“No,” she returned positively; “they might prevent your return, these lawless ones. I cannot understand it at all, my friends. Ever have the Tcha been a loyal and law-abiding people until now. It is their duty to obey me, as their hereditary Supreme Ruler, descended from the first Ama who ever reigned in this valley. That Katalat should dare defy me is not so strange as that my people support him in his rebellion. Have I not done my full duty in these trying times? Can anything be justly urged against me? But even so I am supreme in the Vale of Tcha! My word is as powerful as the law itself, for it is the law.”
She was getting angry, and I did not blame her much. But it was time for us to start for the theatre, if we were to take part in the meeting that had been called, so we waited for Ama to arrange her robe of state—feminine fussiness being the same in every country—and then all followed her in a procession to the theatre, her thirty priestesses forming an imposing train in our wake.
The theatre was two-thirds full when we arrived, and I think those present represented about all the able-bodied population remaining in the valley—some four or five hundred, all told. Misfortune, desolation and ruin had told upon their iron nerves at last and deprived them of their boasted self-control, for as we entered the place only scowling faces greeted us.
On the platform, in full view of the audience, stood Katalat. At his left the aged members of the Tribunal sat in a row upon their golden bench. I think they were all surprised at the sudden entrance of the High Priestess, and the Tribunal especially became visibly agitated; but the High Priest merely cast a cold glance at the girl and thereafter ignoring her presence began an address to the people.
Ama flushed and her eyes flashed. Mounting the steps of the platform she took her stand proudly beside Katalat, reading the countenances of the people as she faced them. Our party remained in a group at one side, midway between the stage and the audience. The Virgins of the Sun sat upon the lower tier of benches, wonderingly regarding the scene.
“People of Tcha,” began the priest, “I have called you here to confer with me upon a very important matter—a matter that affects your lives and future welfare—a matter that has caused the death of hundreds of your relatives and friends and laid your fair city in ruins.”
A murmur of anger ran through the assemblage, but Katalat raised his hand and silenced it.
“Our laws are centuries old,” he resumed, “and they are so wise and just that we have always prospered in obeying them. One of our principal laws is that the legitimate daughter of the High Priestess, descended in a direct line from our first Ama, shall rule supreme in our beautiful valley.”
Every eye was now turned upon the girl, and I was puzzled to understand why the rebellious priest should have rendered her this tribute.
“Until a few weeks ago,” continued Katalat, “peace and comfort reigned in the Vale of Tcha. We were enjoying the reward of ages of honest labor and obedience to the laws of our race. Then there descended upon us these strangers.” Here his eyes flashed upon us wickedly, and another vicious demonstration broke from the crowd, which was quickly suppressed by the speaker.