but as to the Senora, comfort yourself; for many weeks I have had a presentiment that she will escape safely.”
“In that case I am ready enough to go,” answered Leonard. “Life is as dear to me as to other men; but I tell you, Francisco, that I would pay mine down gladly to-night as the price of her deliverance.”
“I know it, Outram; we are both of one mind there, and perhaps before many hours are over we shall be called upon to practise what we preach.”
By now they had reached the throne-room, where Otter, who for the last twenty hours had been quite sober, was squatted on the floor at the foot of his throne, a picture of repentant misery, while Juanna walked swiftly up and down the long room, lost in reflection.
“Any news, Leonard?” she said as they came in.
“None, except that there are great preparations going on yonder,” and he nodded towards the temple; “also a mob is howling at the gates.”
“Oh!” groaned Otter, addressing Juanna, “cannot you, who are named Shepherdess of the Heavens, prophesy to these people that the weather will break, and so save us from the Snake?”
“I can prophesy,” she answered; “but it will not change to-night, nor, I think, to-morrow. However, I will try.”
Then came a silence: nobody seemed to have anything to say. It was broken by the entrance of Olfan, whose face showed the disturbance of his mind.
“What passes, Olfan?” asked Juanna.
“Queen,” he answered sadly, “there is great trouble at hand. The people rave for the blood of you, their gods. Nam told you that ye are summoned this night to confer with the people. Alas! I must tell you otherwise. This night ye will be put upon your trial before the Council of the Elders.”
“That we guessed, Olfan, and if the verdict goes against us, what then?”
“Alas that I must say it! Then, Queen, you will be hurled, all of you, into the pool of the Snake, to be food for the Snake.”
“Cannot you protect us, Olfan?”
“I cannot, O Queen, except with my own life. The soldiers are under my command indeed; but in this matter they will not obey me, for the priests have whispered in their ears, and if the sun does not shine they too must starve next winter. Pardon me, Queen, but if you are gods, how is it that you need help from me who am but a man? Cannot the gods then protect themselves and be avenged upon their enemies?”
Juanna looked despairingly at Leonard, who sat by her side pulling at his beard, as was his fashion when perplexed.
“I think that you had better tell him,” he said in English. “Our situation is desperate. Probably in a few hours he will know us to be impostors; indeed, he guesses it already. It is better that he should learn the truth from our own lips. The man is honest; moreover, he owes his life to us, though it is true that were it not for us he would never have been in danger of his life. Now we must trust him and take our chance; if we make a mistake, it does not greatly matter—we have made so many already.”
Juanna bowed her head and thought awhile, then she lifted it and spoke.
“Olfan,” she said, “are we alone? That which I have to say must be overheard by none.”
“We are alone, Queen,” he answered, glancing round, “but these walls have ears.”
“Olfan, draw near.”
He obeyed, and leaning forward she spoke to him almost in a whisper, while
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