Prince of India , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Lewis Wallace

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540 pages

English

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In the noon of a September day in the year of our dear Lord 1395, a merchant vessel nodded sleepily upon the gentle swells of warm water flowing in upon the Syrian coast. A modern seafarer, looking from the deck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plying the same line of trade, would regard her curiously, thankful to the calm which held her while he slaked his wonder, yet more thankful that he was not of her passage

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819922391
Langue	English

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Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of thePast Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last Let us behold your faces, let us hear The words you uttered in those days of fear Revisit your familiar haunts again The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet Once more upon the pavement of the street
LONGFELLOW
BOOK I
THE EARTH AND THE SEA ARE ALWAYS GIVINGUP THEIR SECRETS THE PRINCE OF INDIA
CHAPTER I.
THE NAMELESS BAY
In the noon of a September day in the year of our dear Lord1395, a merchant vessel nodded sleepily upon the gentle swells ofwarm water flowing in upon the Syrian coast. A modern seafarer,looking from the deck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plyingthe same line of trade, would regard her curiously, thankful to thecalm which held her while he slaked his wonder, yet more thankfulthat he was not of her passage.
She could not have exceeded a hundred tons burthen. At the bowand stern she was decked, and those quarters were fairly raised.Amidship she was low and open, and pierced for twenty oars, ten toa side, all swaying listlessly from the narrow ports in which theywere hung. Sometimes they knocked against each other. One sail,square and of a dingy white, drooped from a broad yard–arm, whichwas itself tilted, and now and then creaked against the yellow mastcomplainingly, unmindful of the simple tackle designed to keep itin control. A watchman crouched in the meagre shade of a fan–likestructure overhanging the bow deck. The roofing and the floor,where exposed, were clean, even bright; in all other parts subjectto the weather and the wash there was only the blackness of pitch.The steersman sat on a bench at the stern. Occasionally, from forceof habit, he rested a hand upon the rudder–oar to be sure it wasyet in reach. With exception of the two, the lookout and thesteersman, all on board, officers, oarsmen, and sailors, wereasleep—such confidence could a Mediterranean calm inspire in thoseaccustomed to life on the beautiful sea. As if Neptune never becameangry there, and blowing his conch, and smiting with his trident,splashed the sky with the yeast of waves! However, in 1395 Neptunehad disappeared; like the great god Pan, he was dead.
The next remarkable thing about the ship was the absence of thesigns of business usual with merchantmen. There were no barrels,boxes, bales, or packages visible. Nothing indicated a cargo. Inher deepest undulations the water–line was not once submerged. Theleather shields of the oar–ports were high and dry. Possibly shehad passengers aboard. Ah, yes! There under the awning, stretchedhalfway across the deck dominated by the steersman, was a group ofpersons all unlike seamen. Pausing to note them, we may find themotive of the voyage.
Four men composed the group. One was lying upon a pallet, asleepyet restless. A black velvet cap had slipped from his head, givingfreedom to thick black hair tinged with white. Starting from thetemples, a beard with scarce a suggestion of gray swept in darkwaves upon the neck and throat, and even invaded the pillow.Between the hair and beard there was a narrow margin of sallowflesh for features somewhat crowded by knots of wrinkle. His bodywas wrapped in a loose woollen gown of brownish–black. A hand,apparently all bone, rested upon the breast, clutching a fold ofthe gown. The feet twitched nervously in the loosened thongs ofold–fashioned sandals. Glancing at the others of the group, it wasplain this sleeper was master and they his slaves. Two of them werestretched on the bare boards at the lower end of the pallet, andthey were white. The third was a son of Ethiopia of unmixed bloodand gigantic frame. He sat at the left of the couch, cross–legged,and, like the rest, was in a doze; now and then, however, he raisedhis head, and, without fully opening his eyes, shook a fan ofpeacock feathers from head to foot over the recumbent figure. Thetwo whites were clad in gowns of coarse linen belted to theirwaists; while, saving a cincture around his loins, the negro wasnaked.
There is often much personal revelation to be gleaned from theproperties a man carries with him from home. Applying the rulehere, by the pallet there was a walking–stick of unusual length,and severely hand–worn a little above the middle. In emergency itmight have been used as a weapon. Three bundles loosely wrapped hadbeen cast against a timber of the ship; presumably they containedthe plunder of the slaves reduced to the minimum allowance oftravel. But the most noticeable item was a leather roll of veryancient appearance, held by a number of broad straps deeply stampedand secured by buckles of a metal blackened like neglectedsilver.
The attention of a close observer would have been attracted tothis parcel, not so much by its antique showing, as by the gripwith which its owner clung to it with his right hand. Even in sleephe held it of infinite consequence. It could not have containedcoin or any bulky matter. Possibly the man was on some specialcommission, with his credentials in the old roll. Ay, who washe?
Thus started, the observer would have bent himself to study ofthe face; and immediately something would have suggested that whilethe stranger was of this period of the world he did not belong toit. Such were the magicians of the story–loving Al–Raschid. Or hewas of the type Rabbinical that sat with Caiphas in judgment uponthe gentle Nazarene. Only the centuries could have evolved theapparition. Who was he?
In the course of half an hour the man stirred, raised his head,looked hurriedly at his attendants, then at the parts of the shipin view, then at the steersman still dozing by the rudder; then hesat up, and brought the roll to his lap, whereat the rigor of hisexpression relaxed. The parcel was safe! And the conditions abouthim were as they should be!
He next set about undoing the buckles of his treasure. The longfingers were expert; but just when the roll was ready to open helifted his face, and fixed his eyes upon the section of blueexpanse outside the edge of the awning, and dropped into thought.And straightway it was settled that he was not a diplomatist or astatesman or a man of business of any kind. The reflection whichoccupied him had nothing to do with intrigues or statecraft; itscentre was in his heart as the look proved. So, in tender moods, afather gazes upon his child, a husband at the beloved wife,restfully, lovingly.
And that moment the observer, continuing his study, would haveforgotten the parcel, the white slaves, the gigantic negro, theself–willed hair and beard of pride—the face alone would have heldhim. The countenance of the Sphinx has no beauty now; and standingbefore it, we feel no stir of the admiration always a certificatethat what we are beholding is charming out of the common lines; yetwe are drawn to it irresistibly, and by a wish vague, foolish—sofoolish we would hesitate long before putting it in words to beheard by our best lover—a wish that the monster would tell us allabout itself. The feeling awakened by the face of the travellerwould have been similar, for it was distinctly Israelitish, withexaggerated eyes set deeply in cavernous hollows—a mobile mask, infact, concealing a life in some way unlike other lives. Unlike?That was the very attraction. If the man would only speak, what atale he could unfold!
But he did not speak. Indeed, he seemed to have regarded speecha weakness to be fortified against. Putting the pleasant thoughtaside, he opened the roll, and with exceeding tenderness of touchbrought forth a sheet of vellum dry to brittleness, and yellow as afaded sycamore leaf. There were lines upon it as of a geometricaldrawing, and an inscription in strange characters. He bent over thechart, if such it may be called, eagerly, and read it through;then, with a satisfied expression, he folded it back into thecover, rebuckled the straps, and placed the parcel under thepillow. Evidently the business drawing him was proceeding as hewould have had it. Next he woke the negro with a touch. The blackin salute bent his body forward, and raised his hands palm out, thethumbs at the forehead. Attention singularly intense settled uponhis countenance; he appeared to listen with his soul. It was timefor speech, yet the master merely pointed to one of the sleepers.The watchful negro caught the idea, and going to the man, arousedhim, then resumed his place and posture by the pallet. The actionrevealed his proportions. He looked as if he could have lifted thegates of Gaza, and borne them easily away; and to the strengththere were superadded the grace, suppleness, and softness of motionof a cat. One could not have helped thinking the slave might haveall the elements to make him a superior agent in fields of bad aswell as good.
The second slave arose, and waited respectfully. It would havebeen difficult to determine his nationality. He had the lean face,the high nose, sallow complexion, and low stature of an Armenian.His countenance was pleasant and intelligent. In addressing him,the master made signs with hand and finger; and they appearedsufficient, for the servant walked away quickly as if on an errand.A short time, and he came back bringing a companion of the genussailor, very red–faced, heavily built, stupid, his rolling gaitunrelieved by a suggestion of good manners. Taking position beforethe black–gowned personage, his feet wide apart, the marinersaid:
"You sent for me?"
The question was couched in Byzantine Greek.
"Yes," the passenger replied, in the same tongue, though withbetter accent. "Where are we?"
"But for this calm we should be at Sidon. The lookout reportsthe mountains in view."
The passenger reflected a moment, then asked, "Resorting to theoars, when can we reach the city?"
"By midnight."
"Very well. Listen now."
The speaker's manner changed; fixing his big eyes upon thesailor's lesser orbs, he continued:
"A few stadia north of Sidon there is what may be called a bay