Some, however, remained behind, to equip and despatch reinforcements as men continued to arrive asking to be enrolled. Thus, if trouble should arise with Coryon, Monella would have at his back, eventually, an overwhelming force. And as the men kept marching off in companies, the crowd of women and children and old men collected in the square in which was the museum stood about in anxious groups, awaiting news; hardly daring to hope for what all so fervently desired—the final downfall of their ruthless tyrant.
CHAPTER XXIX.
‘THOU ART MY LORD MELLENDA!’
To return to the scene in the amphitheatre. Monella, and those with him, advanced with measured tread; but suddenly his eyes fell on Ulama. For a few moments he bent over her, then he came slowly to the front and looked around him, and in that rapid survey he seemed to take in everything.
Beckoning to Leonard and Zonella he said, when they had joined him,
“The princess lies there in a dead faint. This is no place for the poor child. Bear her tenderly outside. My people will protect you.” Then he turned again to look around.
In their surprise at the unexpected inrush, those on the heights had ceased hurling down the rocks, and now they gazed in wonderment at Monella and those with him. Beside him stood a tall man in a white robe upon which was worked a figure of the sun in diamonds that flashed and sparkled as he moved. His long hair and beard were snowy white, his forehead, high and massive, was clear, and curiously free from lines and wrinkles. It had the impassive look of one who suffers few earthly cares to trouble him. His features were pleasant and benevolent in expression, and the clear grey eyes were open and candid in their glance. Like Monella, he was far above the usual height; and, like him, was of imposing presence and stately mien. Altogether, one would say of him that he was a good man, a man to be trusted and respected; he had at the same time the air of one deeply engrossed in intellectual pursuits, or leading an ascetic life. He lacked just that touch of tender human sympathy that made Monella’s mere look so fascinating to those with whom he came in contact, and that bound so thoroughly to him those who yielded to its subtle influence.
Ergalon had already whispered to the others that the stranger was Sanaima, the ancient chief of the White Priesthood; and Templemore regarded him with interest and curiosity.
Above their heads waved great red banners with strange devices and elaborately carved standard poles. At a sign from Monella, Coryon’s banner, that floated above his chair, was pulled down and trampled in the dust; then the largest of the red ones was hoisted in its place.
Next, Monella quietly seated himself in Coryon’s chair and gazed around the enclosure, his features set and stern, and his steady, piercing eyes seeming to read the very heart of every one upon whom he turned his gaze. The king’s ministers and other prisoners had been unbound, while Templemore had been hastily explaining, to the best of his ability, all that had taken place.