In this island stood a principal fane, built to the god of the sea-rovers, in a wood that topped a cliff that fell sheer to a foaming sea. Here came Sandanis and his following to sacrifice, and to hear from the dark priest who lived by the fane if a bride from the island that on clear days might be seen afar would bring luck to the king’s house, binding in amity Sandanis and the king of that land. The wood was dark, the poplars shook in a whistling wind, the priest divined, and brought the king an answer from the god. “The bride will bring fortune if the prow of the ship sent to bring her is touched with the life of the king’s latest prey.”
Sandanis heard. “That would mean,” he said, “the bulls I took from the herdsmen of the red island.” And he sent for the bulls and sacrificed them.
That done with due ceremonies, a fifty-oared ship, the prow smeared with bull’s blood, quitted quay and harbour for the myriad-painted sea and the island like a little cloud upon the horizon. No great number of days and back it came, broken-winged, less twenty of its oarsmen. No bride was with it, but a story of disaster, sudden inexplicable enmity of that island folk, found arrayed against them when they landed.... There arose a murmur in King Sandanis’s town.
Said Sandanis in council, “That island woman is not fair, and her brother who is king much resembles a quicksand. As well not treat with him, nor be called his friend!”
The cattle of the island fell sick. From every dell and meadow and mountain pasture came herdsmen ominously shaking the head, bringing to the town one tale. A solemn procession wound, men and women, and the king at the head, up to the fane above the sea. The god was propitiated; the priest, a poplar wand in his hand, stood as in a trance, then opened his mouth and gave forth the words of the god. “The cattle will grow strong when the horns of a black, a white, and a red bull are touched with the life of the king’s latest prey.”
The crowd murmured like the sacred grove. “That would mean,” said Sandanis, “the hare that yesterday ran through the court and was taken from under my cloak where it lay on the ground.” And he sent for the hare and sacrificed it, and touched the horns of the bulls with the blood. Likewise he gave to the god three great pots of brass and an image of silver.
That was one day. The next he took bow and quiver and with eight companions went hunting in the forest that stretched to the mountain-top. “I will shoot stag or doe that shall be latest prey,” said Sandanis to himself. But, going, a prodigy occurred. The sky blackened, then lightning rived an oak before him, and the spread of the bolt caused the king to reel, and made as dead for an hour right arm and right knee. The eight wove a litter of branches and brought him down through the forest. In sight of the king’s house vigour returned, and he stepped from the litter and made them scatter the branches. But he spoke no more of hunting, but held silence and a knitted brow. Entering the house, he went into his chamber and shutting out all, lay there in darkness and strife of mind. The eight, parting from the king, were not silent.
The cattle continued to sicken and to die. A monstrous hailstorm came and cut down the wheat and beat into ruin the dusters of young grapes. The fishermen of the island took few fish in their nets and those not the ones desired. At last the people said openly, “The king’s latest prey, that he took with his two hands, who is it but that woman from the Amazon country?”
Sandanis, in his house, listened to the chief priest of the island, and he listened with a hunted mind and a divided will. “Man cannot avoid the god!” warned the dark priest. “If the god’s hand points to this abhorrent and barbarian woman, will King Sandanis say him nay?”
“And if I did?” said Sandanis.