________________________________________________
_ Oros bowed and left the place, whereon the Hesea signed to us to stand
upon her right and to Atene to stand upon her left. Presently from
either side the hooded priests and priestesses stole into the chamber,
and to the number of fifty or more ranged themselves along its walls.
Then came two figures draped in black and masked, who bore parchment
books in their hands, and placed themselves on either side of the
corpse, while Oros stood at its feet, facing the Hesea.
Now she lifted the sistrum that she held, and in obedience to the
signal Oros said--
"Let the books be opened."
Thereon the masked Accuser to the right broke the seal of his book and
began to read its pages. It was a tale of the sins of this dead man
entered as fully as though that officer were his own conscience given
life and voice. In cold and horrible detail it told of the evil doings
of his childhood, of his youth, and of his riper years, and thus
massed together the record was black indeed.
I listened amazed, wondering what spy had been set upon the deeds of
yonder man throughout his days; thinking also with a shudder of how
heavy would be the tale against any one of us, if such a spy should
companion him from the cradle to the grave; remembering too that full
surely this count is kept by scribes even more watchful than the
ministers of Hes.
At length the long story drew to its close. Lastly it told of the
murder of that noble upon the banks of the river; it told of the plot
against our lives for no just cause; it told of our cruel hunting with
the death-hounds, and of its end. Then the Accuser shut his book and
cast it on the ground, saying--
"Such is the record, O Mother. Sum it up as thou hast been given
wisdom."
Without speaking, the Hesea pointed with her sistrum to the Defender,
who thereon broke the seal of his book and began to read.
Its tale spoke of all the good that the dead man had done; of every
noble word that he had said, of every kind action; of plans which he
had made for the welfare of his vassals; of temptations to ill that he
had resisted; of the true love that he had borne to the woman who
became his wife; of the prayers which he had made and of the offerings
which he had sent to the temple of Hes.
Making no mention of her name, it told of how that wife of his had
hated him, of how she and the magician, who had fostered and educated
her, and was her relative and guide, had set other women to lead him
astray that she might be free of him. Of how too they had driven him
mad with a poisonous drink which took away his judgment, unchained all
the evil in his heart, and caused him by its baneful influence to
shrink unnaturally from her whose love he still desired.
Also it set out that the heaviest of his crimes were inspired by this
wife of his, who sought to befoul his name in the ears of the people
whom she led him to oppress, and how bitter jealousy drove him to
cruel acts, the last and worst of which caused him foully to violate
the law of hospitality, and in attempting to bring about the death of
blameless guests at their hands to find his own.
Thus the Defender read, and having read, closed the book and threw it
on the ground, saying--
"Such is the record, O Mother, sum it up as thou hast been given
wisdom."
Then the Khania, who all this time had stood cold and impassive,
stepped forward to speak, and with her her uncle, the Shaman Simbri.
But before a word passed Atene's lips the Hesea raised her sceptre and
forbade them, saying--
"Thy day of trial is not yet, nor have we aught to do with thee. When
thou liest where he lies and the books of thy deeds are read aloud to
her who sits in judgment, then let thine advocate make answer for
these things."
"So be it," answered Atene haughtily and fell back.
Now it was the turn of the high-priest Oros. "Mother," he said, "thou
hast heard. Balance the writings, assess the truth, and according to
thy wisdom, issue thy commands. Shall we hurl him who was Rassen feet
first into the fiery gulf, that he may walk again in the paths of
life, or head first, in token that he is dead indeed?"
Then while all waited in a hushed expectancy, the great Priestess
delivered her verdict.
"I hear, I balance, I assess, but judge I do not, who claim no such
power. Let the Spirit who sent him forth, to whom he is returned
again, pass judgment on his spirit. This dead one has sinned deeply,
yet has he been more deeply sinned against. Nor against that man can
be reckoned the account of his deeds of madness. Cast him then to his
grave feet first that his name may be whitened in the ears of those
unborn, and that thence he may return again at the time appointed. It
is spoken."
Now the Accuser lifted the book of his accusations from the ground
and, advancing, hurled it into the gulf in token that it was blotted
out. Then he turned and vanished from the chamber; while the Advocate,
taking up his book, gave it into the keeping of the priest Oros, that
it might be preserved in the archives of the temple for ever. This
done, the priests began a funeral chant and a solemn invocation to the
great Lord of the Under-world that he would receive this spirit and
acquit it there as here it had been acquitted by the Hesea, his
minister.
Ere their dirge ended certain of the priests, advancing with slow
steps, lifted the bier and carried it to the edge of the gulf; then at
a sign from the Mother, hurled it feet foremost into the fiery lake
below, whilst all watched to see how it struck the flame. For this
they held to be an omen, since should the body turn over in its
descent it was taken as a sign that the judgment of mortal men had
been refused in the Place of the Immortals. It did not turn; it rushed
downwards straight as a plummet and plunged into the fire hundreds of
feet below, and there for ever vanished. This indeed was not strange
since, as we discovered afterwards, the feet were weighted.
In fact this solemn rite was but a formula that, down to the exact
words of judgment and committal, had been practised here from unknown
antiquity over the bodies of the priests and priestesses of the
Mountain, and of certain of the great ones of the Plain. So it was in
ancient Egypt, whence without doubt this ceremony of the trial of the
dead was derived, and so it continued to be in the land of Hes, for no
priestess ever ventured to condemn the soul of one departed.
The real interest of the custom, apart from its solemnity and awful
surroundings, centred in the accurate knowledge displayed by the
masked Accuser and Advocate of the life-deeds of the deceased. It
showed that although the College of Hes affected to be indifferent to
the doings and politics of the people of the Plain that they once
ruled and over which, whilst secretly awaiting an opportunity of re-
conquest, they still claimed a spiritual authority, the attitude was
assumed rather than real. Moreover it suggested a system of espionage
so piercing and extraordinary that it was difficult to believe it
unaided by the habitual exercise of some gift of clairvoyance.
The service, if I may call it so, was finished; the dead man had
followed the record of his sins into that lurid sea of fire, and by
now was but a handful of charred dust. But if his book had closed,
ours remained open and at its strangest chapter. We knew it, all of
us, and waited, our nerves thrilled, with expectancy.
The Hesea sat brooding on her rocky throne. She also knew that the
hour had come. Presently she sighed, then motioned with her sceptre
and spoke a word or two, dismissing the priests and priestesses, who
departed and were seen no more. Two of them remained however, Oros and
the head priestess who was called Papave, a young woman of a noble
countenance.
"Listen, my servants," she said. "Great things are about to happen,
which have to do with the coming of yonder strangers, for whom I have
waited these many years as is well known to you. Nor can I tell the
issue since to me, to whom power is given so freely, foresight of the
future is denied. It well may happen, therefore, that this seat will
soon be empty and this frame but food for the eternal fires. Nay,
grieve not, grieve not, for I do not die and if so, the spirit shall
return again.
"Hearken, Papave. Thou art of the blood, and to thee alone have I
opened all the doors of wisdom. If I pass now or at any time, take
thou the ancient power, fill thou my place, and in all things do as I
have instructed thee, that from this Mountain light may shine upon the
world. Further I command thee, and thee also, Oros my priest, that if
I be summoned hence you entertain these strangers hospitably until it
is possible to escort them from the land, whether by the road they
came or across the northern hills and deserts. Should the Khania Atene
attempt to detain them against their will, then raise the Tribes upon
her in the name of the Hesea; depose her from her seat, conquer her
land and hold it. Hear and obey."
"Mother, we hear and we will obey," answered Oros and Papave as with a
single voice.
She waved her hand to show that this matter was finished; then after
long thought spoke again, addressing herself to the Khania.
"Atene, last night thou didst ask me a question--why thou dost love
this man," and she pointed to Leo. "To that the answer would be easy,
for is he not one who might well stir passion in the breast of a woman
such as thou art? But thou didst say also that thine own heart and the
wisdom of yonder magician, thy uncle, told thee that since thy soul
first sprang to life thou hadst loved him, and didst adjure me by the
Power to whom I must give my account to draw the curtain from the past
and let the truth be known.
"Woman, the hour has come, and I obey thy summons--not because thou
dost command but because it is my will. Of the beginning I can tell
thee nothing, who am still human and no goddess. I know not why we
three are wrapped in this coil of fate; I know not the destinies to
which we journey up the ladder of a thousand lives, with grief and
pain climbing the endless stair of circumstance, or, if I know, I may
not say. Therefore I take up the tale where my own memory gives me
light."
The Hesea paused, and we saw her frame shake as though beneath some
fearful inward effort of the will. "Look now behind you," she cried,
throwing her arms wide.
We turned, and at first saw nothing save the great curtain of fire
that rose from the abyss of the volcano, whereof, as I have told, the
crest was bent over by the wind like the crest of a breaking billow.
But presently, as we watched, in the depths of this red veil, Nature's
awful lamp-flame, a picture began to form as it forms in the seer's
magic crystal.
Behold! a temple set amid sands and washed by a wide, palm-bordered
river, and across its pyloned court processions of priests, who pass
to and fro with flaunting banners. The court empties; I could see the
shadow of a falcon's wings that fled across its sunlit floor. A man
clad in a priest's white robe, shaven-headed, and barefooted, enters
through the southern pylon gate and walks slowly towards a painted
granite shrine, in which sits the image of a woman crowned with the
double crown of Egypt, surmounted by a lotus bloom, and holding in her
hand the sacred sistrum. Now, as though he heard some sound, he halts
and looks towards us, and by the heaven above me, his face is the face
of Leo Vincey in his youth, the face too of that Kallikrates whose
corpse we had seen in the Caves of Kor!
"Look, look!" gasped Leo, catching me by the arm; but I only nodded my
head in answer.
The man walks on again, and kneeling before the goddess in the shrine,
embraces her feet and makes his prayer to her. Now the gates roll
open, and a procession enters, headed by a veiled, noble-looking
woman, who bears offerings, which she sets on the table before the
shrine, bending her knee to the effigy of the goddess. Her oblations
made, she turns to depart, and as she goes brushes her hand against
the hand of the watching priest, who hesitates, then follows her.
When all her company have passed the gate she lingers alone in the
shadow of the pylon, whispering to the priest and pointing to the
river and the southern land beyond. He is disturbed; he reasons with
her, till, after one swift glance round, she lets drop her veil,
bending towards him and--their lips meet.
As time flies her face is turned towards us, and lo! it is the face of
Atene, and amid her dusky hair the aura is reflected in jewelled gold,
the symbol of her royal rank. She looks at the shaven priest; she
laughs as though in triumph; she points to the westering sun and to
the river, and is gone.
Aye, and that laugh of long ago is echoed by Atene at our side, for
she also laughs in triumph and cries aloud to the old Shaman--
"True diviners were my heart and thou! Behold how I won him in the
past."
Then, like ice on fire fell the cold voice of the Hesea.
"Be silent, woman, and see how thou didst lose him in the past."
Lo! the scene changes, and on a couch a lovely shape lies sleeping.
She dreams; she is afraid; and over her bends and whispers in her ear
a shadowy form clad with the emblems of the goddess in the shrine, but
now wearing upon her head the vulture cap. The woman wakes from her
dream and looks round, and oh! the face is the face of Ayesha as it
was seen of us when first she loosed her veil in the Caves of Kor.
A sigh went up from us; we could not speak who thus fearfully once
more beheld her loveliness.
Again she sleeps, again the awful form bends over her and whispers. It
points, the distance opens. Lo! on a stormy sea a boat, and in the
boat two wrapped in each other's arms, the priest and the royal woman,
while over them like a Vengeance, raw-necked and ragged-pinioned,
hovers a following vulture, such a vulture as the goddess wore for
headdress.
That picture fades from its burning frame, leaving the vast sheet of
fire empty as the noonday sky. Then another forms. First a great,
smooth-walled cave carpeted with sand, a cave that we remembered well.
Then lying on the sand, now no longer shaven, but golden-haired, the
corpse of the priest staring upwards with his glazed eyes, his white
skin streaked with blood, and standing over him two women. One holds a
javelin in her hand and is naked except for her flowing hair, and
beautiful, beautiful beyond imagining. The other, wrapped in a dark
cloak, beats the air with her hands, casting up her eyes as though to
call the curse of Heaven upon her rival's head. And those women are
she into whose sleeping ear the shadow had whispered, and the royal
Egyptian who had kissed her lover beneath the pylon gate.
Slowly all the figures faded; it was as though the fire ate them up,
for first they became thin and white as ashes; then vanished. The
Hesea, who had been leaning forward, sank backwards in her chair, as
if weary with the toil of her own magic.
For a while confused pictures flitted rapidly to and fro across the
vast mirror of the flame, such as might be reflected from an
intelligence crowded with the memories of over two thousand years
which it was too exhausted to separate and define.
Wild scenes, multitudes of people, great caves, and in them faces,
amongst others our own, starting up distorted and enormous, to grow
tiny in an instant and depart; stark imaginations of Forms towering
and divine; of Things monstrous and inhuman; armies marching,
illimitable battle-fields, and corpses rolled in blood, and hovering
over them the spirits of the slain.
These pictures died as the others had died, and the fire was blank
again.
Then the Hesea spoke in a voice very faint at first, that by slow
degrees grew stronger.
"Is thy question answered, O Atene?"
"I have seen strange sights, Mother, mighty limnings worthy of thy
magic, but how know I that they are more than vapours of thine own
brain cast upon yonder fire to deceive and mock us?"[*]
[*] Considered in the light of subsequent revelations, vouchsafed to
us by Ayesha herself, I am inclined to believe that Atene's shrewd
surmise was accurate, and that these fearful pictures, although
founded on events that had happened in the past, were in the main
"vapours" cast upon the crater fire; visions raised in our minds
to "deceive and mock us."--L. H. H.
"Listen then," said the Hesea, in her weary voice, "to the
interpretation of the writing, and cease to trouble me with thy
doubts. Many an age ago, but shortly after I began to live this last,
long life of mine, Isis, the great goddess of Egypt, had her Holy
House at Behbit, near the Nile. It is a ruin now, and Isis has
departed from Egypt, though still under the Power that fashioned it
and her: she rules the world, for she is Nature's self. Of that shrine
a certain man, a Greek, Kallikrates by name, was chief priest, chosen
for her service by the favour of the goddess, vowed to her eternally
and to her alone, by the dreadful oath that might not be broken
without punishment as eternal.
"In the flame thou sawest that priest, and here at thy side he stands,
re-born, to fulfil his destiny and ours.
"There lived also a daughter of Pharaoh's house, one Amenartas, who
cast eyes of love upon this Kallikrates, and, wrapping him in her
spells--for then as now she practised witcheries--caused him to break
his oaths and fly with her, as thou sawest written in the flame. Thou,
Atene, wast that Amenartas.
"Lastly there lived a certain Arabian, named Ayesha, a wise and lovely
woman, who, in the emptiness of her heart, and the sorrow of much
knowledge, had sought refuge in the service of the universal Mother,
thinking there to win the true wisdom which ever fled from her. That
Ayesha, as thou sawest also, the goddess visited in a dream, bidding
her to follow those faithless ones, and work Heaven's vengeance on
them, and promising her in reward victory over death upon the earth
and beauty such as had not been known in woman.
"She followed far; she awaited them where they wandered. Guided by a
sage named Noot, one who from the beginning had been appointed to her
service and that of another--thou, O Holly, wast that man--she found
the essence in which to bathe is to outlive Generations, Faiths, and
Empires, saying--
"'I will slay these guilty ones. I will slay them presently, as I am
commanded.'
"Yet Ayesha slew not, for now their sin was her sin, since she who had
never loved came to desire this man. She led them to the Place of
Life, purposing there to clothe him and herself with immortality, and
let the woman die. But it was not so fated, for then the goddess
smote. The life was Ayesha's as had been sworn, but in its first hour,
blinded with jealous rage because he shrank from her unveiled glory to
the mortal woman at his side, this Ayesha brought him to his death,
and alas! alas! left herself undying.
"Thus did the angry goddess work woe upon her faithless ministers,
giving to the priest swift doom, to the priestess Ayesha, long remorse
and misery, and to the royal Amenartas jealousy more bitter than life
or death, and the fate of unending effort to win back that love which,
defying Heaven, she had dared to steal, but to be bereft thereof
again.
"Lo! now the ages pass, and, at the time appointed, to that undying
Ayesha who, whilst awaiting his re-birth, from century to century
mourned his loss, and did bitter penance for her sins, came back the
man, her heart's desire. Then, whilst all went well for her and him,
again the goddess smote and robbed her of her reward. Before her
lover's living eyes, sunk in utter shame and misery, the beautiful
became hideous, the undying seemed to die.
"Yet, O Kallikrates, I tell thee that she died not. Did not Ayesha
swear to thee yonder in the Caves of Kor that she would come again?
for even in that awful hour this comfort kissed her soul. Thereafter,
Leo Vincey, who art Killikrates, did not her spirit lead thee in thy
sleep and stand with thee upon this very pinnacle which should be thy
beacon light to guide thee back to her? And didst thou not search
these many years, not knowing that she companioned thy every step and
strove to guard thee in every danger, till at length in the permitted
hour thou earnest back to her?"
She paused, and looked towards Leo, as though awaiting his reply.
"Of the first part of the tale, except from the writing on the Sherd,
I know nothing, Lady," he said; "of the rest I, or rather we, know
that it is true. Yet I would ask a question, and I pray thee of thy
charity let thy answer be swift and short. Thou sayest that in the
permitted hour I came back to Ayesha. Where then is Ayesha? Art thou
Ayesha? And if so why is thy voice changed? Why art thou less in
stature? Oh! in the name of whatever god thou dost worship, tell me
art thou Ayesha?"
"/I am Ayesha/" she answered solemnly, "that very Ayesha to whom thou
didst pledge thyself eternally."
"She lies, she lies," broke in Atene. "I tell thee, husband--for such
with her own lips she declares thou art to me--that yonder woman who
says that she parted from thee young and beautiful, less than twenty
years ago, is none other than the aged priestess who for a century at
least has borne rule in these halls of Hes. Let her deny it if she
can."
"Oros," said the Mother, "tell thou the tale of the death of that
priestess of whom the Khania speaks."
The priest bowed, and in his usual calm voice, as though he were
narrating some event of every day, said mechanically, and in a fashion
that carried no conviction to my mind--
"Eighteen years ago, on the fourth night of the first month of the
winter in the year 2333 of the founding of the worship of Hes on this
Mountain, the priestess of whom the Khania Atene speaks, died of old
age in my presence in the hundred and eighth year of her rule. Three
hours later we went to lift her from the throne on which she died, to
prepare her corpse for burial in this fire, according to the ancient
custom. Lo! a miracle, for she lived again, the same, yet very
changed.
"Thinking this a work of evil magic, the Priests and Priestesses of
the College rejected her, and would have driven her from the throne.
Thereon the Mountain blazed and thundered, the light from the fiery
pillars died, and great terror fell upon the souls of men. Then from
the deep darkness above the altar where stands the statue of the
Mother of Men, the voice of the living goddess spoke, saying--
"'Accept ye her whom I have set to rule over you, that my judgments
and my purposes may be fulfilled.'
"The Voice ceased, the fiery torches burnt again, and we bowed the
knee to the new Hesea, and named her Mother in the ears of all. That
is the tale to which hundreds can bear witness."
"Thou hearest, Atene," said the Hesea. "Dost thou still doubt?"
"Aye," answered the Khania, "for I hold that Oros also lies, or if he
lies not, then he dreams, or perchance that voice he heard was thine
own. Now if thou art this undying woman, this Ayesha, let proof be
made of it to these two men who knew thee in the past. Tear away those
wrappings that guard thy loveliness thus jealously. Let thy shape
divine, thy beauty incomparable, shine out upon our dazzled sight.
Surely thy lover will not forget such charms; surely he will know
thee, and bow the knee, saying, 'This is my Immortal, and no other
woman.'
"Then, and not till then, will I believe that thou art even what thou
declarest thyself to be, an evil spirit, who bought undying life with
murder and used thy demon loveliness to bewitch the souls of men."
Now the Hesea on the throne seemed to be much troubled, for she rocked
herself to and fro, and wrung her white-draped hands.
"Kallikrates," she said in a voice that sounded like a moan, "is this
thy will? For if it be, know that I must obey. Yet I pray thee command
it not, for the time is not yet come; the promise unbreakable is not
yet fulfilled. /I am somewhat changed/, Kallikrates, since I kissed
thee on the brow and named thee mine, yonder in the Caves of Kor."
Leo looked about him desperately, till his eyes fell upon the mocking
face of Atene, who cried--
"Bid her unveil, my lord. I swear to thee I'll not be jealous."
At that taunt he took fire.
"Aye," he said, "I bid her unveil, that I may learn the best or worst,
who otherwise must die of this suspense. Howsoever changed, if she be
Ayesha I shall know her, and if she be Ayesha, I shall love her."
"Bold words, Kallikrates," answered the Hesea; "yet from my very heart
I thank thee for them: those sweet words of trust and faithfulness to
thou knowest not what. Learn now the truth, for I may keep naught back
from thee. When I unveil it is decreed that thou must make thy choice
for the last time on this earth between yonder woman, my rival from
the beginning, and that Ayesha to whom thou art sworn. Thou canst
reject me if thou wilt, and no ill shall come to thee, but many a
blessing, as men reckon them--power and wealth and love. Only then
thou must tear my memory from thy heart, for then I leave thee to
follow thy fate alone, till at the last the purpose of these deeds and
sufferings is made clear.
"Be warned. No light ordeal lies before thee. Be warned. I can promise
thee naught save such love as woman never gave to man, love that
perchance--I know not--must yet remain unsatisfied upon the earth."
Then she turned to me and said:
"Oh! thou, Holly, thou true friend, thou guardian from of old, thou,
next to him most beloved by me, to thy clear and innocent spirit
perchance wisdom may be given that is denied to us, the little
children whom thine arms protect. Counsel thou him, my Holly, with the
counsel that is given thee, and I will obey thy words and his, and,
whatever befalls, will bless thee from my soul. Aye, and should he
cast me off, then in the Land beyond the lands, in the Star appointed,
where all earthly passions fade, together will we dwell eternally in a
friendship glorious, thou and I alone.
"For /thou/ wilt not reject; thy steel, forged in the furnace of pure
truth and power, shall not lose its temper in these small fires of
temptation and become a rusted chain to bind thee to another woman's
breast--until it canker to her heart and thine."
"Ayesha, I thank thee for thy words," I answered simply, "and by them
and that promise of thine, I, thy poor friend--for more I never
thought to be--am a thousandfold repaid for many sufferings. This I
will add, that for my part I know that thou art She whom we have lost,
since, whatever the lips that speak them, those thoughts and words are
Ayesha's and hers alone."
Thus I spoke, not knowing what else to say, for I was filled with a
great joy, a calm and ineffable satisfaction, which broke thus feebly
from my heart. For now I knew that I was dear to Ayesha as I had
always been dear to Leo; the closest of friends, from whom she never
would be parted. What more could I desire?
We fell back; we spoke together, whilst they watched us silently. What
we said I do not quite remember, but the end of it was that, as the
Hesea had done, Leo bade me judge and choose. Then into my mind there
came a clear command, from my own conscience or otherwhere, who can
say? This was the command, that I should bid her to unveil, and let
fate declare its purposes.
"Decide," said Leo, "I cannot bear much more. Like that woman, whoever
she may be, whatever happens, I will not blame you, Horace."
"Good," I answered, "I have decided," and, stepping forward, I said:
"We have taken counsel, Hes, and it is our will, who would learn the
truth and be at rest, that thou shouldst unveil before us, here and
now."
"I hear and obey," the Priestess answered, in a voice like to that of
a dying woman, "only, I beseech you both, be pitiful to me, spare me
your mockeries; add not the coals of your hate and scorn to the fires
of a soul in hell, for whate'er I am, I became it for thy sake,
Kallikrates. Yet, yet I also am athirst for knowledge; for though I
know all wisdom, although I wield much power, one thing remains to me
to learn--what is the worth of the love of man, and if, indeed, it can
live beyond the horrors of the grave?"
Then, rising slowly, the Hesea walked, or rather tottered to the
unroofed open space in front of the rock chamber, and stood there
quite near to the brink of the flaming gulf beneath.
"Come hither, Papave, and loose these veils," she cried in a shrill,
thin voice.
Papave advanced, and with a look of awe upon her handsome face began
the task. She was not a tall woman, yet as she bent over her I noted
that she seemed to tower above her mistress, the Hesea.
The outer veils fell revealing more within. These fell also, and now
before us stood the mummy-like shape, although it seemed to be of less
stature, of that strange being who had met us in the Place of Bones.
So it would seem that our mysterious guide and the high priestess Hes
were the same.
Look! Length by length the wrappings sank from her. Would they never
end? How small grew the frame within? She was very short now,
unnaturally short for a full-grown woman, and oh! I grew sick at
heart. The last bandages uncoiled themselves like shavings from a
stick; two wrinkled hands appeared, if hands they could be called.
Then the feet--once I had seen such on the mummy of a princess of
Egypt, and even now by some fantastic play of the mind, I remembered
that on her coffin this princess was named "The Beautiful."
Everything was gone now, except a shift and a last inner veil about
the head. Hes waved back the priestess Papave, who fell half fainting
to the ground and lay there covering her eyes with her hand. Then
uttering something like a scream she gripped this veil in her thin
talons, tore it away, and with a gesture of uttermost despair, turned
and faced us.
Oh! she was--nay, I will not describe her. I knew her at once, for
thus had I seen her last before the Fire of Life, and, strangely
enough, through the mask of unutterable age, through that cloak of
humanity's last decay, still shone some resemblance to the glorious
and superhuman Ayesha: the shape of the face, the air of defiant pride
that for an instant bore her up--I know not what.
Yes, there she stood, and the fierce light of the heartless fires beat
upon her, revealing every shame.
There was a dreadful silence. I saw Leo's lips turn white and his
knees begin to give; but by some effort he recovered himself, and
stayed still and upright like a dead man held by a wire. Also I saw
Atene--and this is to her credit--turn her head away. She had desired
to see her rival humiliated, but that horrible sight shocked her; some
sense of their common womanhood for the moment touched her pity. Only
Simbri, who, I think, knew what to expect, and Oros remained quite
unmoved; indeed, in that ghastly silence the latter spoke, and ever
afterwards I loved him for his words.
"What of the vile vessel, rotted in the grave of time? What of the
flesh that perishes?" he said. "Look through the ruined lamp to the
eternal light which burns within. Look through its covering carrion to
the inextinguishable soul."
My heart applauded these noble sentiments. I was of one mind with
Oros, but oh, Heaven! I felt that my brain was going, and I wished
that it would go, so that I might hear and see no more.
That look which gathered on Ayesha's mummy face? At first there had
been a little hope, but the hope died, and anguish, anguish, /anguish/
took its place.
Something must be done, this could not endure. My lips clave together,
no word would come; my feet refused to move.
I began to contemplate the scenery. How wonderful were that sheet of
flame, and the ripples which ran up and down its height. How awesome
its billowy crest. It would be warm lying in yonder red gulf below
with the dead Rassen, but oh! I wished that I shared his bed and had
finished with these agonies.
Thank Heaven, Atene was speaking. She had stepped to the side of the
naked-headed Thing, and stood by it in all the pride of her rich
beauty and perfect womanhood.
"Leo Vincey, or Kallikrates," said Atene, "take which name thou wilt;
thou thinkest ill of me perhaps, but know that at least I scorn to
mock a rival in her mortal shame. She told us a wild tale but now, a
tale true or false, but more false than true, I think, of how I robbed
a goddess of a votary, and of how that goddess--Ayesha's self
perchance--was avenged upon me for the crime of yielding to the man I
loved. Well, let goddesses--if such indeed there be--take their way
and work their will upon the helpless, and I, a mortal, will take mine
until the clutch of doom closes round my throat and chokes out life
and memory, and I too am a goddess--or a clod.
"Meanwhile, thou man, I shame not to say it before all these
witnesses, I love thee, and it seems that this--this woman or goddess
--loves thee also, and she has told us that now, /now/ thou must
choose between us once and for ever. She has told us too that if I
sinned against Isis, whose minister be it remembered she declares
herself, herself she sinned yet more. For she would have taken thee
both from a heavenly mistress and from an earthly bride, and yet
snatch that guerdon of immortality which is hers to-day. Therefore if
I am evil, she is worse, nor does the flame that burns within the
casket whereof Oros spoke shine so very pure and bright.
"Choose thou then Leo Vincey, and let there be an end. I vaunt not
myself; thou knowest what I have been and seest what I am. Yet I can
give thee love and happiness and, mayhap, children to follow after
thee, and with them some place and power. What yonder witch can give
thee thou canst guess. Tales of the past, pictures on the flame, wise
maxims and honeyed words, and after thou art dead once more, promises
perhaps, of joy to come when that terrible goddess whom she serves so
closely shall be appeased. I have spoken. Yet I will add a word:
"O thou for whom, if the Hesea's tale be true, I did once lay down my
royal rank and dare the dangers of an unsailed sea; O thou whom in
ages gone I would have sheltered with my frail body from the sorceries
of this cold, self-seeking witch; O thou whom but a little while ago
at my own life's risk I drew from death in yonder river, choose,
choose!"
To all this speech, so moderate yet so cruel, so well-reasoned and yet
so false, because of its glosses and omissions, the huddled Ayesha
seemed to listen with a fierce intentness. Yet she made no answer, not
a single word, not a sign even; she who had said her say and scorned
to plead her part.
I looked at Leo's ashen face. He leaned towards Atene, drawn perhaps
by the passion shining in her beauteous eyes, then of a sudden
straightened himself, shook his head and sighed. The colour flamed to
his brow, and his eyes grew almost happy.
"After all," he said, thinking aloud rather than speaking, "I have to
do not with unknowable pasts or with mystic futures, but with the
things of my own life. Ayesha waited for me through two thousand
years; Atene could marry a man she hated for power's sake, and then
could poison him, as perhaps she would poison me when I wearied her. I
know not what oaths I swore to Amenartas, if such a woman lived. I
remember the oaths I swore to Ayesha. If I shrink from her now, why
then my life is a lie and my belief a fraud; then love will not endure
the touch of age and never can survive the grave.
"Nay, remembering what Ayesha was I take her as she is, in faith and
hope of what she shall be. At least love is immortal and if it must,
why let it feed on memory alone till death sets free the soul."
Then stepping to where stood the dreadful, shrivelled form, Leo knelt
down before it and kissed her on the brow.
Yes, he kissed the trembling horror of that wrinkled head, and I think
it was one of the greatest, bravest acts ever done by man.
"Thou hast chosen," said Atene in a cold voice, "and I tell thee, Leo
Vincey, that the manner of thy choice makes me mourn my loss the more.
Take now thy--thy bride and let me hence."
But Ayesha still said no word and made no sign, till presently she
sank upon her bony knees and began to pray aloud. These were the words
of her prayer, as I heard them, though the exact Power to which it was
addressed is not very easy to determine, as I never discovered who or
what it was that she worshipped in her heart--
"O Thou minister of the almighty Will, thou sharp sword in the hand of
Doom, thou inevitable Law that art named Nature; thou who wast crowned
as Isis of the Egyptians, but art the goddess of all climes and ages;
thou that leadest the man to the maid, and layest the infant on his
mother's breast, that bringest our dust to its kindred dust, that
givest life to death, and into the dark of death breathest the light
of life again; thou who causest the abundant earth to bear, whose
smile is Spring, whose laugh is the ripple of the sea, whose noontide
rest is drowsy Summer, and whose sleep is Winter's night, hear thou
the supplication of thy chosen child and minister:
"Of old thou gavest me thine own strength with deathless days, and
beauty above every daughter of this Star. But I sinned against thee
sore, and for my sin I paid in endless centuries of solitude, in the
vileness that makes me loathsome to my lover's eyes, and for its
diadem of perfect power sets upon my brow this crown of naked mockery.
Yet in thy breath, the swift essence that brought me light, that
brought me gloom, thou didst vow to me that I who cannot die should
once more pluck the lost flower of my immortal loveliness from this
foul slime of shame.
"Therefore, merciful Mother that bore me, to thee I make my prayer.
Oh, let his true love atone my sin; or, if it may not be, then give me
death, the last and most blessed of thy boons!" _
Read next: CHAPTER XVI - THE CHANGE
Read previous: CHAPTER XIV - THE COURT OF DEATH
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