Theos started, . . Sah-luma listened with placid indifference. "'Tis a case of self-slaughter"—pursued Zibya chattily.. "or so say the wise writers who are supposed to know everything, . . self-slaughter committed during a state of temporary insanity! Well, well! I myself would have had a different opinion."
"And a sagacious one no doubt!" interrupted Sah-luma coldly, and with a dangerous flash as of steel in his eyes.. "But.. be advised, good Zibya! … give thine opinion no utterance!"
The old negro shrank back nervously, making numerous apologetic gestures, and waited in abashed silence till the Laureate's features regained their wonted soft serenity. Then he ventured to speak again,—though not without a little hesitation.
"Concerning the topics of the hour…" he murmured timorously.. "My lord is perhaps not aware that the river itself is a subject of much excited discussion,—the water having changed to a marvellous blood-color during the night, which singular circumstance hath caused a great panic among the populace. Even now, as I passed by the embankment, the crowd there was thick as a hive of swarming bees!"
He paused, but Sah-luma made no remark, and he continued more glibly, "Also, to-day's 'Circular' contains the full statement of the King's reward for the capture of the Prophet Khosrul, and the formal Programme of the Sacrificial Ceremonial announced to take place this evening in the Temple of Nagaya. All is set forth in the fine words of the petty public scribes, who needs must make as much as possible out of little,—and there is likewise a so-called facsimile of the King's signature, which will naturally be of supreme interest to the vulgar. Furthermore it is proclaimed that a grand Combat of wild beasts in the Royal Arena will follow immediately after the Service in the Temple is concluded,—methinks none will go to bed early, seeing there is so full a list of amusements!"
He paused again, somewhat out of breath,—and Sah-luma meanwhile unrolled the linen scroll he had purchased, which measured about twenty-four inches in length and twenty in width. Carefully ruled black and red lines divided it into nearly the same number of columns as those on the page of an ordinary newspaper, and it was covered with close writing, here and there embellished by bold, profusely ornamented headings. One of these, "Death of the Sculptor, Nir-jalis," seemed to burn into Theos's brain like letters of fire,—how was it, he wondered, that the body of that unfortunate victim had been found on the shore of the river, when he himself had seen it loaded with iron weights, and cast into the lake that formed part of Lysia's fatal garden? Presently Sah-luma passed the scroll to him with a smile, saying lightly:
"There, my friend, is a specimen of the true mob-literature! … written to-day, forgotten to-morrow! 'Tis a droll thing to meditate upon, the ephemeral nature of all this pouring-out of unnecessary words and stale stock-phrases!—and, wouldst thou believe it, Theos! each little paid scribe that adds his poor quota to this ill-assorted trash deems himself wiser and greater far than any poet or philosopher dead or living! Why, in this very news-sheet I have seen the immortal works of the divine Hyspiros so hacked by the blunt knives of ignorant and vulgar criticism that, by my faith! … were it not for contempt, one would be disposed to nail the hands of such trumpery scribblers to a post, and scourge their bare backs with thorny rods to cure them of their insolence! Nay, even my fool Zabastes hath found place in these narrow columns, to write his carping diatribes against me,—me, the King's Laureate! … As I live, his cumbersome diction hath caused me infinite mirth, and I have laughed at his crabbed and feeble wit till my sides have ached most potently! Now get thee gone, fellow!—thou and thy news!"—and he nodded a good-humored dismissal to the deferential Zibya, who with his woolly gray head very much on one side stood listening gravely and approvingly to all that was said,—"Yet stay! … has gossip whispered thee the name of the poor virgin self-destined for this evening's sacrifice?"
"No, my lord"—responded Zibya promptly—"'Tis veiled in deeper mystery than usual. I have inquired of many, but in vain,—and even the Chief Flamen of the Outside Court of the Temple, always drunk and garrulous as he is, can tell me naught of the holy victim's title or parentage. 'Tis a passing fair wench!' said he, with a chuckle.. 'That is all I know concerning her … a passing fair wench!' Ah!" and Zibya rolled up the whites of his eyes and sighed in a comically contemplative manner.. "If ever a Flamen deserved expulsion from his office, it is surely yon ancient, crafty, carnal-minded soul! … so keen a glance for a woman's beauty is not a needful qualification for a servant of the Snake Divine! Methinks we have fallen upon evil days! … maybe the crazed Prophet is right after all, and things are coming to an end!"
"Like thy discourse, I hope, Zibya!" observed Sah-luma, yawning and flinging himself lazily back on his velvet couch,—"Get hence, and serve thy customers with their cheap news, . . depend upon it, some of them are cursing thee mightily for thy delay! And if thou shouldst chance to meet the singing-maiden of my household, Niphrata, bid her make haste homeward,—she hath been absent since the break of morn,—too long for my contentment. Maybe I did unwisely to give the child her freedom,—as slave she would not have presumed to gad abroad thus wantonly, without her lord's permission. Say, if thou seest her, that I am wrathful,—the thought of mine anger will be as a swift wing to waft her hither like a trembling dove,—afraid, all penitent, and eager for my pardon! Remember! … be sure thou tell her of my deep displeasure!"
Zibya bowed profoundly, his outspread hands almost touching the floor in the servility of his obeisance, and backed out of the room as humbly as though he were leaving the presence of royalty. When he had gone, Theos looked up from the news-scroll he was perusing: