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The Expedition of Captain Flick: A Story of Adventure

Chapter XVII. The Temple of the Star

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Chapter XVII. The Temple of the Star.

“Deep in the twilight of the sacred wood,
Engirt by solemn trees the temple stood:
Before the shrine, an altar fair was built,
And thrice a day thereon the wine was spilt.
Thence daily to the blue and stormless skies
Rolled up the grateful smoke of sacrifice:
Within this fane the goddess dwelt alway,
And hither came the worshippers to pray
For health and wealth, and long-extended lives,
For sure success in love, and wished-for wives.”

Escorted by Ixtael and the guard, we left the palace of that amiable king with considerable satisfaction. We had three months in which to carry out our plans, during which time we would be able to explore the island unmolested. There is no safeguard so strong as superstition, and I knew that as our persons had been rendered sacred by a special taboo, not even the fiercest of these islanders would dare to lift his spear against us. The news seemed too good to be true; and, when we were once more on the high-road, bound for the Temple of the Star, I ranged 'longside of Flick to ask his opinion. The page 189 negroes looked treacherous, and it did not do to trust too much to their good faith.

“What do you think of this business, captain?” said I in a low voice. “A tame ending to our enterprise, isn't it?”

“The end has not come yet,” replied he with a frown. “All seems fair enough now; but if you want fighting you'll get enough of it before long.”

“But the king assured us—”

“I know—I know! The Truce of the Bride and all that sort of thing. But you mark me, Sir Denis, the king has no power. He is merely a state figure-head, a necessary part of the state religion. He is a puppet, I tell you, made to mouth the speeches of others.”

“Why do you think so?” I asked, rather startled by his earnestness.

“Because his speeches were all prepared. The negroes knew well enough why we came. On missing the chart, they must have known how we came; and it is their intention to flatter us into a sense of security, so that they can the more easily capture and slay us.”

“Do you think we are in any immediate danger?”

“Oh no! Our lives are safe enough while this religious festival lasts. The question is—how long does it last?”

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“Three months.”

“Pooh! You weren't gulled by that lie, were you? It lasts more like three weeks, I expect; and then we shall all be slaughtered to grace the marriage festivities. No, no, my friend; at present these negroes know we are too strong for them to openly attack. They are afraid, because we know the secret of their island.”

“They could make that safe by killing the lot of us.”

“Certainly they might kill you, me, and the half-dozen behind us,” retorted Flick; “but the boat is outside, and they dread lest it might sail away and bring the civilized world down on this island. I tell you, Evans, I don't trust those negroes further than I can see them. There is treachery at work. The question is—whose brain framed this scheme?”

“The king.”

“Not much. The king is a pretty boy with no brains. No; he must have some prime minister to consult. But never mind that just now. We'll learn the name of this unseen person when we reach the temple.”

“From whom?”

“From Miss Bertha. It is true that she may know nothing; on the other hand, she may know a great deal. Wait till we see her.”

During this conversation we had reached the ridge page 191 whence the black town could be seen extending round the port. At this point Ixtael touched the arm of Flick, and pointed to the right where the temple stood. He then shouted to his guard, and immediately the negroes wheeled compactly into a narrow path which trended to the right along the crest of the hill. I was delighted with this move, as it showed that the morose negro was obeying the orders of the king, and taking us to the temple. There was still the consent of the priestess Basilea to be obtained, but I trusted that she would not prove obdurate, and that I would soon be clasping Bertha in my arms. To this moment I had looked forward since our adventure at Cythera.

As I have said, the temple was built on the slope of the volcano, facing the chasm, which formed the sole exit from the port. On all sides it was surrounded by woods, which were evidently held sacred to the goddess. We followed the narrow path for some distance; then it turned to the right, and opened out into a wide avenue, separated from the quay below by a broad belt of trees. Immediately before the temple, which was elevated on a kind of artificial mound, extended a broad terrace, flagged with stone, whence a flight of stairs led to the waters of the port. There were several of these terraces placed at intervals in the staircase.

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We ascended the steps of this fane, and paused a moment to admire the many columns, the sculptured walls, and the ornate character of the pediment. By reason of the surrounding green, the building looked dazzlingly white, and wonderfully beautiful, as far removed in looks from the sombre appearance of the port of Isk, as was King Hesperus from his ugly subjects. It was an embodiment of the beautiful mythology of the Hellenes, set amidst barbaric savagery. The contrast was almost painful, so strongly was it marked.

Flick drew a long breath as we stood in the porch waiting the return of Ixtael, who had preceded us to announce our arrival to Basilea. The captain's face was flushed, and he looked ardently around at the splendid building.

“Here,” said he, “is the fane of Venus. Soon we shall see the celebrated statue which I intend to take to Europe.”

“You'll find that a harder task than you think, Flick. Myself, I am not thinking of your thievish errand, but of Bertha.”

“True, lad,” replied the captain hastily; “the lass first, the statue afterwards.”

He nodded significantly, as though he was sure of his plans, and turned to receive Ixtael, who appeared with a grim look of awe on his face.

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“The high priestess of the goddess permits you to enter her abode. You only, chief, and the darkhaired youth. The others must wait here, lest they profane the temple.”

“Oh, there's no difficulty about that,” said Flick cheerfully; and he ordered the boatswain in charge of the men to remain in the porch.

Then we followed Ixtael, and almost immediately found ourselves in a large and lofty hall. It was here that Venus received the worship of her votaries.

On three sides there were colonnades of pillars standing out some twelve feet from the smooth marble walls. Between these pillars, half way up, hung purple tapestries, woven with the attributes of the goddess. Venus rising from the sea; Venus floating through ether in her dove-drawn chariot; Venus in the embrace of Vulcan—all the tales of the Greek mythology were here presented.

Entering between curtains into the open space formed by the pillars, we beheld at the further end a raised daïs, reached by shallow steps. Thereon smoked silver tripods, filled with incense, and in the centre a low flame burned on a triangular altar, sculptured with doves and roses and tangled myrtle. Behind this, extending the whole length of the platform, hung a curtain of silvery sheen, on which was wrought, in glittering stones, the ever-recurring page 194 symbol of the Isk religion. The great curtain wavered as we entered, and the gems flashed out strange colours from amid the undulating silver waves. Flick grasped my arm, and whispered lowly-

“It is the shrine of the goddess,” he said in an agitated tone. “Behind the veil stands the statue of Praxiteles.”

Further comment was forbidden, for Ixtael by this time was grovelling before the veil, with his forehead on the marble pavement. From a side entrance came a woman, tall and majestic, with hair absolutely white, braided in a kind of coronet round her small head. Her face was dignified, but wrinkled and worn; yet it still bore the remains of great beauty. It lacked the serene expression of the king, and, with little difficulty, I guessed that this stately woman was the true ruler of Isk. She was arrayed simply in a long white garment, with no ornaments; and, as she swept past the crouching Ixtael, she looked like some sibyl, like some heaven-inspired prophetess. Truly the goddess had a noble high priestess!

Without a word, this woman came slowly towards us, and gazed steadily in our faces. The light which crept into that silent hall through oblong openings high above the ranges of pillars, showed our appearance with moderate plainness. Basilea—for we knew her name from the king—looked carefully at us, page 195 smiled in a subtle, unpleasant sort of way, and again moved up the hall. She beckoned us to follow, and glided on before like a ghost. There was something uncanny in her silence—something menacing in her looks. Both Flick and myself, influenced by the hush of the temple, by the mute command of the woman, walked up to the daïs in silence.

Turning to the right, Basilea led us through a passage, with narrow doors on either side. Pushing open one of these, she again beckoned. We obeyed, and entered, to find ourselves in a cheerful-looking room of no great size, sparsely furnished in a classic style, with light admitted through a circular opening in the roof. From a sofa at the far end, a woman rose to receive us, and came forward with a glad smile. It was Bertha.

She looked as beautiful as when I had last seen her at Cythera, but her eyes had an anxious expression in their depths. Arrayed like Basilea in a garment of white, with her golden hair unbound, she did indeed appear the incarnation of the goddess in whose temple she was held prisoner. Confident that we would rescue her, she expressed no surprise at our appearance, but looked quietly at the pair of us.

I was somewhat startled and annoyed by this cold page 196 reception, as I was prepared to clasp Bertha in my arms. She saw that I felt hurt, and in explanation directed a significant look at Basilea, who stood near, scrutinizing our faces closely. I then saw that we were placed in a position of some peril, and that it would be necessary to behave as though we were strangers. What it cost me to keep aloof from my affianced wife I cannot relate; but, with a great effort, I managed to bear myself so coldly, as to satisfy even that lynx-eyed, jealous woman, who stood noting our every look.

“I am glad to see you, Denis, and you, captain,” said Bertha in cold even tones, not changing a muscle of her face. “If I appear indifferent, you know the reason.”

Flick, who was puzzled by Bertha's speech, glanced sideways at the priestess, took in the situation at once, and conducted himself accordingly.

“Does this woman know our tongue?” he asked, not looking at Basilea.

“No. You can speak freely before her,” replied Bertha carefully; “but show no excitement in look or tone. You understand me, Denis, I am sure.”

“Yes; I understand,” was my reply. “How long can we speak to you?”

“For five minutes, I believe.”

“Is that woman dumb?”

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“No. She is under a vow of silence for the time being, captain. She is a dangerous woman.”

“I can see that. But tell me, Bertha, you are well treated?” I asked anxiously.

“Yes; I am treated like a queen. Make your mind easy on that score. How is Harry?”

“All right,” said Flick. “He is in the yacht outside. We are afraid to venture into port.”

“You need not be, captain. For three months you are safe.”

“So the king says; but can we believe that?”

“You can. Until I am married to the king, no harm can be done to you. I have the information from a priestess who has taken a liking to me. She is the only one here I can trust.”

“Well,” said Flick, after a pause, “since you assure me that this truce lasts three months, I'll bring the boat into port.”

“Yes, do,” said Bertha, with an eagerness which caused Basilea to glance anxiously at her. “It is the only chance I may have of escape. But can you get out again. I saw that iron gate.”

“Dynamite will dispose of that, my dear girl,” said I grimly. “So long as there is no danger of our being attacked by negroes, we'll soon get out.”

You are safe for three months, I assure you.”

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Basilea advanced at this moment, waved Bertha back, and pointed to the door. This showed that the five minutes were up, that the interview was over. I was so vexed that I could hardly move from the chamber.

“Bertha, I want to know the story of your adventures since leaving Cythera.”

“I have written them out,” she replied quickly. “Can you pick up the packet without that woman seeing it? It is under my foot.”

“I'll try. Flick, get the old woman out of the room if you can.”

Basilea stood by the door, waiting for us to depart. Flick made her a low bow, and in the island tongue begged her to go first. The request appealed to her vanity, and with a little laugh the woman got the better of the priestess for the moment, and she vanished through the door, followed by Flick. The next instant Bertha stepped back, and there lay the letter on the floor. I picked it up, thrust it into my pocket, and without as much as a glance at her I left the room. Quick as I had been, my exit was just made in time, for I came face to face with Basilea immediately I slipped into the corridor. With a frown she waved me to follow her, and with the captain I soon found myself in the hall again. Ixtael was still grovelling before the silver veil, page 199 making his orisons to the goddess. The high priestess touched him with her foot, threw a glance at us, with a repetition of that unpleasant smile, and slowly departed. I was glad to find myself again in the open air.