Well, as I have said, I turned in the midst of the pretty tinkle of feminine laughter and silvery speech, and asked almost roughly, if there were not some spot in all that Palace, where a man, prisoner though he be, might find a welcome solitude.
Then she who chiefly tended on my wants bent her sweet head, and with a new timidity besought that I should go with her.
As in a dream I left behind the now silent and wondering bevy of maidens, and my guide, pointing to a door I oft had noted, told me that beyond that portal I could rest undisturbed by the idle chatter of my slaves.
“We are forbidden to enter there,” she said, “but to the King all things are possible.”
So I pushed open the door and passed within, and the cold air as of a vault struck full on my face as I did so. My heart, too, felt that icy chill, but I pushed on, as one driven by another’s will, and when my eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom of the place, I looked about, and the truth came to me: I stood within the Burial Hall of Kings.
The chamber was hewn from stone resembling granite, and was supported by pillars of the same dull gray hue. Lamps hanging from these lit the Hall but dimly, yet I could see with all distinctness the thrones, also of massive rock, that lined the walls. Save one in the centre each was filled.
I love not the company of such as these, yet something held me fast. I thought with longing of that outer room, so bright, so gay; of the flower-like faces and graceful forms I had but now left behind, and all the while I stood rooted to the spot, in the dark shadow of a column, and waited, though I knew it not, for that which was to be. The flickering light of the lamps did strange things to the grim faces about me.
There they sat, those kings who once had ruled the people of the Walled City. A greater Ruler than they had touched each with His sceptre, and the passing of centuries was to each as the dry leaves that are blown from the trees, in autumn, by the wind.
I gazed upon them, and their silent majesty awed me, as a living, breathing presence never could have done. Even now the dead king at my right grasped in his hand the staff of power. Crowned and robed with royalty sat he, yet the mouse that gnawed his sandal’s strap was more potent far, for good or ill.
As the thought crossed my mind I heard a faint noise like the trailing of garments upon the floor. It was an eerie sound in such a place, but as before, I stood motionless, held still by the same curious spell, and the sound came nearer.