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The Prince of India; or, Why Constantinople Fell, a novel by Lew Wallace |
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Book 5. Mirza - Chapter 10. Sergius To The Lion |
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_ BOOK V. MIRZA CHAPTER X. SERGIUS TO THE LION About ten o'clock the day after the date of Count Corti's last despatch--ten of the morning--a woman appeared on the landing in front of Port St. Peter, and applied to a boatman for passage to the Cynegion. She was thickly veiled, and wore an every-day overcloak of brown stuff closely buttoned from her throat down. Her hands were gloved, and her feet coarsely shod. In a word, her appearance was that of a female of the middle class, poor but respectable. The landing was thronged at the time. It seemed everybody wanted to get to the menagerie at once. Boatmen were not lacking. Their craft, of all known models, lay in solid block yards out, waiting turns to get in; and while they waited, the lusty, half-naked fellows flirted their oars, quarrelled with each other in good nature, Greek-like, and yelled volleys at the slow bargain makers whose turns had arrived. Twice the woman asked if she could have a seat. "How many of you are there?" she was asked in reply. "I am alone." "You want the boat alone?" "Yes." "Well, that can't be. I have seats for several--and wife and four babies at home told me to make the most I could out of them. It has been some time since one has tried to look old Tamerlane in the eye, thinking to scare him out of his dinner. The game used to be common; it's not so now." "But I will pay you for all the seats." "Full five?" "Yes." "In advance?" "Yes." "Jump in, then--and get out your money--fifty-five noumias--while I push through these howling water-dogs." By the time the boat was clear of the pack, truly enough the passenger was with the fare in hand. "Look," she said, "here is a bezant." At sight of the gold piece, the man's countenance darkened, and he stopped rowing. "I can't change that. You might as well have no money at all." "Friend," she returned, "row me swiftly to the first gate of the Cynegion, and the piece is yours." "By my blessed patron! I'll make you think you are on a bird, and that these oars are wings. Sit in the middle--that will do. Now!" The fellow was stout, skilful, and in earnest. In a trice he was under headway, going at racing speed. The boats in the harbor were moving in two currents, one up, the other down; and it was noticeable those in the first were laden with passengers, those of the latter empty. Evidently the interest was at the further end of the line, and the day a holiday to the two cities, Byzantium and Galata. Yet of the attractions on the water and the shores, the woman took no heed; she said never a word after the start; but sat with head bowed, and her face buried in her hands. Occasionally, if the boatman had not been so intent on earning the gold piece, he might have heard her sob. For some reason, the day was not a holiday to her. "We are nearly there," he at length said. Without lifting the veil, she glanced at a low wall on the left-hand shore, then at a landing, shaky from age and neglect, in front of a gate in the wall; and seeing it densely blockaded, she spoke: "Please put me ashore here. I have no time to lose." The bank was soft and steep. "You cannot make it." "I can if you will give me your oar for a step." "I will." In a few minutes she was on land. Pausing then to toss the gold piece to the boatman, she heard his thanks, and started hastily for the gate. Within the Cynegion, she fell in with some persons walking rapidly, and talking of the coming event as if it were a comedy. "He is a Russian, you say?" "Yes, and what is strange, he is the very man who got the Prince of India's negro"-- "The giant?" "Yes--who got him to drown that fine young fellow Demedes." "Where is the negro now?" "In a cell here." "Why didn't they give him to the lion?" "Oh, he had a friend--the Princess Irene." "What is to be done with him?" "Afterwhile, when the affair of the cistern is forgotten, he will be given a purse, and set free." "Pity! For what sport to have seen him in front of the old Tartar!" "Yes, he's a fighter." In the midst of this conversation, the party came in sight of the central building, externally a series of arches supporting a deep cornice handsomely balustraded, and called the Gallery. "Here we are!--But see the people on the top! I was afraid we would be too late. Let us hurry." "Which gate?" "The western--it's the nearest." "Can't we get in under the grand stand?" "No, it's guarded." These loquacious persons turned off to make the western gate; but the woman in brown kept on, and ere long was brought to the grand stand on the north. An arched tunnel, amply wide, ran under it, with a gate at the further end admitting directly to the arena. A soldier of the foreign legion held the mouth of the tunnel. "Good friend," she began, in a low, beseeching tone, "is the heretic who is to suffer here yet?" "He was brought out last night." "Poor man! I am a friend of his"--her voice trembled--"may I see him?" "My orders are to admit no one--and I do not know which cell he is in." The supplicant, sobbing and wringing her hands, stood awhile silent. Then a roar, very deep and hoarse, apparently from the arena, startled her and she trembled. "Tamerlane!" said the soldier. "O God!" she exclaimed. "Is the lion turned in already?" "Not yet. He is in his den. They have not fed him for three days." She stayed her agitation, and asked: "What are your orders?" "Not to admit any one." "To the cells?" "The cells, and the arena also." "Oh, I see! You can let me stand at the gate yonder?" "Well--yes. But if you are the monk's friend, why do you want to see him die?" She made no reply, but took from a pocket a bezant, and contrived to throw its yellow gleam in the sentinel's eyes. "Is the gate locked?" "No, it is barred on this side." "Does it open into the arena?" "Yes." "I do not ask you to violate your orders," she continued, calmly; "only let me go to the gate, and see the man when he is brought out." She offered him the money, and he took it, saying: "Very well. I can see no harm in that. Go." The gate in question was open barred, and permitted a view of nearly the whole circular interior. The spectacle presented was so startling she caught one of the bars for support. Throwing back the veil, she looked, breathing sighs which were almost gasps. The arena was clear, and thickly strewn with wet sand. There were the walls shutting it in, like a pit, and on top of them, on the ascending seats back to the last one--was it a cloud she beheld? A second glance, and she recognized the body of spectators, men, women and children, compacted against the sky. How many of them there were! Thousands and thousands! She clasped her hands, and prayed. Twelve o'clock was the hour for the expiation. Waiting so wearily there at the gate--praying, sighing, weeping by turns--the woman was soon forgotten by the sentinel. She had bought his pity. In his eyes she was only a lover of the doomed monk. An hour passed thus. If the soldier's theory were correct, if she were indeed a poor love-lorn creature come to steal a last look at the unfortunate, she eked small comfort from her study of the cloud of humanity on the benches. Their jollity, their frequent laughter and hand-clapping reached her in her retreat. "Merciful God!" she kept crying. "Are these beings indeed in thy likeness?" In a moment of wandering thought, she gave attention to the fastenings of the gate, and observed the ends of the bar across it rested in double iron sockets on the side toward her; to pass it, she had only to raise the bar clear of the socket and push. Afterwhile the door of a chamber nearly opposite her opened, and a man stood in the aperture. He was very tall, gigantic even; and apparently surprised by what he beheld, he stepped out to look at the benches, whereat the light fell upon him and she saw he was black. His appearance called for a roar of groans, and he retired, closing the door behind him. Then there was an answering roar from a cell near by at her left. The occupants of the benches applauded long and merrily, crying, "Tamerlane! Tamerlane!" The woman shrank back terrified. A little later another man entered the arena, from the western gate. Going to the centre he looked carefully around him; as if content with the inspection, he went next to a cell and knocked. Two persons responded by coming out of the door; one an armed guardsman, the other a monk. The latter wore a hat of clerical style, and a black gown dropping to his bare feet, its sleeves of immoderate length completely muffling his hands. Instantly the concourse on the benches arose. There was no shouting--one might have supposed them all suddenly seized with shuddering sympathy. But directly a word began passing from mouth to mouth; at first, it was scarcely more than a murmur; soon it was a byname on every tongue: "The heretic! The heretic!" The monk was Sergius. His guard conducted him to the centre of the field, and, taking off his hat, left him there. In going he let his gauntlet fall. Sergius picked it up, and gave it to him; then calm, resigned, fearless, he turned to the east, rested his hands on his breast palm to palm, closed his eyes, and raised his face. He may have had a hope of rescue in reserve; certain it is, they who saw him, taller of his long gown, his hair on his shoulders and down his back, his head upturned, the sunlight a radiant imprint on his forehead, and wanting only a nimbus to be the Christ in apparition, ceased jeering him; it seemed to them that in a moment, without effort, he had withdrawn his thoughts from this world, and surrendered himself. They could see his lips move; but what they supposed his last prayer was only a quiet recitation: "I believe in God, and Jesus Christ, his Son." The guard withdrawn, three sharp mots of a trumpet rang out from the stand. A door at the left of the tunnel gate was then slowly raised; whereupon a lion stalked out of the darkened depths, and stopped on the edge of the den thus exposed, winking to accustom his eyes to the day-splendor. He lingered there very leisurely, turning his ponderous head from right to left and up and down, like a prisoner questioning if he were indeed at liberty. Having viewed the sky and the benches, and filled his deep chest with ample draughts of fresh air, suddenly Tamerlane noticed the monk. The head rose higher, the ears erected, and, snuffing like a hound, he fretted his shaggy mane; his yellow eyes changed to coals alive, and he growled and lashed his sides with his tail. A majestic figure was he now. "What is it?" he appeared asking himself. "Prey or combat?" Still in a maze, he stepped out into the arena, and shrinking close to the sand, inched forward creeping toward the object of his wonder. The spectators had opportunity to measure him, and drink their fill of terror. The monk was a goodly specimen of manhood, young, tall, strong; but a fig for his chances once this enemy struck him or set its teeth in his flesh! An ox could not stand the momentum of that bulk of bone and brawn. It were vain telling how many--not all of them women and children--furtively studied the height of the wall enclosing the pit to make sure of their own safety upon the seats. Sergius meantime remained in prayer and recitation; he was prepared for the attack, but as a non-resistant; if indeed he thought of battle, he was not merely unarmed--the sleeves of his gown deprived him of the use of his hands. From the man to the lion, from the lion to the man, the multitude turned shivering, unable nevertheless to look away. Presently the lion stopped, whined, and behaved uneasily. Was he afraid? Such was the appearance when he began trotting around at the base of the wall, halting before the gates, and seeking an escape. Under the urgency, whatever it was, from the trot he broke into a gallop, without so much as a glance at the monk. A murmur descended from the benches. It was the people recovering from their horror, and impatient. Ere long they became positive in expression; in dread doubtless of losing the catastrophe of the show, they yelled at the cowardly beast. In the height of this tempest, the gate of the tunnel under the grand stand opened quickly, and was as quickly shut. Death brings no deeper hush than fell upon the assemblage then. A woman was crossing the sand toward the monk! Round sped the lion, forward she went! Two victims! Well worth the monster's hunger through the three days to be so banqueted on the fourth! There are no laws of behavior for such situations. Impulse and instinct rush in and take possession. While the thousands held their breath, they were all quickened to know who the intruder was. She was robed in white, was bareheaded and barefooted. The dress, the action, the seraphic face were not infrequent on the water, and especially in the churches; recognition was instantaneous, and through the eager crowded ranks the whisper flew: "God o' Mercy! It is the Princess--the Princess Irene!" Strong men covered their eyes, women fainted. The grand stand had been given up to the St. James', and they and their intimates filled it from the top seat to the bottom; and now directly the identity became assured, toward them, or rather to the Hegumen conspicuous in their midst, innumerable arms were outstretched, seconding the cry: "Save her! Save her! Let the lion be killed!" Easier said than done. Crediting the Brotherhood with lingering sparks of humanity, the game was beyond their interference. The brute was lord. Who dared go in and confront him? About this time, the black man, of whom we have spoken, looked out of his cell again. To him the pleading arms were turned. He saw the monk, the Princess, and the lion making its furious circuit--saw them and retreated, but a moment after reappeared, attired in the savageries which were his delight. In the waist-belt he had a short sword, and over his left shoulder a roll like a fisherman's net. And now he did not retreat. The Princess reached Sergius safely, and placing a hand on his arm, brought him back, as it were, to life and the situation. "Fly, little mother--by the way you came--fly!" he cried, in mighty anguish. "O God! it is too late--too late." Wringing his hands, he gave way to tears. "No, I will not fly. Did I not bring you to this? Let death come to us both. Better the quick work of the lion than the slow torture of conscience. I will not fly! We will die together. I too believe in God and Jesus Christ his Son." She reached up, and rested her hand upon his shoulder. The repetition of the Creed, and her companionship restored his courage, and smiling, despite the tears on his cheeks, he said: "Very well, little mother. The army of the martyrs will receive us, and the dear Lord is at his mansion door to let us in." The lion now ceased galloping. Stopping over in the west quarter of the field, he turned his big burning eyes on the two thus resigning themselves, and crouching, put himself in motion toward them; his mane all on end; his jaws agape, their white armature whiter of the crimson tongue lolling adrip below the lips. He had given up escape, and, his curiosity sated, was bent upon his prey. The charge of cowardice had been premature. The near thunder of his roaring was exultant and awful. There was great ease of heart to the people when Nilo--for he it was--taking position between the devoted pair and their enemy, shook the net from his shoulder, and proceeded to give an example of his practice with lions in the jungles of Kash-Cush. Keeping the brute steadily eye to eye, he managed so that while retaining the leaden balls tied to its disengaged corners one in each hand, the net was presently in an extended roll on the ground before him. Leaning forward then, his hands bent inwardly knuckle to knuckle at his breast, his right foot advanced, the left behind the right ready to carry him by a step left aside, he waited the attack--to the beholders, a figure in shining ebony, giantesque in proportions, Phidian in grace. Tamerlane stopped. What new wonder was this? And while making the study, he settled flat on the sand, and sunk his roaring into uneasy whines and growls. By this time every one looking on understood Nilo's intent--that he meant to bide the lion's leap, and catch and entangle him in the net. What nerve and nicety of calculation--what certainty of eye--what knowledge of the savage nature dealt with--what mastery of self, limb and soul were required for the feat! Just at this crisis there was a tumult in the grand stand. Those who turned that way saw a man in glistening armor pushing through the brethren there in most unceremonious sort. In haste to reach the front, he stepped from bench to bench, knocking the gowned Churchmen right and left as if they were but so many lay figures. On the edge of the wall, he tossed his sword and shield into the arena, and next instant leaped after them. Before astonishment was spent, before the dull of faculties could comprehend the intruder, before minds could be made up to so much as yell, he had fitted the shield to his arm, snatched up the sword, and run to the point of danger. There, with quick understanding of the negro's strategy, he took place behind him, but in front of the Princess and the monk. His agility, cumbered though he was, his amazing spirit, together with the thought that the fair woman had yet another champion over whom the lion must go ere reaching her, wrought the whole multitude into ecstasy. They sprang upon the benches, and their shouting was impossible of interpretation except as an indication of a complete revulsion of feeling. In fact, many who but a little before had cheered the lion or cursed him for cowardice now prayed aloud for his victims. The noise was not without effect on the veteran Tamerlane. He surveyed the benches haughtily once, then set forward again, intent on Nilo. The movement, in its sinuous, flexile gliding, resembled somewhat a serpent's crawl. And now he neither roared nor growled. The lolling tongue dragged the sand; the beating of the tail was like pounding with a flail; the mane all erect trebly enlarged the head; and the eyes were like live coals in a burning bush. The people hushed. Nilo stood firm; thunder could as easily have diverted a statue; and behind him, not less steadfast and watchful, Count Corti kept guard. Thirty feet away-- twenty-five--twenty--then the great beast stopped, collected himself, and with an indescribable roar launched clear of the ground. Up, at the same instant, and forward on divergent lines, went the leaden balls; the netting they dragged after them had the appearance of yellow spray blown suddenly in the air. When the monster touched the sand again, he was completely enveloped. The struggle which ensued--the gnashing of teeth, the bellowing, the rolling and blind tossing and pitching, the labor with the mighty limbs, the snapping of the net, the burrowing into the sand, the further and more inextricable entanglement of the enraged brute may be left to imagination. Almost before the spectators realized the altered condition, Nilo was stabbing him with the short sword. The well-directed steel at length accomplished the work, and the pride of the Cynegion lay still in the bloody tangle--then the benches found voice. Amidst the uproar Count Corti went to Nilo. "Who art thou?" he asked, in admiration. The King smiled, and signified his inability to hear or speak. Whereupon the Count led him to the Princess. "Take heart, fair saint," he said. "The lion is dead, and thou art safe." She scarcely heard him. He dropped upon his knee. "The lion is dead, O Princess, and here is the hand which slew him--here thy rescuer." She looked her gratitude to Nilo--speak she could not. "And thou, too," the Count continued, to the monk, "must have thanks for him." Sergius replied: "I give thee thanks, Nilo--and thou, noble Italian--I am only a little less obliged to thee--thou wast ready with thy sword." He paused, glanced at the grand stand, and went on: "It is plain to me, Count Corti, that thou thinkest my trial happily ended. The beast is dead truly; but yonder are some not less thirsty for blood. It is for them to say what I must further endure. I am still the heretic they adjudged me. Do thou therefore banish me from thy generous mind; then thou canst give it entirely to her who is most in need of it. Remove the Princess--find a chair for her, and leave me to God." "What further can they do?" asked the Count. "Heaven hath decided the trial in thy favor. Have they another lion?" The propriety of the monk's suggestion was obvious; it was not becoming for the Princess to remain in the public eye; besides, under reaction of spirit, she was suffering. "Have they another lion?" the Count repeated. Anxious as he was to assist the Princess, he was not less anxious, if there was further combat, to take part in it. The Count was essentially a fighting man. The open door of Nilo's cell speedily attracted his attention. "Help me, sir monk. Yonder is a refuge for the Princess. Let us place her in safety. I will return, and stay with thee. If the reverend Christians, thy brethren in the grand stand, are not content, by Allah"--he checked himself--"their cruelty would turn the stomach of a Mohammedan." A few minutes, and she was comfortably housed in the cell. "Now, go to thy place; I will send for a chair, and rejoin thee." At the tunnel gate, the Count was met by a number of the St. James', and he forgot his errand. "We have come," said one of them to Sergius, "to renew thy arrest." "Be it so," Sergius replied; "lead on." But Count Corti strode forward. "By whose authority is this arrest renewed?" he demanded. "Our Hegumen hath so ordered." "It shall not be--no, by the Mother of your Christ, it shall not be unless you bring me the written word of His Majesty making it lawful." "The Hegumen"-- "I have said it, and I carry a sword"--the Count struck the hilt of the weapon with his mailed hand, so the clang was heard on the benches. "I have said it, and my sword says it. Go, tell thy Hegumen." Then Sergius spoke: "I pray you interfere not. The Heavenly Father who saved me this once is powerful to save me often." "Have done, sir monk," the Count returned, with increasing earnestness. "Did I not hear thee say the same in thy holy Sancta Sophia, in such wise that these deserved to cast themselves at thy feet? Instead, lo! the lion there. And for the truth, which is the soul of the world as God is its Maker--the Truth and the Maker being the same--it is not interest in thee alone which moves me. She, thy patroness yonder, is my motive as well. There are who will say she followed thee hither being thy lover; but thou knowest better, and so do I. She came bidden by conscience, and except thou live, there will be no ease of conscience for her--never. Wherefore, sir monk, hold thy peace. Thou shalt no more go hence of thine own will than these shall take thee against it.... Return, ye men of blood--return to him who sent you, and tell him my sword vouches my word, being so accustomed all these years I have been a man. Bring they the written word of His Majesty, I will give way. Let them send to him." The brethren stared at the Count. Had he not been willing to meet old Tamerlane with that same sword? They turned about, and were near the tunnel gate going to report, when it was thrown open with great force, and the Emperor Constantine appeared on horseback, the horse bloody with spurring and necked with foam. Riding to the Count he drew rein. "Sir Count, where is my kinswoman?" Corti kissed his hand. "She is safe, Your Majesty--she is in the cell yonder." The Emperor's eye fell upon the carcass of the lion. "Thou didst it, Count?" "No--this man did it." The Emperor gazed at Nilo, thus designated, and taking a golden chain of fine workmanship from his neck, he threw it over the black King's. At the door of the cell, he dismounted; within, he kissed the Princess on the forehead. "A chair will be here directly." "And Sergius?" she asked. "The Brotherhood must forego their claim now. Heaven has signified its will." He thereupon entered into explanation. The necessity upon him was sore and trying, else he had never surrendered Sergius to the Brotherhood. He expected the Hegumen would subject him to discipline--imprisonment or penance. He had even signed the order placing the lion at service, supposing they meant merely a trial of the monk's constancy. Withal the proceeding was so offensive he had refused to witness it. An officer came to the palace with intelligence which led him to believe the worst was really intended. To stop it summarily, he had ordered a horse and a guard. Another officer reported the Princess in the arena with Sergius and the lion. With that His Majesty had come at speed. And he was grateful to God for the issue. In a short time the sedan was brought, and the Princess borne to her house. Summoning the Brotherhood from the grand stand, the Emperor forbade their pursuing Sergius further; the punishment had already been too severe. The Hegumen protested. Constantine arose in genuine majesty, and denouncing all clerical usurpations, he declared that for the future he would be governed by his own judgment in whatever concerned the lives of his subjects and the welfare of his empire. The declaration was heard by the people on the benches. By his order, Sergius was conducted to Blacherne, and next day installed a janitor of the imperial Chapel; thus ending his connection with the Brotherhood of the St. James'. "Your Majesty," said Count Corti, at the conclusion of the scene in the arena, "I pray a favor." Constantine, by this time apprised of the Count's gallantry, bade him speak. "Give me the keeping of this negro." "If you mean his release from prison, Sir Count, take him. He can have no more suitable guardian. But it is to be remembered he came to the city with one calling himself the Prince of India, and if at any time that mysterious person reappears, the man is to be given back to his master." The Count regarded Nilo curiously--he was merely recalling the Prince. "Your Majesty is most gracious. I accept the condition." The captain of the guard, coming to the tunnel under the grand stand, was addressed by the sentinel there. "See--here are a dress, a pair of shoes, and a veil. I found them by the gate there." "How came they there?" "A woman asked me to let her stand by the gate, and see the heretic when they brought him out, and I gave her permission. She wore these things." "The Princess Irene!" exclaimed the officer. "Very well. Send them to me, and I will have her pleasure taken concerning them." The Cynegion speedily returned to its customary state. But the expiation remained in the public mind a date to which all manner of events in city life was referred; none of them, however, of such consequence as the loss to the Emperor of the allegiance of the St. James'. Thenceforth the Brotherhoods were united against him. _ |
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