Ardath - Marie Corelli (love story novels in english .txt) 📗

avenue-like space for his admittance.

 

He walked slowly, with proudly-assured mien and a confident smile,—bowing right and left in response to the respectful salutations he received from all assembled,—many persons glanced inquisitively at Theos, but as he was the Laureate’s companion he was saluted with nearly equal courtesy. The old critic Zabastes, squeezing his lean, bent body from out the throng, hobbled after Sahluma at some little distance behind the harp-bearer, muttering to himself as he went, and bestowing many a side-leer and malicious grin on those among his acquaintance whom he here and there recognized. Theos noted his behavior with a vague sense of amusement,—the man took such evident delight in his own ill-humor, and seemed to be so thoroughly convinced that his opinion on all affairs was the only one worth having.

 

“Thou must check thy tongue today, Zabastes!” said a handsome youth in dazzling blue and silver, who, just then detaching himself from the crowd, laid a hand on the Critic’s arm and laughed as he spoke—“I doubt me much whether the King is in humor for thy grim fooling! His Majesty hath been seriously discomposed since his return from the royal tiger-hunt this morning, notwithstanding that his unerring spear slew two goodly and most furious animals. He is wondrous sullen,-and only the divine Sahluma is skilled in the art of soothing his troubled spirit.

Therefore,—if thou hast aught of crabbed or cantankerous to urge against thy master’s genius, thou hadst best reserve it for another time, lest thy withered head roll on the marketplace with as little reverence as a dried gourd flung from a fruiterer’s stall!”

 

“I thank thee for thy warning, young jackanapes!” retorted Zabastes, pausing in his walk and leaning on his staff while he peered with his small, black, bad-tempered eyes at the speaker-

“Thou art methinks somewhat over well-informed for a little lacquey! What knowest thou of His Majesty’s humors? Hast been his fly-i’-the-ear or cast-off sandal-string? I pray thee extend not thy range of learning beyond the proper temperature of the bath, and the choice of rare unguents for thy skin-greater knowledge than this would injure the tender texture of thy fragile brain!

Pah!”—and Zabastes sniffed the air in disgust—“Thou hast a most vile odor of jessamine about thee! … I would thou wert clean of perfumes and less tawdry in attire!”

 

Chuckling hoarsely he ambled onward, and chancing to, catch the wondering backward glance of Pheos, he made expressive signs with his fingers in derision of Sahluma’s sweeping mantle, which now, allowed to fall to its full length, trailed along the marble floor with a rich, rustling sound, the varied light sparkling on it at every point and making it look like a veritable shower of gold.

 

On through the seemingly endless colonnades they passed, till they came to a huge double door formed of two glittering, colossed winged figures holding enormous uplifted shields. Here stood a personage clad in a silver coat-of-mail, so motionless that at first he appeared to be part of the door, .. but at the approach of Sahluma he stirred into life and action, and touching a spring beside him, the arms of the twin colossi moved, the great double shields were slowly lowered, and the portals slid asunder noiselessly, thus displaying the sumptuous splendor of the Royal Presence-Chamber.

 

It was a spacious and lofty saloon, completely lined with gilded columns, between which hung numerous golden lamps having long, pointed, amber pendants, that flashed down a million sparkles as of sunlight on the magnificent mosaic floor beneath. On the walls were rich tapestries storied with voluptuous scenes of love as well as ghastly glimpses of warfare, … and languishing beauties reposing in the arms of their lovers, or listening to the songs of passion, were depicted side by side with warriors dead on the field of battle, or struggling hand to hand in grim and bleeding conflict. The corners of this wonderful apartment were decked with all sorts of flags and weapons, and in the middle of the painted ceiling was suspended a huge bird with the spread wings of an eagle and the head of an owl, that held in its curved talons a superb girandole formed of a hundred extended swords, each bare blade having at its point a bright lamp in the shape of a star, while the clustered hilts composed the centre.

 

Officers in full uniform were ranged on both sides of the room, and a number of other men richly attired stood about, conversing with each other in low tones, … but though Theos took in all these details rapidly at a glance, his gaze soon became fixed on the glittering Pavilion that occupied the furthest end of the saloon, where on a massive throne of ivory and silver sat the chief object of attraction, … Zephoranim the King. The steps of the royal dais were strewn ankle-deep with flowers, … . on either hand a bronze lion lay couchant, … . and four gigantic black statues of men supported the monarch’s gold-fringed canopy, their uplifted arms being decked with innumerable rows of large and small pearls. The King’s features were not just then visible—

he was leaning back in an indolent attitude, resting on his elbow, and half covering his face with one hand. The individual in the silver coat-of-mail whispered something in Sahluma’s ear either by way of warning or advice, and then advanced, prostrating himself before the dais and touching the ground humbly with his forehead and hands. The King stirred slightly, but did not alter his position, … he was evidently wrapped in a deep and seemingly unpleasant reverie.

 

“Dread my lord. … !” began the Herald-in-Waiting. A movement of decided impatience on the part of the monarch caused him to stop short.

 

“By my soul!” said a rich, strong voice that made itself distinctly audible throughout the spacious hall—“Thou art ever shivering on the edge of thy duty when thou shouldst plunge boldly into the midst thereof! How long wilt mouth thy words? … Canst never speak plain?”

 

“Most potent sovereign!” went on the stammering herald—“Sahluma waits thy royal pleasure!”

 

“Sahluma!” and the monarch sprang erect, his eyes flashing fire—

“Nay, that HE should wait, bodes ill for thee, thou knave! How darest thou bid him wait?—Entreat him hither with all gentleness, as befits mine equal in the realm!”

 

As he thus spoke, Theos was able to observe him more attentively; indeed it seemed as though a sudden and impressive pause had occurred in the action of a drama in order to allow him as spectator, to thoroughly master the meaning of one special scene.

Therefore he took the opportunity offered, and, looking full at Zephoranim, thought he had never beheld so magnificent a man. Of stately height and herculean build, he was most truly royal in outward bearing,—though a physiognomist judging him from the expression of his countenance would at once have given him all the worst vices of a reckless voluptuary and utterly selfish sensualist. His straight, low brows indicated brute force rather than intellect,—his eyes, full, dark, and brilliant, had in them a suggestion of something sinister and cruel, despite their fine clearness and lustre, while the heavy lines of his mouth, only partly concealed by a short, thick black beard, plainly betokened that the monarch’s tendencies were by no means toward the strict and narrow paths of virtue.

 

Nevertheless he was a splendid specimen of the human animal at its best physical development, and his attire, which was a mixture of the civilized and savage, suited him as it certainly would not have suited any less stalwart frame. His tunic was of the deepest purple broidered with gold,—his vest of pale amber silk was thrown open so as to display to the greatest advantage his broad muscular chest and throat glittering all over with gems,—and he wore, flung loosely across his left shoulder, a superb leopard skin, just kept in place by a clasp of diamonds. His feet were shod with gold-colored sandals,—his arms were bare and lavishly decked with jewelled armlets,—his rough, dark hair was tossed carelessly about his brow, whereon a circlet of gold studded with large rubies glittered in the light,—from his belt hung a great sheathed sword, together with all manner of hunting implements,—

and beside him, on a velvet-covered stand, lay a short sceptre, having at its tip one huge egg-shaped pearl set in sapphires.

 

Noting the grand poise of his figure, and the statuesque grace of his attitude, a strange, hazy, far-off memory began to urge itself on Theos’s mind,—a memory that with every second grew more painfully distinct, … HE HAD SEEN ZEPHORANIM BEFORE! Where, he could not tell,—but he was as positive of it as that he himself lived! … and this inward conviction was accompanied by a certain undefinable dread,—a vague terror and foreboding, though he knew no actual cause for fear.

 

He had however no time to analyze his emotion,—for just then the Herald-in-Waiting, having performed a backward evolution from the throne to the threshold of the audience-chamber, beckoned impatiently to Sahluma, who at once stepped forward, bidding Theos keep close behind him. The harp-bearer followed, . . and thus all three approached the dais where the King still stood erect, awaiting them. Zabastes the Critic glided in also, almost unnoticed, and joined a group of courtiers at the furthest end of the long, gorgeously lighted room, while at sight of the Laureate the assembled officers saluted, and all conversation ceased. At the foot of the throne Sahluma paused, but made no obeisance,—

raising his glorious eyes to the monarch’s face he smiled,—and Theos beheld with amazement, that here it was not the Poet who reverenced the King, but the King who reverenced the Poet!

 

What a strange state of things! he thought,—especially when the mighty Zephoranim actually descended three steps of his flower-strewn dais, and grasping Sahluma’s hands raised them to his lips with all the humility of a splendid savage paying homage to his intellectual conqueror! It was a scene Theos was destined never to forget, and he gazed upon it as one gazes on a magnificently painted picture, wherein two central figures fascinate and most profoundly impress the beholder’s imagination. He heard, with a vague sense of mingled pleasure and sadness, the deep, mellow tones of the monarch’s voice vibrating through the silence, … .

 

“Welcome, my Sahluma!—Welcome at all times, but chiefly welcome when the heart is weighted by care! I have thought of thee all day, believe me! … aye, since early dawn, when on my way to the chase I heard in the depths of the forest a happy nightingale singing, and deemed thy voice had taken bird-shape and followed me! And that I sent for thee in haste, blame me not!—as well blame the desert athirst for rain, or the hungry heart agape for love to come and fill it!” Here his restless eye flashed on Theos, who stood quietly behind Sahluma, passive, yet expectant of he knew not what.

 

“Whom hast thou there? … A friend?” This as Sahluma apparently explained something in a low tone, … “He is welcome also for thy sake”—and he extended one hand, on which a great ruby signet burned like a red star, to Theos, who, bending over it, kissed it with the grave courtesy he fancied due to kings. Zephoranim appeared good-naturedly surprised at this action, and eyed him somewhat scrutinizingly as he said: “Thou art not of Sahluma’s divine calling assuredly, fair sir, else thou wouldst hardly stoop to a mere crowned head like mine! Soldiers and statesmen may bend the knee to their chosen rulers, but to whom shall poets bend?

They, who with arrowy lines cause thrones to totter and fall,—

they, who with deathless utterance brand with infamy or hallow with honor the