"What..what is this?" he stammered dreamily—"I do not understand you!
… I.. I have slept on the field of Ardath!"
The soldiers burst into a loud laugh, in which their leader joined.
"Thou hast drunk deep, my friend!" he observed, putting up his sword with a sharp clatter into its shining sheath,—"What name sayst thou? … ARDATH? We know it not, nor dost thou, I warrant, when sober! Go to—make for thy home speedily! Aye, aye! the flavor of good wine clings to thy mouth still,—'tis a pleasant sweetness that I myself am partial to, and I can pardon those who, like thee, love it somewhat too well! Away!—and thank the gods thou hast fallen into the hands of the King's guard, rather then Lysia's priestly patrol! See! the gates are open,—in with thee! and cool thy head at the first fountain?"
"The gates?" … What gates? Removing his hand from his eyes Alwyn gazed around confusedly. He was standing on an open stretch of level road, dustily-white, and dry, with long-continued heat,—and right in front of him was an enormously high wall, topped with rows of bristling iron spikes, and guarded by the gates alluded to,—huge massive portals seemingly made of finely molded brass, and embellished on either side by thick, round, stone watch towers, from whose summits scarlet pennons drooped idly in the windless air. Amazed, and full of a vague, trembling terror, he fixed his wondering looks once more upon his strange companions, who in their turn regarded him with cool military indifference."
"I must be mad or dreaming," he thought,—then growing suddenly desperate he stretched out his hands with a wild appealing gesture:
"I swear to you I know nothing of this place!" he cried—"I never saw
it before! Some trick has been played on me … who brought me here?
Where is Elzear the hermit? … the Ruins of Babylon? … where is, …
Good God! … what fearful freak of fate is this!"
The soldiers laughed again,—their commander looked at him a little curiously.
"Nay, art THOU one of the escaped of Lysia's lovers?" he asked, suspiciously—"And has the Silver Nectar failed of its usual action, and driven thy senses to the winds, that thou ravest thus? For if thou art a stranger and knowest naught of us, how speakest thou our language? … Why wearest thou the garb of our citizens?"
Alwyn shrank and shivered as though he had received a deadening blow,—an awful, inexplicable chill horror froze his blood. It was true! … he understood the language spoken! … it was perfectly familiar to him,—more so than his own native tongue,—stop! what WAS his native tongue?
He tried to think—and, the sick fear at his heart grew stronger,—he could not remember a word of it! And his dress! … he glanced at it dismayed and appalled,—he had not noticed it till now. It bore some resemblance to the costume of ancient Greece, and consisted of a white linen tunic and loose upper vest, both garments being kept in place by a belt of silver. From this belt depended a sheathed dagger, a square writing tablet, and a pencil-shaped implement which he immediately recognized as the antique form of stylus. His feet were shod with sandals—his arms were bare to the shoulder, and clasped at the upper part by two broad silver armlets richly chased.