The negro held the rings to Sagrado, who put them on his fingers and on his thumbs.
“These rings,” he said, “are beaten from your Christian chalices, and reconsecrated to your Master’s master.”
The negro held the sword to Sagrado, who took it, kissed it and held it to his heart.
“This sword,” he said, “is the steel of the guillotine of revolution which slays, unjustly, the shrieking innocent.”
The negro laid hands upon the crown.
“See the crown,” Sagrado said. “The gold that men betrayed for, the diamond that women whored for, the ruby that men murdered for, the lead that took life, and the poisonous metals which destroy life.”
The negro, advancing, crowned Sagrado.
Sagrado sat still for a moment upon this throne. Once again Sard had the impression that something evil flowed into the man to make him bigger: he seemed to dilate and glow with an increase of personality.
“Take now the oil and the wine of evil,” Sagrado said, “and anoint me to the worship of evil.”
The negro anointed and asperged Sagrado, with some intoned words of ritual which were in no tongue known to Sard. The Indians had heaped carib leaf upon the brazier, which poured forth stupefying smoke. The negro began to chant a hymn with a rhythm which seemed to go between the marrow and the bone. Whatever it was, it stirred the Indians. They were standing three and three on each side of the throne: the seventh fed the brazier. They sometimes marked a rhythm with a stamp and a catching of the breath: their eyes became brighter and brighter, and turned upwards till they were absorbed within themselves. Their tongues licked to and fro as though they were lapping blood. Sagrado rose to his feet and drew his sword.