At the Queen's Mercy

by Mabel Fuller Blodgett

With a mighty effort the Queen raised her head. She spoke no word to me, but what need was there of words between us in that hour? But faintly, in a strange tongue, she called to Zobo, and in the midst of all the din and turmoil round about, he heard that cry. I saw his face convulsed with agony, but again Lah spoke, with a sweet beseeching eagerness, and, falling on his knees before her, the warrior kissed her garment’s hem and bent his head in token of obedience. Then he turned to me.

I looked once more into the depths of the Queen’s beautiful eyes. Then their lids drooped. The tiger uttered a long, terrible cry.

Zobo picked me up like a child in his giant arms and bore me from the chamber. I saw the great tawny brute standing over the body of his mistress. With burning shame and anger, I struggled to be free, but the Captain of the Guard held me close.

A forked tongue of flame licked the curtained tapestry that screened the room from which he carried me. The threads of gold shone bright amongst those of baser metal. The hanging fell into place behind us. At a word from my captor four brawny slaves that waited took hold on me and bore me onward. Zobo tore down the burning tapestry and smothered the flame in his hands. He knelt beside the motionless body of the Queen. As he did so, the last of the gallant guard reeled back pierced by a hundred hungry knives. Then a turn in the winding corridor hid the room from sight.

Spurred by the fear of capture and of death, but bound by I know not what strange spell of obedience, my captors hurried onward, but ever with their burden.

So ingloriously was I borne without the Palace, and when at last they let me go, I saw a sheet of flame rise from its massive roof. The great palace with its fearsome Burial Hall, its beautiful Throne Room, and its wondrous Treasure Chamber, was even now a ruin—a fitting funeral pyre for her whose fair body lay within.

So once more I turned. And because in that hour, death would have been a sweet and not a bitter draught, Heaven withheld the cup from my thirsting lips. No man molested me, and at last I stood utterly alone once again and for the last time at the secret door that led through the wall of the City to the jungle without. Then that door, too, slipped into place behind me.

The dawn was breaking, the great storm was over, and I was free.

All this was, as I have said, many many years ago. I am an old man now, and having done my self-allotted task, I can die in peace at the appointed hour.