 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Allen Quattermane by H. Ryder Haggard CHAPTER XXII How Umslopogas held the stair. We looked at one another. Thysiast, I said, they have taken away the door. Is there ought with which we may fill the place? Speak quickly, for they will be on us ere the daylight. I spoke thus because I knew that we must hold this place or none, as there were no inner doors in the palace, the rooms being separated from one another by curtains. I also knew that if we could by any means defend this doorway, the murderers could get in nowhere else, for the palace is absolutely impregnable. That is, since the secret door by which Sareas had entered on that memorable night of attempted murder had, by Nileptha's order, been closed up with masonry. I have it, said Nileptha, who, as usual with her, rose to the emergency in a wonderful way. On the farther side of the courtyard are blocks of cut marble. The workmen brought them here for the bed of the new statue of Incubu, my lord. Let us block the door with them. I jumped at the idea. And having dispatched one of the remaining maidens down the great stair to see if she could obtain assistance from the docks below, where her father, who was a great merchant employing many men, had his dwelling place, and set another to watch through the doorway. We made our way back across the courtyard to where the hewn marble lay, and here we met Kara returning from dispatching the first two messengers. There were the marble blocks, sure enough, broad, massive lumps, some six inches thick, and weighing about eighty pounds each. And there, too, were a couple of implements like small stretchers that the workmen used to carry them on. Without delay we got some of the blocks on to the stretchers, and four of the girls carried them to the doorway. Listen, Makumazan, said Umslopogas. If those low fellows come, it is I who will hold the stair against them till the door is built up. Nay, nay, it will be a man's death. Gain say me not, old friend. It has been a good day. Let it now be a good night. See, I throw myself down to rest on the marble there. When their footsteps are nigh, wake thou me, not before, for I need my strength. And without a word he went outside and flung himself down on the marble, and was instantly asleep. At this time I, too, was overcome, and was forced to sit down by the doorway and content myself with directing operations. The girls brought the block, while Kara and Nileptha built them up across the six foot wide doorway. A triple row of them, for less would be useless. But the marble had to be brought forty yards, and then there were forty yards to run back. And though the girls labored gloriously, even staggering along alone, each with a block in her arms, it was slow work, dreadfully slow. The light was growing now. And presently in the silence we heard a commotion at the far bottom of the stair, and the faint clinking of armed men. As yet the wall was only two feet high, and we had been eight minutes at the building of it. So they had come. Alphonse had heard a right. The clinking sound came nearer, and in the ghostly gray of the dawning we could make out long files of men, some fifty or so in all, slowly creeping up the stair. They were now at the halfway standing place that rested on the great flying arch. And here, perceiving that something was going on above, they to our great gain halted for three or four minutes, and consulted, then slowly and cautiously advanced again. We had been nearly a quarter of an hour at the work now, and it was almost three feet high. Then I woke Umslopogas. The great man rose, stretched himself, and swung in Kosikas round his head. "'Is well,' he said, I feel, as a young man once more. My strength has come back to me. I, even as a lamp, flares up before it dies. Fear not, I shall fight a good fight. The wine and the sleep have put a new heart into me. M'kumizan, I have dreamed a dream. I dreamed that thou and I stood together on a star, and looked down on the world. And thou wasst as a spirit, M'kumizan, for light flamed through thy flesh. But I could not see what was the fashion of my own face. The hour has come for us, old hunter. So be it. We have had our time. But I would that in it I had seen some more such fights as yesterday's. Let them bury me after the fashion of my people, M'kumizan, and set my eyes toward Zulu land. And he took my hand and shook it, and then turned to face the advancing foe. Just then, to my astonishment, the Zuvendi officer, Kara, climbed over our improvised wall in his quiet, determined sort of way, and took his stand by the Zulu, unsheathing his sword as he did so. What, M'kumizan, too? laughed out the old warrior. Welcome, a welcome to thee, brave heart. Owl for the man who can die like a man. Owl for the death grip and the ringing of steel. Owl, we are ready. We wet our beaks like eagles, our spears flash in the sun. We shake our assigais and are hungry to fight. Who comes to give greeting to the chieftaness in Kosikas? Who would taste her kiss whereof the fruit is death? I, the woodpecker. I, the slaughterer. I, the swift-footed. I, Umslopogas, of the tribe of the Makrilesini, of the people of Amazulu, a captain of the regiment of the Inkomi Bakosi. I, Umslopogas, the son of Indaba Zimbi, the son of Arpi, the son of Mosilikatsi. I, of the royal blood of T'chaka. I, of the king's house. I, the ringed man. I, the enduna. I call to them as a buck calls. I challenge them. I await them. Ow, it is thou, it is thou. As he spake, or rather chanted, his wild war song, the armed men, among whom in the growing light I recognized both Nasta and Aghan, came streaming up the stair with a rush, and one big fellow armed with a heavy spear, dashed up the ten semi-circular steps ahead of his comrades, and struck at the great Zulu with the spear. Umslopogas moved his body, but not his legs, so that the blow missed him, and next instant, in Kosikas, crashed through the headpiece, hair and skull, and the man's corpse was rattling down the steps. As he dropped his round hippopotamus hide shield fell from his hand onto the marble, and the Zulu stooped down and seized it, still chanting as he did so. In another second the sturdy Kara had also slain a man, and then began a scene the like of which has not been known to me. Up rushed the assailants, one, two, three at a time, and as fast as they came the axe crashed, and the swords swung, and down they rolled again, dead or dying. And ever as the fight thickened the old Zulu's eye seemed to get quicker, and his arms stronger. He shouted out his war cries and the names of chiefs whom he had slain, and the blows of his awful axe reigned straight and true, shearing through everything they fell on. There was none of the scientific method he was so fond of about this last immortal fight of his. He had no time for it, but struck with his full strength, and at every stroke a man sank in his tracks, and went rattling down the marble steps. They hacked and hewed at him with swords and spears, wounding him in a dozen places till he streamed red with blood. But the shield protected his head and the chain shirt his vitals, and for minute after minute, aided by the gallant Zuvendi, he still held the stair. At last Kara's sword broke, and he grappled with a foe, and they rolled down together, and he was cut to pieces, dying like the brave man that he was. Umslopogos was alone now, but he never blenched or turned, shouting out some wild Zulu battle cry, he beat down a foe, eye and another, and another. Till at last they drew back from the slippery bloodstained steps, and stared at him with amazement, thinking that he was no mortal man. The wall of marble block was four feet six high now, and hope rose in my teeth as I leaned there against it, a miserable helpless log, and ground my teeth and watched that glorious struggle. I could do no more for I had lost my revolver in the battle. And old Umslopogos he leaned too on his good axe, and faint as he was with wounds he mocked them, he called them women. The grand old warrior, standing there one against so many. And for a breathing space none would come against him, not withstanding Nastas' exhortations. Till at last old Agon, who, to do him justice, was a brave man, mad with baffled rage, and seeing that the wall would soon be built, and his plans defeated, shook the great spear he held, and rushed up the dripping steps. Ah, ah, shouted the Zulu, as he recognized the priest's flowing white beard. It is thou old witchfinder. Come on. I await thee, white medicine man. Come on. Come on. I have sworn to slay thee, and I ever keep my faith. On he came, taking him at his word, and draped the big spear with such force at Umslopogos that it sunk right through the tough shield and pierced him in the neck. The Zulu cast down the transfix shield, and that moment was Agon's last, for before he could free his spear and strike again, with a shout of, theirs for thee, rainmaker. Umslopogos gripped in Kosikos with both hands and whirled on high, and draped her right onto his venerable head, so that Agon rolled down, dead, among the corpses of his fellow murderers, and there was an end to him and his plots altogether. And even as he fell, a great cry rose from the foot of the stair, and looking out through the portion of the doorway that was yet unclosed, we saw armed men rushing up to the rescue, and called an answer to their shouts. Then the would-be murderers who yet remained on the stairway, and amongst whom I saw several priests turn to fly, but having nowhere to go were butchered as they fled. Only one man stayed, and he was the great Lord Nasta, and I left the suitor and the father of the plot. For a moment the black-bearded Nasta stood with bowed face, leaning on his long sword as the wind despair, and then, with a dreadful shout, he too rushed up at the Zulu, and, swinging the glittering sword around his head, dealt him such a mighty blow beneath his guard, that the keen steel of the heavy blade bit right through the chain armor, and deep into Umslopogas' side, for a moment paralyzing him, and causing him to drop his axe. Raising the sword again, Nasta sprang forward to make an end of him. But little he knew of his foe. With a shake and a yell of fury the Zulu gathered himself together and sprang straight at Nasta's throat, as I have sometimes seen a wounded lion spring. He struck him full as his foot was on the topmost stair, and his long arms closing around him, like iron bands, down they rolled together struggling furiously. Nasta was a strong man and a desperate, but he could not match the strongest man in Zulu land, sore wounded though he was, whose strength was as the strength of a bull. In a minute the end came. I saw Umslopogas stagger to his feet. I, and saw him by a single gigantic effort, swing up the struggling Nasta, and with a shout of triumph hurl him straight over the parapet of the bridge, to be crushed to powder on the rocks two hundred feet below. The sucker, which had been summoned by the girl who had passed down the stair before the assassins passed up, was at hand. And the loud shouts which reached us from the outer gates told us that the town was also aroused, and the men awakened by the women were calling to be admitted. Some of them I left as brave ladies, who in their night shifts, and with their long hair streaming down their backs, just as they had been aroused from rest, went off to admit them at the side entrance. Whilst others, assisted by the rescuing party outside, pushed and pulled down the marble blocks they had placed there with so much labor. Soon the wall was down again, and through the doorway, followed by a crowd of rescuers, staggered Umslopogas, an awful and, in a way, a glorious figure. The man was a mass of wounds, and a glance at his wild eye told me that he was dying. The kashla, gum ring over his head, was severed in two places by sword cuts, one just over the curious hole in his skull, and the blood poured down his face from the gashes. Also on the right side of his neck was a stab from a spear inflicted by Agon. There was a deep cut on his left arm just below where the male shirt sleeve stopped, and on the right side and on the right side of his body the armor was severed by a gash six inches long, where Nasta's mighty sword had bitten through it and deep into the wearer's vitals. On, axe in hand, he staggered, that dreadful-looking splendid savage, and the ladies forgot to turn faint at the scene of blood, and cheered him as well they might. But he never stayed or heeded. Without stretched arms and tottering gait, he pursued his way, followed by us all along the broad shell-strewn walk that ran through the courtyard, past the spot where the blocks of marble lay, through the round arched doorway and the thick curtains that hung within it, down the short passage and into the great hall which was now filling with hastily armed men who poured through the side entrance. Straight up the hall he went, leaving behind him a track of blood on the marble pavement, till at last he reached the sacred stone which stood in the center of it, and here his strength seemed to fail him, for he stopped and leaned upon his axe. Then suddenly he lifted up his voice and cried aloud, I die, I die, but it was a kingly fray. Where are they who came up the great stare? I see them not. Art thou there, Makumazan? Or art thou gone before to wait for me in the dark, whither I go? The blood blinds me. The place turns round. I hear the voice of waters. Next, as though a new thought had struck him, he lifted the red axe and kissed the blade. Farewell in Kosikas! He cried, Nay, nay, we will go together. We cannot part, thou and I. We have lived too long with one another, thou and I. One more stroke, only one, a good stroke, a straight stroke, a strong stroke. And drawing himself to his full height, with a wild, heart-shaking shout, he with both hands began to whirl the axe round his head, till it looked like a circle of flaming steel. Then suddenly, with awful force, he brought it down straight onto the crown of the mass of sacred stone. A shower of sparks flew up, and such was the almost superhuman strength of the blow that the massive marble split with a rending sound into a score of pieces. While steven Kosikas there remained but some fragments of steel and a fibrous rope of shattered horn that had been the handle. Down with a crash onto the pavement fell the fragments of the holy stone, and down with a crash onto them, still grasping the knob of in Kosikas, fell the brave old Zulu dead, and thus the hero died. A gasp of wonder and astonishment rose from all those who witnessed the extraordinary sight, and then somebody cried, The prophecy, the prophecy, he has shattered the sacred stone, and at once a murmuring arose. I, said Nilepza, with that quick wit which distinguishes her. I, my people, he has shattered the stone, and behold, the prophecy is fulfilled. For a stranger king rules in Zuvendis. In Kubu, my lord, hath beat Zareas back, and I fear her no more. And to him who hath saved the crown, it shall surely be. And this man, she said, turning to me and laying her hand upon my shoulder. What ye that, though wounded in the fight of yesterday, he rode with that old warrior who lies there one hundred miles, twixt sunset and rise, to save me from the plots of cruel men. I, and he, hath saved me by a very little. And therefore, because of the deeds that they have done, deeds of glory such as our history cannot show the like. Therefore I say that the name of Makumazan, and the name of dead Omslobogas, I, in the name of Kara, my servant, who aided him to hold the stair, shall be blazoned in letters of gold above my throne, and shall be glorious for ever while the land endures. I, the queen, have said it. This spirited speech was met with loud cheering, and I said that after all we had only done our duty, as it is the fashion of both Englishmen and Zulus to do, and there was nothing to make an outcry about, at which they cheered still more. And then I was supported across the outer courtyard to my old quarters in order that I might be put to bed. As I went, my eyes lit upon the brave horse daylight that lay there, his white head outstretched on the pavement, exactly as he had fallen on entering the yard. And I, bade those who supported me, take me near him, that I might look on the good beast once more before he was dragged away. And as I looked to my astonishment, he opened his eyes, and lifting his head a little, whenied faintly. I could have shouted for joy to find that he was not dead. Only, unfortunately, I had not a shout left in me. But as it was, grooms were sent for, and he was lifted up, and wine poured down his throat, and in a fortnight he was as well and strong as ever. And is the pride and joy of all the people of Milosis, who, whenever they see him, point him out to the little children as the horse which saved the white queen's life. Then I went on and got off to bed, and was washed and had my male shirt removed. They hurt me a great deal in getting it off, and no wonder, for on my left breast inside was a black bruise the size of a saucer. The next thing that I remember was the tramp of horsemen outside the palace wall some ten hours later. I raised myself and asked what was the news, and they told me that a large body of cavalry sent by Curtis to assist the queen had arrived from the scene of the battle, which they had left two hours after sundown. When they left, the wreck of Sirreus's army was in full retreat upon Mastuna, followed by all our effective cavalry. Sir Henry was encamping the remains of his worn out forces on the site, such as the fortune of war, that Sirreus had occupied the night before, and proposed marching to Mastuna on the morrow. Having heard this, I felt that I could die with a light heart, and then everything became a blank. When next I awoke, the first thing I saw was the round disk of a sympathetic eyeglass, behind which was good. How were you getting on, old chap? said a voice from the neighborhood of the eyeglass. What are you doing here? I asked faintly. You ought to be at Mastuna. Have you run away, or what? Mastuna, he replied cheerfully. Ah, Mastuna fell last week. You've been unconscious for a fortnight, you see. With all the honors of war, you know. Trumpets blowing, flags flying, just as though they had had the best of it. But for all that, weren't they glad to go. Israel made for his tents, I can tell you. Never saw such a sight in my life. And Sirreus, I asked. Sirreus! Oh, Sirreus is a prisoner. They gave her up, the scoundrels. He added with a change of tone. Sacrifice the queen to save their skins, you see. She is being brought up here. And I don't know what will happen to her poor soul. And he sighed. Where's Curtis, I asked? He's with Nileptha. She wrote out to meet us today, and there was a grand to-do, I can tell you. He's coming to see you tomorrow. The doctors, for there is a medical faculty in Zuventus, says elsewhere. Thought that he had better not come today. I said nothing. But somehow I thought to myself that notwithstanding the doctors, he might have given me a look. But there, when a man is newly married and has just gained a great victory, he is apt to listen to the advice of doctors, and quite right too. Just then I heard a familiar voice informing me that Monsieur must now couch himself. And looking up, perceived, Alphonse's enormous black mustachios curling away in the distance. So you are here, I said. May we, Monsieur. The war is now finished. My military instincts are satisfied. And I return to nurse, Monsieur. I laughed, or rather tried to. But whatever may have been Alphonse's failings as a warrior. And I fear he did not come up to the level of his heroic grandfather in this particular, showing thereby how true is the saying that it is a bad thing to be overshadowed by some great ancestral name. A better or kinder nurse never lived. Poor Alphonse. I hope he will always think of me as kindly as I think of him. On the morrow I saw Curtis, and I leapt there with him. And he told me the whole history of what had happened since Umslopogos and I galloped wildly away from the battle to save the life of the Queen. It seemed to me that he had managed the thing exceedingly well, and showed great ability as a general. Of course, however, our loss had been dreadfully heavy. Indeed, I am afraid to say how many perished in the desperate battle I have described. But I know that the slaughter has appreciably affected the male population of the country. He was very pleased to see me, dear fellow, that he is, and thanked me with tears in his eyes for the little that I had been able to do. I saw him, however, start violently when his eyes fell upon my face. As for Nyleptha, she was positively radiant now that her dear Lord had come back with no other injury than an ugly scar on his forehead. I do not believe that she allowed all the fearful slaughter that had taken place to weigh ever so little in the balance against this one fact, or even to diminish her joy. And I cannot blame her for it, seeing that it is in the nature of loving woman to look at all the things through the spectacles of her love. And little does she wreck of the misery of the many if the happiness of the one be assured. That is human nature, which the positivists tell us is just perfection, so no doubt it is all right. And what are thou going to do with Sareas? I asked her. Instantly her bright brow darkened to a frown. Sareas, she said with a little stamp of the foot. Ah, but Sareas! Sir Henry hastened to turn the subject. You will soon be about, and I'll write again now, old fellow, he said. I shook my head and laughed. Don't deceive yourselves, I said. I may be about for a little, but I shall never be all right again. I am a dying man, Curtis. I may die slow, but die I must. Do you know I have been spitting blood all the morning? I tell you there is something working away into my lung. I can feel it. There, don't look distressed. I have had my day, and am ready to go. Give me the mirror, will you? I want to look at myself. He made some excuse, but I saw through it and insisted. And at last he handed me one of the discs of polished silver set in a wooden frame, like a hand-screen, which serve as looking-glasses in Zuvendis. I looked and put it down. Ah, I said quietly. I thought so. And you talk of my getting all right. I did not like to let them see how shocked I really was at my own appearance. My grizzled, stubby hair was turned snow-white, and my yellow face was shrunk like an aged woman's, and had two deep purple rings painted beneath the eyes. Here Nyleptha began to cry. And Sir Henry again turned the subject, telling me that the artists had taken a cast of the dead body of Old Oomps-Lopogos, and that a great statue in black marble was to be erected of him in the act of splitting the sacred stone, which was to be matched by another statue in white marble of myself and the horse daylight as he appeared when, at the termination of that wild ride, he sank beneath me in the courtyard of the palace. I have since seen these statues, which at the time of writing this, six months after the battle, are nearly finished, and very beautiful they are, especially that of Old Oomps-Lopogos, which is exactly like him. As for that of myself, it is good that they have idealized my ugly face a little, which is perhaps as well, seeing that thousands of people will probably look at it in the centuries to come, and it is not pleasant to look at ugly things. Then they told me that Oomps-Lopogos's last wish had been carried out, and that instead of being cremated, as I shall be, after the usual custom here, he had been tied up Zulu fashion, with his knees beneath his chin, and having been wrapped in a thin sheet of beaten gold, entombed in a hole hollowed out of the masonry of the semi-circular space at the top of the stair, he defended so splendidly, which faces as far as we can judge almost exactly towards Zululan. There he sits, and will sit forever, for they embalmed him with spices, and put him in an airtight stone, keeping his grim watch beneath the spot, he held alone against a multitude. And the people say that at night his ghost rises, and stands shaking the phantom of Incosikas at phantom foes. Certainly they fear during the dark hours, to pass the place where the hero is buried. Oddly enough, too, a new legend, or prophecy, has arisen in the land, in that unaccountable way in which such things to arise among barbarous and semi-civilized people, blowing like the wind, no man knows whence. According to this saying, so long as the old Zulu sits there, looking down the stairway he defended when alive, so long as the old Zulu sits there, so long will the new house of the stairway, springing from the union of the Englishmen and Nileptha endure and flourish. But when he is taken from thence, or when ages after his bones at last crumble into dust, the house will fall, and the stairway shall fall, and the nation of the Zuvendi shall cease to be a nation. CHAPTER XXIII. It was a week after Nileptha's visit. When I had begun to get about a little in the middle of the day, then a message came to me from Sir Henry to say that Sir Reyes would be brought before them in the Queen's first anti-chamber at midday, and requesting my attendance if possible. Accordingly, greatly drawn by curiosity to see this unhappy woman once more, I made shift with the help of that kind little fellow Alphonse, who is a perfect treasure to me, and that of another waiting man, to reach the anti-chamber. I got there, indeed, before anybody else, except a few of the great court officials who had been bidden to be present. But I had scarcely seated myself before Sir Reyes was brought in by a party of guards, looking as beautiful and defiant as ever, but with a worn expression on her proud face. She was, as usual, dressed in her royal calf, emblazoned with the emblem of the sun, and in her right hand she still held a toy spear of silver. A pang of admiration and pity went through me as I looked at her, and struggling to my feet I bowed deeply, at the same time expressing my sorrow, that I was not able, owing to my condition, to remain standing before her. She colored a little, and then laughed bitterly. "'Thou dost forget, Macuma's on,' she said. I am no more a queen, save in blood. I am an outcast, and a prisoner, whom all men should scorn, and none show deference to. At least,' I replied, "'thou art still a lady, and therefore one to whom deference is due.' "'Also, thou art in an evil case, and therefore it is doubly due.' "'Ah!' she answered, with a little laugh. "'Thou dost forget that I would have wrapped thee in a sheet of gold, and hung thee to the angel's trumpet at the topmost pinnacle of the temple?' "'No,' I answered. "'I assure thee that I forgot it not.' Indeed, I often thought of it when it seemed to me that the battle of the past was turning against us. But the trumpet is there, and I am still here, though perchance not for long. So why talk of it now?' "'Ah!' she went on. "'The battle! The battle! Oh, would that I were once more a queen, if only for one little hour. And I would take such vengeance on those accursed jackals who deserted me in my need, that it should only be spoken of in whispers. Those women, those pigeon-hearted half-breeds who suffered themselves to be overcome.' And she choked in her wrath. "'I, and that little coward beside thee,' she went on, pointing at Alphonse with the silver spear, whereat he looked very uncomfortable. He escaped and betrayed my plans. I tried to make a general of him, telling the soldiers it was buguan, and to scourge valor into him. Here Alphonse shivered at some unhappy recollection. But it was of no avail. He hid beneath a banner in my tent, and thus overheard my plans. I would that I had slain him. But alas I held my hand. "'And thou, McCumezon, I have heard of what thou didst. Thou art brave, and hast a loyal heart. And the black one, too, ah, he was a man. I would feign have seen him hurl nasta from the stairway. Thou art a strange woman, Sir Reyes,' I said. I pray thee now, plead with the queen, Nileptha, that perchance she may show mercy unto thee.' She laughed out loud. "'I, plead for mercy?' She said. And at that moment the queen entered. Accompanied by Sir Henry and Good, and took her seat with an impassive face. As for poor Good, he looked intensely ill at ease. "'Greetings, Sir Reyes,' said Nileptha, after a short pause. "'Thou hast rent the kingdom like a rag. Thou hast put thousands of my people to the sword. Thou hast twice, basely plotted to destroy my life by murder. Thou hast sworn to slay my lord and his companions, and to hurl me from the stairway. What hast thou to say, why, thy shouldest not die?' "'Speak, O Sir Reyes.' Me thinks my sister the queen hath forgotten the chief count of the indictment,' answered Sir Reyes, in her slow musical tones. "'It runs thus. Thou didst strive to win the love of my lord Incubu. It is for this crime that my sister will slay me, not because I levied war. It is per chance happy for thee, Nileptha, that I fixed my mind upon his love too late.' "'Listen,' she went on, raising her voice. "'I have not to say, save that I would I had won instead of lost. Do thou with me even as thou wilt, O Queen, and let my lord the king there,' pointed to Sir Henry. "'For now he will be king. Carry out the sentence, as it is meat he should. For as he is the beginning of the evil, let him also be the end.' And she drew herself up, and shot one angry glance at him from her deep-fringed eyes, and then began to toy with her spear. Sir Henry bent towards Nileptha, and whispered something that I could not catch. And then the queen spoke. "'Sir Reyes, ever have I been a good sister to thee.' When our father died, and there was much talk in the land as to whether thou should sit upon the throne with me, I being the elder, I gave my voice for thee, and said, Nay, let her sit. She is twin with me. We were born at a birth. Wherefore should the one be preferred before the other?' And so has it ever been, entwicks thee and me, my sister. "'But now thou knowest in what sort thou hast repaid me. But I have prevailed, and thy life is forfeit, Sir Reyes. And yet thou art my sister, born at a birth with me, and we played together when we were little, and loved each other much. And at night we slept in the same cot, with our arms each around the other's neck. And therefore even now does my heart go out to thee, Sir Reyes. But not for that would I spare thy life. For thy offence has been too heavy. It doth drag down the wide wings of my mercy, even to the ground. Also, while thou dost live, the land will never be at peace. Yet shalt thou not die, Sir Reyes, because my dear Lord here hath beg thy life of me as a boon. Therefore as a boon, and as a marriage gift, give I it to him, to do with even as he wills, knowing that though thou dost love him, he loves thee not, Sir Reyes, for all thy beauty. Nay, though thou art lovely as the night in all her stars, O Lady of the Night, yet it is me his wife whom he loves, and not thee. And therefore do I give thy life to him. Sir Reyes flushed up to her eyes and said nothing. And I do not think that I ever saw a man look more miserable than did Sir Henry at that moment. Somehow, nylept his way of putting the thing, though true and forcible enough, was not altogether pleasant. I understand, stammered Pertis, looking at good. I understand that he were attached to the Queen Sir Reyes. I am not aware what the, in short, the state of your feelings may be just now. But if they happened to be that way inclined, it had struck me that, in short, it might put a satisfactory end to an unpleasant business. The Lady also has ample private estates, where I am sure she would be at liberty to live unmolested, as far as we are concerned. And nylept the? Of course I only suggest. So far as I am concerned, said good, coloring up, I am quite willing to forget the past. And if the Lady of the Night thinks me worth the taking, I will marry her to-morrow, or when she likes, and try to make her a good husband. All eyes were now turned to Sir Reyes, who stood with that same slow smile upon her beautiful face which I had noticed the first time that I ever saw her. She paused a little while and cleared her throat, and then thrice she curtsied low, once to nylept the, once to Curtis, and once to good, and began to speak in measured tones. I thank the most gracious Queen and Royal Sister, for the loving kindness thou has shown me from my youth up, and especially in that thou hast been pleased to give my person and my fate as a gift to the Lord Incuboo, the King that is to be. May prosperity, peace, and plenty deck the life path of one so merciful and so tender, even as flowers do. Long mayest thou reign, O great and glorious Queen, and hold thy husband's love in both thy hands, and many be the sons and daughters of thy beauty. And I thank thee, my Lord Incuboo, the King that is to be. I thank thee a thousand times, in that thou hast been pleased to accept that gracious gift, and to pass it on to thy comrade in arms in an adventure, the Lord Buguan. Surely the act is worthy of thy greatness, my Lord Incuboo. And now lastly, I thank thee also, my Lord Buguan, who in thy turn has deigned to accept me and my poor beauty. I thank thee a thousand times, and I will add that thou art a good and honest man, and I put my hand upon my heart and swear that I would, that I could say thee, yea, and now that I have rendered thanks to all in turn, and again she smiled. I will add one short word. Little can you understand of me, Queen Nilepza, and my lords, if ye know not that for me there is no middle path, that I scorn your pity and hate you for it, that I cast off your forgiveness as though it were a serpent's sting, and that standing here, betrayed, deserted, insulted, and alone, I yet triumph over you, mock you, and defy you, one and all. And thus I answer you. And then, of a sudden, before anybody guessed what she intended to do, she drove the little silver spear she carried in her hand into her side, with such a strong and steady aim that the keen point projected through her back, and she fell prone upon the pavement. Nilepza shrieked, and poor good almost fainted at the sight, while the rest of us rushed towards her. But Sareas of the night lifted herself upon her hand, and for a moment fixed her glorious eyes intently on Curtis's face, as though there were some message in the glance, then dropped her head inside, and with a sob her dark but splendid spirit passed. Well, they gave her a royal funeral, and there was an end of her. It was a month after the last act of the Sareas tragedy that a great ceremony was held in the Flower Temple, and Curtis was formally declared King Consort of Zuventus. I was too ill to go myself, and indeed I hate all that sort of thing, with the crowds and the trumpet blowing and banner waving. But good, who was there in his full dress uniform, came back much impressed, and told me that Nilepza had looked lovely, and Curtis had borne himself in a right royal fashion, and had been received with acclamations that left no doubt as to his popularity. Also he told me that when the horse Daylight was led along in the procession, the populace had shouted, Makumazan, Makumazan, till they were horse, and would only be appeased when he, good, rose in his chariot and told him that I was too ill to be present. Afterwards, too, Sir Henry, or rather the King, came to see me, looking very tired, and vowing that he had never been so bored in his life. But I dare say that that was a slight exaggeration. It is not in human nature that a man should be altogether bored on such an extraordinary occasion, and indeed, as I pointed out to him, it was a marvelous thing that a man, who but little more than one short year before had entered a great country as an unknown wanderer, should today be married to its beautiful and beloved Queen, and lifted amidst public rejoicings to its throne. I even went the length to exhort him in the future not to be carried away by the pride and pomp of absolute power, but always to strive to remember that he was first a Christian gentleman, and next a public servant, called by Providence to a great and almost unprecedented trust. These remarks, which he might fairly have resented, he was so good as to receive with patience, and even to thank me for making them. It was immediately after this ceremony that I caused myself to be moved to the house where I am now riding. It is a very pleasant country seat, situated about two miles from the frowning city onto which it looks. That was five months ago, during the whole of which time I have been confined to a kind of couch, employed my leisure in compiling this history of our wanderings from my journal and from our joint memories. It is probable that it will never be read, but it does not much matter whether it is or not. At any rate, it has served a while away many hours of suffering, for I have suffered a deal of pain lately. Thank God, however, there will not be much more of it. It is a week since I wrote the above, and now I take up my pen for the last time. For I know that the end is at hand. My brain is still clear, and I can manage to write, though with difficulty. The pain in my lung, which has been very bad during the last week, has suddenly quite left me and been succeeded by a feeling of numbness of which I cannot mistake the meaning. And just as the pain has gone, so with it all fear of that end has departed. And I feel only as though I were going to sink into the arms of an unutterable rest. Happily, contentedly, and with the same sense of security with which an infant lays itself to sleep in its mother's arms, do I lay myself down in the arms of the angel of death. All the tremors, all the heart-shaking fears which have haunted me through a life that seems long as I look back upon it, have left me now. The storms have passed, and the star of our eternal hope shines clear and steady on the horizon that seems so far from man, and yet is so very near to me tonight. And so this is the end of it, a brief space of troubling, a few restless, fevered, anguished years, and then the arms of the great angel of death. Many times have I been near to them, and now it is my turn at last, and it is well. Twenty-four hours more, and the world will be gone from me. And with it all its hopes and all its fears, the air will close in over the space that my form filled, and my place know me no more. For the dull breath of the world's forgetfulness will first dim the brightness of my memory, and then blot it out forever, and of a truth I shall be dead. So it is with us all. How many millions have lain as I lie, and thought these thoughts and been forgotten? Thousands upon thousands of years ago they thought them, those dying men of the dim past, and thousands on thousands of years hence will their descendants think them, and be in their turn forgotten. As the breath of the oxen in winter, as the quick star that runs along the sky, as a little shadow that loses itself at sunset, as I once heard a zulu called Ignosi put it, such as the order of our life, the order that passeth away, well it is not a good world. Nobody can say that it is, save those who willfully blind themselves to facts. How can a world be good in which money is the moving power, and self-interest the guiding star? The wonder is not that it is so bad, but that there should be any good left in it. Still, now that my life is over, I am glad to have lived. Glad to have known the dear breath of woman's love, and that true friendship, which can even surpass the love of woman. Glad to have heard the laughter of little children, to have seen the sun and the moon and the stars, to have felt the kiss of the salt sea on my face, and watched the wild game trek down to the water in the moonlight. But I should not wish to live again. Everything is changing to me. The darkness draws near, and the light departs. And yet it seems to me that through that darkness I can already see the shining welcome of many a long lost face. Harry is there, and others. One above all, to my mind, the sweetest and most perfect woman that ever gladdened this great earth. But of her I have already written elsewhere, and at length. So why speak of her now? Why speak of her, after this long silence, now that she is again so near to me, now that I go where she has gone? The sinking sun is turning the golden roof of the great temple to a fiery flame, and my fingers tire. So to all who have known me, or known of me, to all who can think one kindly thought of the old hunter, I stretch out my hand from the far offshore, and bid along farewell. And now into the hands of Almighty God, who said it, Do I commit my spirit? I have spoken, as the Zulus say. Chapter 24 By another hand A year has elapsed since our most dear friend Allen Quattermane wrote the words, I have spoken, at the end of his record of our adventures. Nor should I have ventured to make any additions to the record had it not happened that by a most strange accident a chance has arisen of its being conveyed to England. The chance is but a faint one, it is true. But, as it is not probable that another will arise in our lifetimes, good and myself think that we may as well avail ourselves of it, such as it is. During the last six months several frontier commissions have been at work on the various boundaries of Zuvendus, with a view of discovering whether there exists any possible means of ingress or egress from the country, with the result that a channel of communication with the outer world hitherto overlooked has been discovered. This channel, apparently the only one, for I have discovered that it was by it that the native, who ultimately reached Mr. McKenzie's mission station and whose arrival in the country, together with the fact of his expulsion, for he did arrive about three years before ourselves, was for reasons of their own kept a dead secret by the priests to whom he was brought, is about to be effectually closed. But before this is done a messenger is to be dispatched, bearing with him this manuscript, and also one or two letters from good to his friends and from myself to my brother George, whom it deeply grieves me to think I shall never see again, informing them, as our next heirs, that they are welcome to our effects in England if the court of probate will allow them to take them. End note. Of course the court of probate would allow nothing of the sort, editor. In as much as we have made up our minds never to return to Europe. Indeed it would be impossible for us to leave Zuvendis even if we wish to do so. The messenger who is to go, and I wish him joy of his journey, is Alphonse. For a long while he has been weary to death of Zuvendis and its inhabitants. Oh, we, c'est beau, he says, with an expressive shrug. Mais je m'en oui, ce n'est pas chic. Again he complains dreadfully of the absence of cafés and theatres, and moans continually for his lost annette. Of whom, he says, he dreams three times a week. But I fancy his secret cause of disgust at the country, putting aside the homesickness to which every Frenchman is subject, is that the people here laugh at him so dreadfully about his conduct on the occasion of the great battle of the past about eighteen months ago, when he hid beneath the banner in Sir Reyes' tent in order to avoid being sent forth to fight. Which he says would have gone against his conscience. Even the little boys call out at him in the streets, thereby offending his pride and making his life unbearable. At any rate he has determined to brave the horrors of a journey of almost unprecedented difficulty and danger, and also to run the risk of falling into the hands of the French police to answer for a certain little indiscretion of his own some years old, though I do not consider that a very serious matter. Rather than remain in sutrisse paix, poor Alphonse, we shall be very sorry to part with him, but I sincerely trust for his own sake and also for the sake of this history, which is, I think, worth giving to the world, that he may arrive in safety. If he does, and can carry the treasure we have provided him with in the shape of bars of solid gold, he will be comparatively speaking a rich man for life, and well able to marry his Annette, if she is still in the land of a living, and willing to marry her Alphonse. Anyhow, on the chance I may as well add a word or two to Daryl Quatermain's narrative. He died at dawn on the day following that on which he wrote the last words of the last chapter. Nilephe, good, and myself were present, and the most touching, and yet in its way beautiful, scene it was. An hour before the daybreak it became apparent to us that he was sinking, and our distress was very keen. Indeed good melted into tears at the idea. A fact that called forth the last gentle flicker of humor from our dying friend, for even at that hour he could be humorous. Good's emotion had, by loosening the muscles, naturally caused his eyeglass to fall from its accustomed place. And Quatermain, who always observed everything, observed this also. At last he gasped with an attempt at a smile. I have seen good without his eyeglass. After that he said no more till the day broke, when he asked to be lifted up to watch the rising of the sun for the last time. In a very few minutes, he said, after gazing earnestly at it, I shall have passed through those golden gates. Ten minutes afterwards he raised himself and looked us fixedly in the face. I am going a stranger journey than any we have ever taken together. Think of me sometimes, he murmured. God bless you all. I shall wait for you. And with a sigh he fell back dead. And so passed away a character that I consider went as near perfection as any it has ever been my lot to encounter. Tender, constant, humorous, and possessing of many of the qualities that go to make a poet, he was yet almost unrivaled as a man of action and a citizen of the world. I never knew anyone so competent to form an accurate judgment of men in their motives. I have studied human nature all my life, he would say, and I ought to know something about it, and he certainly did. He had but two faults. One was his excessive modesty, and the other a slight tendency which he had to be jealous of anybody on whom he concentrated his affections. As regards the first of these points, anybody who reads what he has written will be able to form his own opinion, but I will add one last instance of it. As the reader will doubtless remember, it is a favorite trick of his to talk of himself as a timid man, whereas really, though very cautious, he possessed a most intrepid spirit and what is more, never lost his head. Well, in the great battle of the past, where he got the wound that finally killed him, one would imagine from the account which he gives of the occurrence that it was a chance blow that fell on him in the scrimmage. As a matter of fact, however, he was wounded in a most gallant and successful attempt to save Good's life at the risk and, as it ultimately turned out, at the cost of his own. Good was down on the ground, and one of Nesta's Highlanders was about to dispatch him, when Quadramain threw himself onto his prostrate form and received the blow on his own body, and then, rising, killed the soldier. As regards his jealousy, a single instance which I give injustice to myself in Nilepza will suffice. The reader will, perhaps, recollect that in one or two places he speaks as though Nilepza monopolized me, and he was left by both of us rather out in the cold. Now, Nilepza is not perfect, any more than any other woman is, and she may be a little exigent at times, but as regards Quadramain the whole thing is pure imagination. Thus, when he complains about my not coming to see him when he is ill, the fact was that, in spite of my entreaties, the doctors positively forbade it. Those little remarks of his pained me very much when I read them, for I loved Quadramain as dearly as though he were my own father, and should never have dreamed of allowing my marriage to interfere with that affection. But let it pass, it is, after all, but one little weakness which makes no great show among so many and such lovable virtues. Well, he died, and good read the burial service over him in the presence of Nilepza and myself. And then his remains were, in deference to the popular clamor, accorded a great public funeral, or rather cremation. I could not help thinking, however, as I marched in that long and splendid procession up to the temple, how he would have hated the whole thing, could he have been there to see it, for he had a horror of ostentation. And so a few minutes before sunset, on the third night after his death, they laid him on the brazen flooring before the altar, and waited for the last ray of the setting sun to fall upon his face. Presently it came, and struck him like a golden arrow, crowning the pale brows with glory. And then the trumpets blew, and the flooring revolved, and all that remained of our beloved friend fell into the furnace below. We shall never see his like again if we live a hundred years. He was the ablest man, the truest gentleman, the firmest friend, the finest sportsman, and I believe the best shot in all Africa. And so ended the very remarkable and adventurous life of Hunter Quatermain. Since then things have gone very well with us. Good has been, and still is, busily employed in the construction of a navy on Lake Milosis, and another of the large lakes, by means of which we hope to be able to increase trade and commerce, and also to overcome some very troublesome and warlike sections of the population who live upon their borders. Poor fellow! He is beginning to get over the sad death of that misguided but most attractive woman, Sareas. But it is a sad blow to him, for he was really deeply attached to her. I hope, however, that he will in time make a suitable marriage and get that unhappy business out of his head. Nileptha has one or two young ladies in view, especially a daughter of Nastas, who was a widower. A very fine, imperial-looking girl, but with too much of her father's intriguing and yet haughty spirit to suit my taste. As for myself, I should scarcely know where to begin if I set to work to describe my doings, so I had best leave them undescribed and content myself with saying that, on the whole, I am getting on very well in my curious position of king consort. Better indeed than I had any right to expect. But, of course, it is not all plain sailing, and I do find the responsibilities very heavy. Still, I hope to be able to do some good in my time. And I intend to devote myself to two great ends, namely, to the consolidation of the various clans which together make up the Zuvendi people under one strong central government, and to the sapping of the power of the priesthood. The first of these reforms will, if it can be carried out, put an end to the disastrous civil wars that have for centuries devastated this country. And the second, besides removing a source of political danger, will pave the road for the introduction of true religion in the place of this senseless sunworship. I yet hope to see the shadow of the cross of Christ lying on the golden dome of the flower temple. Or, if I do not, that my successors may. There is one more thing that I intend to devote myself to, and that is the total exclusion of all foreigners from Zuvendis. Not indeed that any more are ever likely to get here, but if they do, I warn them fairly that they will be shown by the shortest way out of the country. I do not say this from any sense of inhospitality, but because I am convinced of the sacred duty that rests upon me of preserving to this, on the whole, upright and generous-hearted people, the blessings of comparative barbarism. Where would all my brave army be if some enterprising rascal were to attack us with field guns and martini henries? I cannot see that gunpowder, telegraphs, steam, daily newspapers, universal suffrage, etc., etc. have made mankind one whit the happier than they used to be, and I am certain that they have brought many evils in their train. I have no fancy for handing over this beautiful country to be torn and fought for by speculators, tourists, politicians, and teachers, whose voice is as the voice of Babel, just as those horrible creatures in the valley of the underground river tore and fought for the body of the wild swan. Nor will I endow it with the greed, drunkenness, new diseases, gunpowder, and general demoralization which chiefly marked the progress of civilization amongst unsophisticated peoples. If in due course it pleases Providence to throw Zuvendis open to the world, that is another matter. But of myself I will not take the responsibility, and I may add that good entirely approves of my decision. Farewell, Henry Curtis. December 15, 18. P.S. I quite forgot to say that about nine months ago Nileptha, who is very well, and in my eyes at any rate, more beautiful than ever, presented me with a sun and air. He is a regular, curly-haired, blue-eyed young Englishman in looks. And though he is destined, if he lives, to inherit the throne of Zuvendis, I hope I may be able to bring him up to become what an English gentleman should be, and generally is, which is to my mind even a prouder and a finer thing than being born heir apparent to the great house of the stairway, and indeed the highest rank that a man can reach upon this earth. H.C. Note by George Curtis Esquire. The manuscript of this history, addressed to me in the handwriting of my dear brother Henry Curtis, whom we had given up for dead, and bearing the aid in, postmark, reached me in safety on December 20, 18, or a little more than two years after it left his hands in the far center of Africa. And I hasten to give the astonishing story it contains to the world. Speaking for myself, I have read it with very mixed feelings. For though it is a great relief to know that he and Good are alive and strangely prosperous, I cannot but feel that for me and for all their friends they might as well be dead, since we can never hope to see them more. They have cut themselves off from old England, and from their homes and their relations for ever. And perhaps under the circumstances, they were ripe and wise to do so. How the manuscript came to be posted I have been quite unable to discover, but I presume from the fact of its being posted at all, that the little Frenchman, Alphonse, accomplished his hazardous journey in safety. I have, however, advertised for him, and caused various inquiries to be made in Marseille and elsewhere with a view of discovering his whereabouts, but so far without the slightest success. Possibly he is dead, and the packet was posted by another hand. Or possibly he is now happily wedded to his Annette, but still fears the vengeance of the law and prefers to remain incognito. I cannot say. I have not yet abandoned my hopes of finding him. But I am bound to say that they grow fainter day by day. And one great obstacle to my search is that nowhere in the whole history does Mr. Quatermain mention his surname. He is always spoken of as Alphonse, and there are so many Alphonces. The letters which my brother Henry says he is sending with the packet of manuscript have never arrived. So I presume that they are lost or destroyed. George Curtis. End of Alan Quatermain.