Alroy: The Prince of the Captivity

CHAPTER X

The Fall of Alroy

SHE comes not yet! her cheerful form, not yet it sparkles in our mournful sky. She comes not yet! the shadowy stars seem sad and lustreless without their Queen. She comes not yet!’

‘WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON,⁷⁸ AND LIVE IN LONELINESS TO HERALD LIGHT.’

‘She comes not yet! her sacred form, not yet it summons to our holy feast. She comes not yet! our brethren far wait mute and motionless the saintly beam. She comes not yet!’

‘WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON, AND LIVE IN LONELINESS TO HERALD LIGHT.’

‘She comes, she comes! her beauteous form sails with soft splendour in the glittering air. She comes, she comes! The beacons fire, and tell the nation that the month begins! She comes, she comes!’

‘WE ARE THE WATCHERS OF THE MOON, TO TELL THE NATION THAT THE MONTH BEGINS.’

Instantly the holy watchers fired the beacons on the mountain top, and anon a thousand flames blazed round the land. From Caucasus to Lebanon, on every peak a crown of light.

‘Sire! a Tatar has arrived from Hamadan, who will see none but thyself. I have told him your Highness was engaged, and sent him to the Lord Honain; but all denial is lost upon him. And as I thought perhaps the Lady Miriam–’

‘From Hamadan? You did well, Pharez. Admit him.’

The Tatar entered.

‘Well, Sir; good news, I hope!’

‘Sire, pardon me, the worst. I come from the Lord Abner, with orders to see the Caliph, and none else.’

‘Well, Sir, you see the Caliph. Your mission? What of the Viceroy?’

‘Sire, he bade me tell thee, that, the moment the beacon that announced the Feast of the New Moon was fired on Caucasus, the dreaded monarch of Karasmé, the great Alp Arslan, entered thy kingdom, and now overruns all Persia.’

‘Hah! and Abner?’

‘Is in the field, and prays for aid.’

‘He shall have it. This is indeed great news! When left you Hamadan?’

‘Night and day I have journeyed upon the swiftest dromedary. The third morn sees me at Bagdad.’

‘You have done your duty. See this faithful courier be well tended, Pharez. Summon the Lord Honain.’

‘Alp Arslan! Hah! a very famous warrior. The moment the beacon was fired. No sudden impulse then, but long matured. I like it not.’

‘Sire,’ said Pharez, re-entering, ‘a Tatar has arrived from the frontiers of the province, who will see none but thyself. I have told him your Highness was deeply busied, and as methinks he brings but the same news, I–’

‘‘Tis very likely; yet never think, good Pharez. I’ll see the man.’ The Tatar entered.

‘Well, Sir, how now! from whom?’

‘From Mozul. The Governor bade me see the Caliph and none else, and tell your Highness that the moment the beacon that announced the Feast of the New Moon was fired on the mountains, the fell rebel Abidan raised the standard of Judah in the province, and proclaimed war against your Majesty.’

‘In any force?’

‘The royal power keeps within their walls.’

‘Sufficient answer. Part of the same movement. We shall have some trouble. Hast summoned Honain?’

‘I have, Sire.’

‘Go, see this messenger be duly served, and, Pharez, come hither: let none converse with them. You understand?’

‘Your Highness may assure yourself.’

‘Abidan come to life. He shall not escape so well this time. I must see Scherirah. I much suspect–what’s this? More news!’

A third Tatar entered.

‘May it please your Highness, this Tatar has arrived from the Syrian frontier.’

‘Mischief in the wind, I doubt not. Speak out, knave!’

‘Sire! pardon me; I bear but sad intelligence.’

‘Out with the worst!’

‘I come from the Lord Medad.’

‘Well! has he rebelled? It seems a catching fever.’

‘Ah! no, dread Sire, Lord Medad has no thought but for thy glory. Alas! alas! he has now to guard it against fearful odds. Lord Medad bade me see the Caliph and none else, and tell your Highness, that the moment the beacon which announced the Feast of the New Moon was fired on Lebanon, the Sultan of Roum and the old Arabian Caliph unfurled the standard of their Prophet, in great array, and are now marching towards Bagdad.’

‘A clear conspiracy! Has Honain arrived? Summon a council of the Vizirs instantly. The world is up against me. Well! I’m sick of peace. They shall not find me napping!’

‘You see, my lords,’ said Alroy, ere the council broke up, ‘we must attack them singly. There can be no doubt of that. If they join, we must combat at great odds. ‘Tis in detail that we must route them. I will myself to Persia. Ithamar must throw himself between the Sultan and Abidan, Medad fall back on Ithamar. Scherirah must guard the capital. Honain, you are Regent. And so farewell. I shall set off to-night. Courage, brave companions. ‘Tis a storm, but many a cedar survives the thunderbolt.’

The council broke up.

‘My own Scherirah!’ said the Caliph, as they retired, ‘stay awhile. I would speak with you alone. Honain,’ continued Alroy, following the Grand Vizir out of the chamber, and leaving Scherirah alone, ‘Honain, I have not yet interchanged a word with you in private. What think you of all this?’

‘Sire, I am prepared for the worst, but hope the best.’

‘‘Tis wise. If Abner could only keep that Karasmian in check! I am about to speak with Scherirah alone. I do suspect him much.’

‘I’ll answer for his treason.’

‘Hah! I do suspect him. Therefore I give him no command. I would not have him too near his old companion, eh? We will garrison the city with his rebels.’

‘Sire, these are not moments to be nice. Scherirah is a valiant captain, a very valiant captain, but lend me thy signet ring, I pray thee, Sire.’

Alroy turned pale.

‘No, Sir, it has left me once, and never shall again. You have touched upon a string that makes me sad. There is a burden on my conscience, why, or what, I know not. I am innocent, you know I am innocent, Honain!’

‘I’ll answer for your Highness. He who has enough of the milk of human kindness to spare a thing like Scherirah, when he stands in his way, may well be credited for the nobler mercy that spared his better.’

‘Ah me! there’s madness in the thought. Why is he not here? Had I but followed; tush! tush! Go see the Queen, and tell her all that has happened. I’ll to Scherirah.’

The Caliph returned.

‘Thy pardon, brave Scherirah; in these moments my friends will pardon lapse of courtesy.’

‘Your Highness is too considerate.’

‘You see, Scherirah, how the wind blows, brave heart. There’s much to do, no doubt. I am in sad want of some right trusty friend, on whose devoted bosom I can pillow all my necessities. I was thinking of sending you against this Arslan, but perhaps ‘tis better that I should go myself. These are moments one should not seem to shrink, and yet we know not how affairs may run; no, we know not. The capital, the surrounding province: one disaster and these false Moslemin may rise against us. I should stay here, but if I leave Scherirah, I leave myself. I feel that deeply; ‘tis a consolation. It may be that I must fall back upon the city. Be prepared, Scherirah. Let me fall back upon supporting friends. You have a great trust. Oh! use it wisely! Worthily I am sure you must do.’

‘Your Highness may rest assured I have no other thought but for your weal and glory. Doubt not my devotion, Sire. I am not one of those mealy-mouthed youths, full of their own deeds and lip-worship, Sire, but I have a life devoted to your service, and ready at all times to peril all things.’

‘I know that, Scherirah, I know it; I feel it deeply. What think you of these movements?’

‘They are not ill combined, and yet I doubt not your Majesty will prove your fortunes most triumphant.’

‘Think you the soldiery are in good cue?’ ‘I’ll answer for my own. They are rough fellows, like myself, a little too blunt, perhaps, your Highness. We are not holiday guards, but we know our duty, and we will do it.’

‘That’s well, that’s all I want. I shall review the troops before I go. Let a donative be distributed among them; and, ‘by-the-bye, I have always forgotten it, your legion should be called the Legion of Syria. We owe our fairest province to their arms.’

‘I shall convey to them your Highness’ wish. Were it possible, ‘twould add to their devotion.’

‘I do not wish it. They are my very children. Sup at the Serail to-night, Scherirah. We shall be very private. Yet let us drink together ere we part. We are old friends, you know. Hast not forgotten our ruined city?’

Alroy entered the apartment of Schirene. ‘My soul! thou knowest all?’

She sprang forward and threw her arms around his neck.

‘Fear not, my life, we’ll not disgrace our Queen. ‘Twill be quick work. Two-thirds of them have been beaten before, and for the new champion, our laurels must not fade, and his blood shall nourish fresh ones.’

‘Dearest, dearest Alroy, go not thyself, I pray thee. May not Asriel conquer?’

‘I hope so, in my company. For a time we part, a short one. ‘Tis our first parting: may it be our last!’

‘Oh! no, no, no: oh! say not we must part.’

‘The troops are under arms; to-morrow’s dawn will hear my trumpet.’

‘I will not quit thee, no! I will not quit thee. What business has Schirene without Alroy? Hast thou not often told me I am thy inspiration? In the hour of danger shall I be wanting? Never! I will not quit thee; no, I will not quit thee.’

‘Thou art ever present in my thoughts, my soul. In the battle I shall think of her for whom alone I conquer.’

‘Nay, nay, I’ll go, indeed I must, Alroy. I’ll be no hindrance, trust me, sweet boy, I will not. I’ll have no train, no, not a single maid. Credit me, I know how a true soldier’s wife should bear herself. I’ll watch thee sleeping, and I’ll tend thee wounded, and when thou goest forth to combat I’ll gird thy sabre round thy martial side, and whisper triumph with victorious kisses.’

‘My own Schirene, there’s victory in thine eyes. We’ll beat them, girl.’

‘Abidan, doubly false Abidan! would he were doubly hanged! Ere she died, the fatal prophetess foretold this time, and gloated on his future treachery.’

‘Think not of him.’

‘And the Karasmian; think you he is very strong?’ ‘Enough, love, for our glory. He is a potent warrior: I trust that Abner will not rob us of our intended victory.’

‘So you triumph, I care not by whose sword. Dost go indeed to-morrow?’

‘At break of dawn. I pray thee stay, my sweet!’ ‘Never! I will not quit thee. I am quite prepared. At break of dawn? ‘Tis near on midnight now. I’ll lay me down upon this couch awhile, and travel in my litter. Art sure Alp Arslan is himself in the field?’

‘Quite sure, my sweet.’

‘Confusion on his crown! We’ll conquer. Goes Asriel with us?’ ‘Ay!’

‘That’s well; at break of dawn. I’m somewhat drowsy. Methinks I’ll sleep awhile.’

‘Do, my best heart; I’ll to my cabinet, and at break of dawn I’ll wake thee with a kiss.’

The Caliph repaired to his cabinet, where his secretaries were occupied in writing. As he paced the chamber, he dictated to them the necessary instructions.

‘Who is the officer on guard?’

‘Benaiah, Sire.’

‘I remember him. He saved me a broken skull upon the Tigris. This is for him. The Queen accompanies us. She is his charge. These papers for the Vizir. Let the troops be under arms by daybreak. This order of the day for the Lord Asriel. Send this instantly to Hamadan. Is the Tatar despatched to Medad? ‘Tis well. You have done your duty. Now to rest. Pharez?’

‘My lord.’

‘I shall not sleep to-night. Give me my drink. Go rest, good boy. I have no wants. Good night.’

‘Good night, my gracious lord!’

‘Let me ponder! I am alone. I am calm, and yet my spirit is not quick. I am not what I was. Four-and-twenty hours ago who would have dreamed of this? All at stake again! Once more in the field, and struggling at once for empire and existence! I do lack the mighty spirit of my former days. I am not what I was. I have little faith. All about me seems changed, and dull, and grown mechanical. Where are those flashing eyes and conquering visages that clustered round me on the battle eve, round me, the Lord’s anointed? I see none such. They are changed, as I am. Why! this Abidan was a host, and now he fights against me. She spoke of the prophetess; I remember that woman was the stirring trumpet of our ranks, and now where is she? The victim of my justice! And where is he, the mightier far, the friend, the counsellor, the constant guide, the master of my boyhood; the firm, the fond, the faithful guardian of all my bright career; whose days and nights were one unbroken study to make me glorious? Alas! I feel more like a doomed and desperate renegade than a young hero on the eve of battle, flushed with the memory of unbroken triumphs!

‘Hah! what awful form art thou that risest from the dusky earth before me? Thou shouldst be one I dare not name, yet will: the likeness of Jabaster. Away! why frownest thou upon me? I did not slay thee. Do I live, or dream, or what? I see him, ay! I see thee. I fear thee not, I fear nothing. I am Alroy.

‘Speak, oh speak! I do conjure thee, mighty spectre, speak. By all the memory of the past, although ‘tis madness, I do conjure thee, let me hear again the accents of my boyhood.’

‘Alroy, Alroy, Alroy!’

‘I listen, as to the last trump.’

‘Meet me on the plain of Nehauend.’

‘‘Tis gone! As it spoke it vanished. It was Jabaster! God of my fathers, it was Jabaster! Life is growing too wild. My courage is broken! I could lie down and die. It was Jabaster! The voice sounds in my ear like distant thunder: “Meet me on the plain of Nehauend.” I’ll not fail thee, noble ghost, although I meet my doom. Jabaster! Have I seen Jabaster! Indeed! indeed! Methinks I’m mad. Hah! What’s that?’

An awful clap of thunder broke over the palace, followed by a strange clashing sound that seemed to come from one of the chambers. The walls of the Serail rocked.

‘An earthquake!’ exclaimed Alroy. ‘Would that the earth would open and swallow all! Hah! Pharez, has it roused thee, too? Pharez, we live in strange times.’

‘Your Highness is very pale.’

‘And so art thou, lad! Wouldst have me merry? Pale! we may well be pale, didst thou know all. Hah! that awful sound again! I cannot bear it, Pharez, I cannot bear it. I have borne many things, but this I cannot.’

‘My lord, ‘tis in the Armoury.’

‘Run, see. No, I’ll not be alone. Where’s Benaiah? Let him go. Stay with me, Pharez, stay with me. I pray thee stay, my child.’

Pharez led the Caliph to a couch, on which Alroy lay pale and trembling. In a few minutes he inquired whether Benaiah had returned.

‘Even now he comes, Sire.’

‘Well, how is it?’

‘Sire! a most awful incident. As the thunder broke over the palace, the sacred standard fell from its resting-place, and has shivered into a thousand pieces. Strange to say, the sceptre of Solomon can neither be found nor traced.’

‘Say nothing of the past, as ye love me, lads. Let none enter the Armoury. Leave me, Benaiah, leave me, Pharez.’

They retired. Alroy watched their departure with a glance of inexpressible anguish. The moment that they had disappeared, he flew to the couch, and throwing himself upon his knees, and, covering his face with his hands, burst into passionate tears, and exclaimed, ‘O! my God, I have deserted thee, and now thou hast deserted me!’

Sleep crept over the senses of the exhausted and desperate Caliph. He threw himself upon the divan, and was soon buried in profound repose. He might have slept an hour; he awoke suddenly. From the cabinet in which he slept, you entered a vast hall, through a lofty and spacious arch, generally covered with drapery, which was now withdrawn. To the astonishment of Alroy, this presence-chamber appeared at this moment to blaze with light. He rose from his couch, he advanced; he perceived, with feelings of curiosity and fear, that the hall was filled with beings, terrible indeed to behold, but to his sight more terrible than strange. In the colossal and mysterious forms that lined the walls of the mighty chamber, and each of which held in its extended arm a streaming torch, he recognised the awful Afrites. At the end of the hall, upon a sumptuous throne, surrounded by priests and courtiers, there was seated a monarch, on whom Alroy had before gazed, Solomon the Great! Alroy beheld him in state and semblance the same Solomon, whose sceptre the Prince of the Captivity had seized in the royal tombs of Judah.

The strange assembly seemed perfectly unconscious of the presence of the child of Earth, who, with a desperate courage, leant against a column of the arch, and watched, with wonder, their mute and motionless society. Nothing was said, nothing done. No one moved, no one, even by gesture, seemed sensible of the presence of any other apparition save himself.

Suddenly there advanced from the bottom of the hall, near unto Alroy, a procession. Pages and dancing girls, with eyes of fire and voluptuous gestures, warriors with mighty arms, and venerable forms with ample robes and flowing beards. And, as they passed, even with all the activity of their gestures, they made no sound; neither did the musicians, whereof there was a great band playing upon harps and psalteries, and timbrels and cornets, break, in the slightest degree, the almighty silence.

This great crowd poured on in beautiful order, the procession never terminating, yet passing thrice round the hall, bowing to him that was upon the throne, and ranging themselves in ranks before the Afrites.

And there came in twelve forms, bearing a great seal: the stone green, and the engraven characters of living flame, and the characters were those on the talisman of Jabaster, which Alroy still wore next to his heart. And the twelve forms placed the great seal before Solomon, and humbled themselves, and the King bowed. At the same moment Alroy was sensible of a pang next to his heart. He instantly put his hand to the suffering spot, and lo! the talisman crumbled into dust.

The procession ceased; a single form advanced. Recent experience alone prevented Alroy from sinking before the spectre of Jabaster. Such was the single form. It advanced, bearing the sceptre. It advanced, it knelt before the throne, it offered the sceptre to the crowned and solemn vision. And the form of Solomon extended its arm, and took the sceptre, and instantly the mighty assembly vanished!

Alroy advanced immediately into the chamber, but all was dark and silent. A trumpet sounded. He recognised the note of his own soldiery. He groped his way to a curtain, and, pulling it aside, beheld the first streak of dawn.

Once more upon his charger, once more surrounded by his legions, once more his senses dazzled and inflamed by the waving banners and the inspiring trumpets, once more conscious of the power still at his command, and the mighty stake for which he was about to play, Alroy in a great degree recovered his usual spirit and self-possession. His energy returned with his excited pulse, and the vastness of the impending danger seemed only to stimulate the fertility of his genius.

He pushed on by forced marches towards Media, at the head of fifty thousand men. At the end of the second day’s march, fresh couriers arrived from Abner, informing him that, unable to resist the valiant and almost innumerable host of the King of Karasmé, he had entirely evacuated Persia, and had concentrated his forces in Louristan. Alroy, in consequence of this information, despatched orders to Scherirah, to join him with his division instantly, and leave the capital to its fate.

They passed again the mountains of Kerrund, and joined Abner and the army of Media, thirty thousand strong, on the river Abzah. Here Alroy rested one night, to refresh his men, and on the ensuing morn pushed on to the Persian frontier, unexpectedly attacked the advanced posts of Alp Arslan, and beat them back with great loss into the province. But the force of the King of Karasmé was so considerable, that the Caliph did not venture on a general engagement, and therefore he fell back, and formed in battle array upon the neighbouring plain of Nehauend, the theatre of one of his earliest and most brilliant victories, where he awaited the hourly-expected arrival of Scherirah.

The King of Karasmé, who was desirous of bringing affairs to an issue, and felt confident in his superior force, instantly advanced. In two or three days at farthest, it was evident that a battle must be fought that would decide the fate of the East.

On the morn ensuing their arrival at Nehauend, while the Caliph was out hunting, attended only by a few officers, he was suddenly attacked by an ambushed band of Karasmians. Alroy and his companions defended themselves with such desperation that they at length succeeded in beating off their assailants, although triple their number. The leader of the Karasmians, as he retreated, hurled a dart at the Caliph, which must have been fatal, had not a young officer of the guard interposed his own breast, and received the deadly wound. The party, in confusion, returned with all speed to the camp, Alroy himself bearing the expiring victim of desperate loyalty and military enthusiasm.

The bleeding officer was borne to the royal pavilion, and placed upon the imperial couch. The most skilful leech was summoned; he examined the wound, but shook his head. The dying warrior was himself sensible of his desperate condition. His agony could only be alleviated by withdrawing the javelin, which would occasion his immediate decease. He desired to be left alone with his Sovereign.

‘Sire!’ said the officer, ‘I must die; and I die without a pang. To die in your service, I have ever considered the most glorious end. Destiny has awarded it to me;, and if I have not met my fate upon the field of battle, it is some consolation that my death has preserved the most valuable of lives. Sire! I have a sister.’

‘Waste not thy strength, dear friend, in naming her. Rest assured I shall ever deem thy relatives my own.’

‘I doubt it not. Would I had a thousand lives for such a master! I have a burden on my conscience, Sire, nor can I die in peace unless I speak of it.’

‘Speak, speak freely. If thou hast injured any one, and the power or wealth of Alroy can redeem thy oppressed spirit, he will not spare, he will not spare, be assured of that.’

‘Noble, noble master, I must be brief; for, although, while this javelin rests within my body, I yet may live, the agony is great. Sire, the deed of which I speak doth concern thee.’

‘Ay!’

‘I was on guard the day Jabaster died.’

‘Powers of heaven! I am all ear. Speak on, speak on!’

‘He died self-strangled, so they say?’

‘So they ever told me.’

‘Thou art innocent, thou art innocent! I thank my God, my King is innocent!’

‘Rest assured of that, as there is hope in Israel. Tell me all.’

‘The Queen came with the signet ring. To such authority I yielded way. She entered, and after her, the Lord Honain. I heard high words! I heard Jabaster’s voice. He struggled, yes! he struggled; but his mighty form, wounded and fettered, could not long resist. Foul play, foul play, Sire! What could I do against such adversaries? They left the chamber with a stealthy step. Her eyes met mine. I never could forget that fell and glittering visage.’

‘Thou ne’er hast spoken of this awful end?’

‘To none but thee. And why I speak it now I cannot tell, save that it seems some inspiration urges me; and methinks they who did this may do even feller works, if such there be.’

‘Thou hast robbed me of all peace and hope of peace; and yet I thank thee. Now I know the worth of life. I have never loved to think of that sad day; and yet, though I have sometimes dreamed of villainous work, the worst were innocence to thy dread tale.’

‘Tis told; and now I pray thee secure thy secret, by drawing from my agonised frame this javelin.’

‘Trusty heart, ‘tis a sad office.’

‘I die with joy if thou performest it.’

‘‘Tis done.’

‘God save Alroy.’

While Alroy, plunged in thought, stood over the body of the officer, there arose a flourish of triumphant music, and a eunuch, entering the pavilion, announced the arrival of Schirene from Kerrund. Almost immediately afterwards, the Princess descending from her litter, entered the tent; Alroy tore off his robe, and threw it over the corpse.

‘My own,’ exclaimed the Princess, as she ran up to the Caliph. ‘I have heard all. Be not alarmed for me. I dare look upon a corpse. You know I am a soldier’s bride. I am used to blood.’

‘Alas!’

‘Why so pale? Thou dost not kiss me! Has this unhinged thee so? ‘Tis a sad deed; and yet tomorrow’s dawn may light up thousands to as grim a fate. Why? thou tremblest! Alas! kind soul! The single death of this fond, faithful heart hath quite upset my love. Yet art thou used to battle. Why! this is foolishness. Art not glad to see me? What, not one smile! And I have come to fight for thee! I will be kissed!’

She flung herself upon his neck. Alroy faintly returned her embrace, and bore her to a couch. He clapped his hands, and two soldiers entered and bore away the corpse.

‘The pavilion, Schirene, is now fitter for thy presence. Rest thyself; I shall soon return.’ Thus speaking, he quitted her.

He quitted her; but her humbled look of sorrowful mortification pierced to his heart. He thought of all her love and all her loveliness, he called to mind all the marvellous story of their united fortunes. He felt that for her and her alone he cared to live, that without her quick sympathy, even success seemed unendurable. His judgment fluctuated in an eddy of passion and reason. Passion conquered. He dismissed from his intelligence all cognizance of good and evil; he determined, under all circumstances, to cling ever to her; he tore from his mind all memory of the late disclosure. He returned to the pavilion with a countenance beaming with affection; he found her weeping, he folded her in his arms, he kissed her with a thousand kisses, and whispered between each kiss his ardent love.

‘Twas midnight. Schirene reposed in the arms of Alroy. The Caliph, who was restless and anxious for the arrival of Scherirah, was scarcely slumbering when the sound of a voice thoroughly aroused him. He looked around; he beheld the spectre of Jabaster. His hair stood on end, his limbs seemed to loosen, a cold dew crept over his frame, as he gazed upon the awful form within a yard of his couch. Unconsciously he disembarrassed his arms of their fair burden, and, rising on the couch, leant forward.

‘Alroy, Alroy, Alroy!’

‘I am here.’

‘To-morrow Israel is avenged!’

‘Who is that?’ exclaimed the Princess, wakening.

In a frenzy of fear, Alroy, quite forgetting the spectre, turned and pressed his hand over her eyes. When he again looked round the apparition was invisible.

‘What wouldst thou, Alroy?’

‘Nothing, sweet! A soldier’s wife must bear strange sights, yet I would save you some. One of my men, forgetful you were here, burst into my tent in such a guise as scarce would suit a female eye. I must away, my child. I’ll call thy slaves. One kiss! Farewell! but for a time.’

‘“To-morrow Israel will be avenged.” What! in Karasmian blood? I have no faith. No matter. All is now beyond my influence. A rushing destiny carries me onward. I cannot stem the course, nor guide the vessel. How now! Who is the officer on guard?’

‘Benomi, Sire, thy servant.’

‘Send to the Viceroy. Bid him meet me here. Who is this?’

‘A courier from the Lord Scherirah, Sire, but just arrived. He passed last night the Kerrund mountains, Sire, and will be with you by the break of day.’

‘Good news. Go fetch Abner. Haste! He’ll find me here anon. I’ll visit the camp awhile. Well, my brave fellows, you have hither come to conquer again with Alroy. You have fought before, I warrant, on the plain of Nehauend. ‘Tis a rich soil, and shall be richer with Karasmian gore.’

‘God save your Majesty! Our lives are thine.’

‘Please you, my little ruler,’ said a single soldier, addressing Alroy; ‘pardon my bluntness, but I knew you before you were a Caliph.’

‘Stout heart, I like thy freedom. Pr’ythee say on.’

‘I was a-saying, I hope you will lead us in the charge to-morrow. Some say you will not.’

‘They say falsely.’

‘I thought so. I’ll ever answer for my little ruler, but then the Queen?’

‘Is a true soldier’s wife, and lives in the camp.’

‘That’s brave! There, I told you so, comrades; you would not believe me, but I knew our little ruler before you did. I lived near the gate at Hamadan, please your Highness: old Shelomi’s son.’

‘Give me thy hand; a real friend. What is’t ye eat here, boys? Let me taste your mess. I’faith I would my cook could dress me such a pilau! Tis admirable!’

The soldiers gathered round their chieftain with eyes beaming with adoration. ‘Twas a fine picture, the hero in the centre, the various groups around, some conversing with him, some cooking, some making coffee, all offering him by word or deed some testimonial of their devotion, and blending with that devotion the most perfect frankness.

‘We shall beat them, lads!’

‘There is no fear with you, you always conquer.’

‘I do my best, and so do you. A good general without good troops is little worth.’

‘I’faith that’s true. One must have good troops. What think you of Alp Arslan?’

‘I think he may give us as much trouble as all our other enemies together, and that’s not much.’

‘Brave, brave! God save Alroy!’

Benomi approached, and announced that the Viceroy was in attendance.

‘I must quit you, my children,’ said Alroy. ‘We’ll sup once more together when we have conquered.’

‘God save you, Sire; and we will confound your enemies.’

‘Good night, my lads. Ere the dawn break we may have hot work.’

‘We are ready, we are ready. God save Alroy.’

‘They are in good cue, and yet ‘twas a different spirit that inspired our early days. That I strongly feel. These are men true to a leader who has never failed them, and confident in a cause that leads to plunder. They are but splendid mercenaries.

No more. Oh! where are now the fighting men of Judah! Where are the men who, when they drew their scimitars, joined in a conquering psalm of holy triumph! Last eve of battle you would have thought the field a mighty synagogue. Priests and altars, flaming sacrifices, and smoking censers, groups of fiery zealots hanging with frenzy on prophetic lips, and sealing with their blood and holiest vows a solemn covenant to conquer Canaan. All is changed, as I am. How now, Abner? You are well muffled!’