And then silence came down once more as the litter was placed before the steps of the dais and Zitu's Mouthpiece appeared, and the harps died, and the figure in its azure draperies, whereon flared both the cross and the wings of Azil, mounted slowly to that vacant seat between Tamhys and Zud, the high priest.
The crowd jostled, straining forward to see the better, and then settled themselves once more to attention as Zud rose.
He lifted a hand, commanding silence. In his other hand he carried a long silver stave topped with the looped cross. He began speaking at once in the simple fashion which characterized most of the Tamarizian ceremonials:
"Men and women of Zitra and of all Tamarizia, give ear to Zud the high priest's voice, through which it is given to announce to you one who comes among you as teacher, endowed with a wisdom passing the knowledge of Zud or any other among you, by Zitu's grace.
"Jason, as he is named, cometh to instruct the people on whom Zitu smiles, as a sign that his pleasure is in his people, and shall remain while they are obedient to his laws.
"Mouthpiece of Zitu is Jason, and shall be so known while he shall remain among us, and afterward, when the spirit within his body shall have been withdrawn. Exalted he is by the knowledge which Zitu hath seen fit to instil into his mind. Worthy of honor is he from all true men. Yet is he man as thou art, and to him shall no knee bend. Obedience and respect alone are his due. I, Zud, the high priest, have said it. Let all men regard the Mouthpiece of Zitu as his brother as well as his friend."
As Zud paused a second ripple ran through the crowd, a sibilance of whispers. Croft looked down into the nearest rows of uplifted faces and encountered Jadgor's own.
The Aphurian king sat with arms folded, staring directly toward him, his dark face distorted by a frown. The glances of the two men met and held for the merest instant. Croft's was steady. Jadgor's repellent, a voiceless challenge more than anything else. Croft turned his own glance deliberately away, sensing that in whatever he might attempt in the near future he would meet antagonism from Aphur's king. His eyes fell on Lakkon with his countenance somber, and on Robur, just beyond. The crown prince met his regard fully and shook his head. In the gesture, and the expression of his strong face, there was all the poignancy of a groan. It came over Croft that in whatever he may have said to his father since their conversation three days before, Robur had failed.
But he gave over such considerations as once more the harps rang out. He became aware of a spot of sunlight on the platform directly before the chair whereon he sat—almost, indeed, at his feet. Even as he watched it seemed creeping closer—and the harps were thrumming, thrumming sweetly—and the buzz of the vast assembly was once more falling still.
Suddenly the blended voices of a female chorus rang out, rising and falling in rhythmic fashion in perfect time to the harps. Down the alley came a group of vestals bearing flowers in their hands. Clad all in white were they, save for a cincture of golden tissue that ran about the neck, down between the breasts, and fastened in front like a sash with pendant ends, hanging in a golden fringe to the edge of the knee-length skirt. Their hair fell about their rosy faces and bared left arms and shoulders, wholly unrestrained save for a silver cincture about the head. Singing, they came on with a swing and flash of their bared and tinted feet and dimpled knees.