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CHAPTER XXVI
CORYON

At sunrise on the morning of the day that was to have witnessed Leonard’s public betrothal he was sitting staring gloomily, through the grating of his cell, at the never-resting branches without, when the sounds of drums, on which a long tattoo was being beaten, broke on his ear. The sounds came from both near and far, some half-muffled in the galleries and caverns of the cliff, others echoing from one side to the other of the rocky enclosure till they died away in the far distance.

Since the previous morning nothing further had occurred; the woman was still in the cell on one side of him; no new victim had been brought to occupy the other.

The roll of the drums caused Leonard to start up and look about him. He was haggard and worn from want of sleep, but his step was firm, and his face was stamped with a look of quiet resolution that showed he had taken to heart his fellow-prisoner’s advice. When he rose up she spoke.

“It is as I thought,” she said; “they are to have one of their gatherings to-day, when the tree will be given its meal in sight of all who are summoned to be present. That is why one of us was not given to it last night, no doubt.” And she gave a short, hard laugh, that was far from pleasant to hear.

“No doubt it is your turn,” she went on in a softer tone. “You must summon all your fortitude. Be brave! If one must die, one needs not show such craven fear as that half-mad wretch exhibited the other night.”

“You speak well, my good friend, and what you have said to me has braced me up. Would that, before we part, I could say or do something to serve or comfort you.”

“That cannot be; only remember what I told you – if you want a taunt to hurl at the tyrant’s head, a taunt that will stab him through his self-admiration, you know now what to say. Soon they will be here for you. Ah!” here she broke off, as though a new thought had come to her. “On these days they are all assembled outside – all the men. Only the women and children are left within their dens. Oh, if I could but get free for half an hour! I know some of their secrets, and could play a trick upon them that would go far to square accounts between us. But, of course,” she added mournfully, “it is foolishness to think of it.”

Overhead could now be heard the scuffling of many footsteps, and, anon, more drum-beating, with much blowing of horns and trumpets. Next, there were shouting and cheering, followed by what appeared to be a speech from some one; but the words were not intelligible to the two anxious listeners.

At one time the noise had brought a faint hope into Leonard’s mind that it might portend the approach of friends; but the words Fernina had just spoken quickly dissipated any such idea.

Presently, steps were heard in the gallery outside, a key was inserted in the lock, and two of Coryon’s black-coated soldiers entered. They were both armed with drawn swords; and one of them, addressing Leonard in gruff accents, said,

“You are to come with us.” Then, turning to his comrade, he asked, “Have you the cord?”

“No,” was the reply, “I thought you had it.”

“And I thought you were bringing it. Go, get it.”

The man went out.

Then he who had remained, raising a warning hand to Leonard, addressed him in low, guarded tones.

“The lord Monella,” he said, “is hastening to thine aid with many armed followers; but he has been detained in the underground pass. Whether he will arrive in time, I know not; if not and thou be harmed, thou wilt be avenged.”

“Who art thou, then?” asked Leonard.

“A friend of the lord Monella’s.”

“And my other friend – what of him?”

“He was a prisoner, but escaped, and has gone – I know not whither.”

“Heaven be praised for that! Ah, I can guess where he has gone!” Just then a sudden thought came into Leonard’s head.

“See, friend,” he said earnestly, “canst thou not turn the key in the lock of the next cell and give the poor creature there one little chance for liberty?”

“I do not know, but I will see. If the key fits, I might.”

“Quick, then, ere thy fellow returns.”

The man hastily took out the key and tried it in the lock of the woman’s cell; it fitted, and he unlocked the door; then withdrawing the key, he replaced it in the door of Leonard’s cell.

“Roll that log to the door to keep it close till you think it safe to venture out,” Leonard advised the woman. She had but just done so when they heard the steps of the other soldier in the gallery.

“What is thy name, friend?” Leonard asked him in a whisper.

“Melta,” the man answered; and then, when the other made his appearance with some cord, he began to rate him for having been so long.

Leonard was bound in a loose fashion, just sufficient to prevent his free use of either arms or legs, and led away. On his way out he said a kindly word to Fernina.

“The Great Spirit help you,” was the reply. “I have no fear for you now; you will die with courage, if it be so fated. A heart that can feel and think for a stranger in the midst of such distress as is yours to-day is the heart of a brave man. But we may yet meet again.”

Leonard shook his head sadly.

“I have no false hopes,” he answered. “I do not expect that help can now come in time. I may be avenged; that is the most I can hope for.”

“Yes!” said the woman in a meaning tone; “you will be avenged; and so shall I.”

The man who had been sent for the cord laughed jeeringly at the woman when she said this, but took no further notice of her; and the three proceeded along the gallery till they came to some steps at the end. Ascending these they entered a broader gallery or corridor above; then, turning back, they passed out through the gateway and along the covered-way, finally emerging on the main terrace of the great amphitheatre.

Round the sides of the enclosure a large number of people were gathered. Among these were black-coated soldiers to the number of, perhaps, two hundred; the others, of whom there were from four to five hundred, also carried arms of some sort, spears or swords. When Leonard cast his eyes around and noted them, the heart within him sank, for he saw how difficult would be a rescue, even with the armed followers that the man Melta had said accompanied Monella.

In the centre of the great terrace, upon a high chair carved and emblazoned, and with a great banner waving above his head, sat the dreaded Coryon. Round him were grouped, first his nine priests in black robes, and Dakla and others of his chief officers; then, ranks of soldiers and, among them, some of the king’s ministers and chief functionaries, all bound as Leonard was. But the king himself was not there; nor was Ulama; and Leonard, when he had assured himself of this, turned his gaze on Coryon.

It was well that he had been warned that he would need all his courage to enable him to look upon this man unflinchingly. Even thus prepared he found it barely possible to keep down the emotion the sight excited in his breast.

He saw before him a man of great height and powerful frame, clad in a black robe with a star on the breast worked in virgin gold and set with jewels. His grey hair and beard were unkempt and long, his skin of a dark swarthy hue, his forehead, albeit broad, was receding, and furrowed, and wrinkled into a sinister scowl, and his lips were parted or drawn up in a set snarl that disclosed teeth more like a wild beast’s fangs than a human being’s teeth. When Leonard first caught sight of him, he was standing with one arm extended as though he had just finished some harangue; but, when Leonard was brought up, Coryon sat down. Then he slowly turned his glance upon the prisoner.

And beneath that glance a feeling of cold horror stole into Leonard’s breast; he felt as though an icy hand were about to seize his very heart and wring it in a grip of iron. It was the nameless dread that a man may feel in the presence of something that his instincts tell him is a deadly enemy, yet of which he cannot discover the form, or size, or nature; whether earthly or supernatural. Here, certainly, the outward shape was that of a man, but in the eyes there was something suggesting that their owner was not a man at all, but a living incarnation of depravity – a demon with eyes, for the moment quiescent as with the cold glitter and deadly malignancy of the serpent, but instinct with suppressed power, and ready to flame up with terrible, relentless, overwhelming energy. Mingled with the snake-like glitter of malevolence there were lurid flashes that darted forth perpetually, causing the beholder to recoil as though from actual darts. At sight of him one thought of some nameless monster coiled up and meditating a spring upon its prey; a monster that was the implacable foe of the whole human race, that embodied, in human form, all the power, the attributes, the cruelty, of an arch-demon from another world.

From such a being the soul shrinks with a horror that is less earthly fear than the natural loathing of evil things that is implanted within the breasts of all endowed with pure and holy instincts; and this was Leonard’s feeling while he stood, half sick and faint, enduring and returning Coryon’s fixed look.

But just when it came upon him that he must either shift his glance or drop helpless to the ground, the thought of all the child-like, innocent Ulama must have suffered through the shameless treachery of this fiend in human shape came into his mind; and, with the thought, forth from his heart rushed out the blood, bursting through the icy grip that had all but closed upon it, and coursing through his veins in a leaping torrent, like one of those great waves of fiery indignation that sometimes, for a while, gives to one man the strength of ten. With a sudden impulse that forgot everything but his righteous anger, he put forth such an effort that he broke the cords that bound him; then, rushing impetuously upon Coryon, before any one could interfere, he actually had him by the throat in a clutch that, spite of the other’s own gigantic strength, would have ended his vile life if, for a few seconds longer, his assailant had been left alone. But a dozen hands laid hold of him and pulled him back, bruised and panting, to the custody of the men he had escaped from. But, though baffled and injured in the struggle, there was in his eyes a light almost of triumph when he turned round and faced his enemy once more.

“Aha!” he shouted. “Coward! Hateful murderer of women and children and unarmed men! Thou darest not come down and meet me man to man! Though thou art near twice my size, I had choked the foul life out of thee, had we been left alone!”

At first, Coryon made no answer, except to glare at his late assailant with his evil eyes; but they fell away under the other’s dauntless look, and he put his hands to his throat as if in pain.

“This will cost thee dear,” at last he said, in a harsh, croaking voice; but Leonard replied with a cold smile,

“Thou canst but kill me; and I would not beg mercy from such as thou. Why dost turn thine eyes away, coward Coryon? Dost feel at last that so foul a thing may not endure the glance of an honest man?”

Coryon sprang up and stood for a moment with his hands extended towards his prisoner, his fingers closing and opening convulsively as though he half intended to accept the challenge in the other’s words and looks. Then he managed to control his passion and sat down again, first addressing a few words in a low tone to a priest who stood beside him.

CHAPTER XXVII
ON THE ‘DEVIL-TREE’S LADLE!’

When Coryon sat down, a kind of buzzing or hum or talk in low tones broke out on all sides. Exclamations and expressions of astonishment were heard, for never had such audacity been known in a prisoner standing thus on the very brink of death and almost within reach of the clutch of the fatal tree.

Leonard was now bound again, and Dakla sent two or three of his subordinate officers to stand beside him. But, even while they bound him, the guards, as he could hardly fail to see, treated him with a measure of involuntary respect; and well they might, for there was not one amongst them that durst look the evil Coryon in the face.

Then was brought out the contrivance called the ‘devil-tree’s ladle’; it was simply a long plank widened out at one end, and mounted, in the centre, on wheels. An irrepressible shudder passed through Leonard when he saw this grim apparatus. But there was little outward sign of his emotion, and his eyes were soon again fixed on Coryon, who rose and thus addressed those present,

“Friends, ye all see here a confirmation of that which I have already explained unto you this morning. Yonder stands one of the strangers whom the king hath admitted to his friendship; the man he was about to honour by alliance with his royal house. Ye can see for yourselves the untutored passions by which this youth, who was, forsooth, to have been your future king, is swayed, and his lack of seemly behaviour in the presence of one like myself, who hath for so many years held a high position in the land, and hath conferred so many benefits upon it. Not the least of these, my friends, is that which I have just achieved – only just in time. I have, with the joint help of those powerful gods whom we all here serve, been able to defeat and overcome even the magic with which these men were armed. Ye all know, or have heard, how they came provided, by some enemies of our race outside the country, with magic wands that brought down lightning and thunder and death upon those opposed to them; and to their seeming power the king weakly yielded, and allowed these strangers to assume high stations in the land. Zelus, my well-beloved son, early fell a victim to their lawless intrusion into our domains, as did many of my people whom I sent to capture them. But in the end I have prevailed against them; I have taken from them their magic wands, and now they are, as ye all can see, but ordinary men. But a punishment hath fallen upon the king, for he is sick to death, and that is why he is not here to-day. He hath not long to live, and soon the country will be without a king. Now it seemeth to me certain that the people are averse from accepting this young stranger as the successor to their dying ruler, and that they desire one of their own race. This hath caused me much anxious thought, but I have at last, I think, discovered a solution of the difficulty. I will espouse the Princess Ulama, and become the king’s son-in-law; thus will your minds be set at rest; for ye will know that whenever the king dieth he will be succeeded by a ruler who is not only of your own race, but hath served his country long enough to satisfy all objectors as to his experience, or his ability, or his solicitude for the welfare of his native land.”

While uttering these words, Coryon looked with a hardly-veiled smile of malice at Leonard, who, listening to the infamous proposal wrapped up in such unblushing hypocrisy, started as though he would have rushed again upon the speaker; but he was held too firmly by those who now surrounded him. He could scarce keep from groaning aloud at what he had just heard.

Coryon marked with evident satisfaction this effect of his announcement, and proceeded, in an unctuous voice, and with an affectation of great resignation,

“In doing this, good friends, I have, I assure you, no thought, no feeling save the welfare of my country. I had not thought ever to take to me another wife; though I had looked with favour upon the desire of my son Zelus to ally himself with our king’s daughter. But, since this young stranger hath rendered that impossible by slaying treacherously mine only son, I will accept the necessities of the situation, and sacrifice my own feelings for the general good. Perhaps, after all, it is as well; for in me ye will have, as ye all know well, one who thinks always only of his people’s weal. For long ages I have guarded the land from outward foes by making friends of the powers of darkness. This, and this alone hath protected us from invasion by the hordes of wild men that we know exist beyond our borders. The powers, whose High Priest I am, have guarded us through many centuries, and have planted around the limits of our island a forest impenetrable and filled with terrible creatures for our protection. True, they let these strangers through, but only as a warning of that which might befall if we forgot, even for a moment, our religion, or rebelled against the sacrifices it requires and that our gods look for from us and will insist upon. True, we have to sacrifice some of those we love to our sacred tree, but what is that compared with the benefits and advantages that the rest receive? We have peace, prosperity, contentment, freedom from invasion, from wars, from enemies and dangers of all kinds; and, compared with these, the price that hath to be paid is, after all, but small. Henceforth, too, there will be a stronger guarantee for peace throughout the land, in that your king and the head of your religion will be one. And you, my faithful followers, who have served me well,” continued the arch-hypocrite, casting his eyes around, “will no more be called upon to reside in the rocky fastness that has been so long our home; for I shall take up my abode in the palace of the king and there shall ye all follow me.” At this a loud cheer went up from all. “And now to more immediate duties. I have condemned this murderer of my son to death; he shall end his life befittingly as a sacrifice to the gods whose power he hath defied in coming here – defied only to his own doom. So shall perish all who brave me; and so shall perish this man’s friends, his murderous abettors who, too, are in my power. And now, sirrah, if thou hast aught to say, thou hast just a minute. If thou hast aught to ask me, now is thy final opportunity.”

When he ceased speaking, Coryon sat down, first casting at Leonard a hideous glance of triumph. Leonard saw the sneer and knew that his enemy’s desire was to excite him to a farther display of useless anger; but the knowledge only served to calm him, and, when he spoke, it was in a voice that had in it neither bitterness nor passion, but only a great sadness. He did not wish to gratify Coryon by exhibiting anger; and thus he spoke,

“It is true I have something I would say, but it is not to thee, O Coryon, but to those who are not Coryon’s degraded servants, but free agents, who have been misled into supporting him here to-day. To you, good people, I address myself.” And Leonard cast his eyes around upon those who were not wearers of Coryon’s uniform. “I have much to say and much to ask. Know that the power of this boastful tyrant who declares with mock humility his wicked purpose to force the youthful daughter of his king into an alliance that revolts her – know, good people, that his power is almost at an end, and that he will never enter into that palace, in which he has promised to find place for his credulous followers. He may kill me if he will, but my death will naught avail; a few hours hence he will be either a prisoner in the hands of those who came with me, or hiding in his underground haunts like a hunted animal that dares not show its face above the ground. But the end will be the same. He will quickly be hurled out, and a terrible punishment will be meted out to him and to all those who abet him – every one, that is, who shall support him. Therefore I say this to you, when my friends come – as come they will – do not help Coryon’s myrmidons against them. They will come armed with a fearful power that you can scarce conceive; you shall see the very rocks fall away before them in crashing thunders as they hunt these rats out of their holes. If you fight on Coryon’s side, they will mow you down like grass before the scythe. On the other hand, if you side not with these doomed ones, but, instead, ask for mercy, you shall find it; for we came not to this land to teach cruelty and murder, but to deliver it from the tyranny that has so long oppressed it. That is my advice to you; what I would ask is that you tell your fellow-citizens that I am sore distressed in that I have done far less than I might to win their affections and their confidence. That I have made a terrible mistake, that it has led me to this situation, I now see. But my error I shall expiate with my life; when I am dead, and you see the benefits my friends will shower on the land, then tell all that I was of the same mind, and was full of naught but kindly feelings. But – my great – love for one so fair – as your young – princess – took up my thoughts, perhaps, more than should have been the case.” Leonard’s voice almost failed him here; but by a strong effort he recovered himself and went on. “That is all that I would ask; let them remember me and think kindly of me. You will see in those days who has spoken truly – whether I, or Coryon. You will know how false has been every word he has said to you to-day. Even what he says about my friends is false; they are not in his power, nor has he deprived them of their magic power, as you will all quickly see. To say that by his atrocious so-called religious rites he has guarded and advanced this country is a lie – ”

“Silence!” exclaimed Coryon, who had all this time been moving restlessly in his seat.

“I come from a land – the greatest on the earth – that has an empire upon which the sun ne’er sets; we have no such wicked murders called sacrifices; yet we are safe against our enemies, and – ”

“Silence, I tell thee! What think’st thou we care about thy country or thyself?” Coryon burst out.

“I say,” Leonard went on, disregarding him, “that every word this man utters is a lie. He cannot say one single sentence without uttering a lie – ”

“If thou sayest more, I will have thee scourged as well as killed,” Coryon cried, in growing rage. “It speaketh well to these good people for my patience that I have let thee have thy say thus far. Never, for many a year, has mortal dared to flout me to my face as thou hast done.”

“O Coryon!” Leonard exclaimed, turning and facing him, “truly did I say that thou could’st not speak one single sentence without uttering some lie, and now thou art convicted. For I know of one, at least, that has flouted and dared thee to thy face; one whose spirit thou couldst not quell; and she but a woman – her name Fernina!”

At this a perfect howl of rage escaped from Coryon’s lips. He sprang up and clutched at the air, and gasped; and, for a moment, Leonard half thought he would have a fit. But he recovered himself, and shouted, in a screaming voice,

“Seize him! Gag him! Lay him on the feeding-ladle of our sacred tree! We will see how he fancies its embrace!” Then, turning round and addressing some one near him, he cried out,

“Bring forward the princess, that she may witness this my act of justice towards the murderer she would have taken to her bosom. Let my future wife look on. Ha! ha! ha! My future wife! How dost thou like the title, murderer of my son, and would-be king?”

His rage was something fearful to behold; many even of his own myrmidons trembled, and they made speed to do his bidding.

Leonard was seized and bound to the wheeled plank, and, after trying in vain to turn his head to take one last look at Ulama, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to prayer. At the same time Ulama, looking but the mere ghost of her former self, was led to the side of Coryon’s chair between two women, and forced to look upon the dreadful scene. At the sight of Leonard bound to the fatal plank, and the grim tree with its restless branches ever twisting in avid hunger for their prey, a look of stony horror came over her face; she gave one gasping, sobbing cry, and fell back unconscious.

For some moments Coryon paused; he was inclined to wait till Ulama should be restored to consciousness, for he wanted to prolong the torture of the lovers somewhat before finally consigning Leonard to his fate; but his fury mastered him, and he gave the signal to the two men holding one end of the plank to push it out along the stone pier.

They had just begun to move it when a shot was heard, and one of them fell to the ground; and Leonard, turning his head, saw Templemore, high on the rocks above, kneeling with his rifle at his shoulder.

Coryon saw it too, and, with a shout, and many threats, urged the other man to push out the plank; but, instead, he started back in terror, and only just in time to escape a second bullet that came singing past his ears and wounded a soldier standing near.

Coryon, mad with rage and disappointed malice, snatched a spear from a soldier beside him, and ordered others in front of him to seize the plank and push it out, prodding at them with the spear to force obedience; but one, who stepped forward at his bidding, fell before he could reach the plank. Meantime, Templemore, followed by Ergalon and the brave Zonella, had come leaping down from ledge to ledge, threatening all who barred his way, and shooting down one or two who tried to stop him. He now stood, a revolver in each hand, at the end of the plank, and there he kept a circle around him, while Ergalon cut the cords by which Leonard was bound, released the cloth that had been tied round his mouth to gag him, and helped him to his feet. Immediately he rushed to Templemore.

“Give me a rifle, Jack! Let me shoot down that son of Satan and rid the earth of him for ever.”

Ergalon was carrying three rifles, the one Templemore had been using and two spare ones; one of these he handed now to Leonard.

But, in the interval, Coryon’s chief officer, Dakla, had taken in the situation; and having already had experience of the weapons with which he saw Templemore was armed, had advised Coryon to retreat into the covered-way.

“It is useless to stay here, my lord,” he said. “Thou wilt surely be killed! Haste to the shelter while there is yet time! There I think thou wilt be safe. If not, thou canst retreat within the gates.”

“Dost think the danger is so great, good Dakla?” Coryon asked, incredulously.

“I am sure of it, my lord. Haste thee – and take some soldiers with thee and keep them between thee and thine enemies, or thou wilt never reach the shelter alive. I will leave some men here and take others up on to the rocks above, whence we can hurl down great stones upon them. Haply, if no more come, we may yet prevail against these.”

Coryon and his priests and immediate followers hastened away, accordingly, leaving the still unconscious Ulama, in charge of the two women, behind his chair. He was only just in time, for a soldier he forced to walk beside him fell by a shot from Leonard’s rifle a moment before they gained the shelter of the covered-way.

Leonard saw the women beside Coryon’s chair, and, though he knew not that Ulama was lying there unconscious, he guessed she was near the spot; therefore he feared to fire more shots in that direction; while he knew it would be useless to fire at the iron-work of the covered-way. For a space, therefore, there was a pause; but soon Dakla’s men appeared on the rocks above them and began to roll down stones and boulders.

The position of the little band was now becoming critical. To retreat, leaving Ulama in the hands of Coryon, was not to be conceived. Yet they could not advance, for a compact body of men stood ready to receive them; and at these they durst not fire lest they might hit Ulama or one of her attendants. Yet every minute they stayed where they were increased their danger. Great masses of rock, started by persons above who showed only an arm or hand above the ridge, came crashing down and shooting past them. And, when a head was raised above it here and there to take a hurried aim, it was seen only for a second, and gave little opportunity for a shot.

They had had two or three narrow escapes, and had avoided injury only by leaping out of the path of the rocks that came crashing and bounding down. Jack urged Zonella to go back, but she stoutly refused; and he was at his wits’ end what course to take, when loud shouting was heard in the direction of the entrance of the enclosure. Soon, a rush of armed men in red tunics came along the roadway at the rear of the black-coated soldiers standing around Coryon’s chair. Instantly Coryon’s men gave way, and rushed across the terrace towards the covered-way; while the red-coated men poured in and spread themselves out on either side.

And now could be seen men carrying flags and banners, and amongst them two of mighty stature; one of them, the taller, dressed in the coat of mail and the helmet with silver wings that had been preserved so long in the museum and that was said to have belonged to the legendary Mellenda. He wore, too, the great sword that belonged to the suit, and it seemed, upon his towering form, to be of no more than usual and proportionate size.

As this majestic figure came more closely into view, accompanied by Colenna and some others of the king’s officers, Leonard and Templemore’s astonishment were great at recognising no other than their friend Monella!