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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Dust Jacket of "Within the Golden Globe,"
George Harrap & Co., London, 1934 (restored)
Cover of "Within the Golden Globe,"
George Harrap & Co., London, 1934
Title Page of "Within the Golden Globe,"
George Harrap & Co., London, 1934
Frontispiece.
Then he slowly turned the flask upside down.
"IN truth, nephew Ralph, we have ventured forth once and again since first we met in distant Martavan, yet our doings have been prosaic enough," Roger Coombe remarked, as he lounged back on the settle, his thin, nervous hands held out towards the blazing logs on the hearth. "Save for our brush with the Barbary pirates nigh the Pillars of Hercules, and our share in repulsing the French raiders at Seaford, we have lived as lazily as fat King Hal at Hampton Court."
"Hush!" whispered Ralph, listening intently, for his keen young ears had caught the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs to the apartment where the two sat in their home in Bristol town. "Remember, Uncle, that men have suffered death for daring to assert that King Henry was like to die."
"Pah!" the fearless Roger replied. "The eighth Henry is become a very tyrant now that corpulence and disease have him prisoner. But his cruel hands and his Star Chamber cannot get hold of us here away in the West of England."
"Hush!" again hissed Ralph. "Verily, sir, some one cometh."
The door of the chamber swung suddenly open, and swiftly closed again.
Before the Coombes stood a slim, beady-eyed man clad in black velvet doublet and hose, a black velvet cap coming down about his clean-shaven face, black pointed cloth shoon enabling him to move noiselessly.
"Roger Coombe?" he inquired, in soft, silky tones, his eyes fixed on the elder man as if to read his very soul.
"Yea," responded Roger sleepily, forthwith hooding his eyes under heavy lids; he was a consummate actor was Roger Coombe. "Prithee pardon my servitor for failing to conduct thee hither with due deference."
"I come secretly," purred the stranger in black. "And having concluded my business with thee, depart as stealthily. Yet know"—and the silky tones grew hard and menacing—"that life and death are in the balances.... Dismiss this youth, and I will confide to thee that which thou must do forthwith."
Roger Coombe appeared to stifle a yawn.
"Be seated, good stranger. My nephew is my confidant in all my affairs, companion in all my adventures, so—"
"Yet must he leave our presence," urged the man in black, still standing.
Ralph hesitated, then, seeing his uncle did not speak, tiptoed, and unhitched from the chimney-piece a hanging dagger brought by the Coombes from beyond the Indies. This fearsome- looking weapon he placed at his uncle's right hand on the settle.
"Permit me to retire, Uncle," Ralph said.
"Go, nephew, yet remain within hearing. Perchance our guest may need refreshment."
"I need none," said the man in black velvet softly. "Yet, ere thy fearful nephew withdraw, let him know that no harm is intended thee or himself. Also know, both of ye, that harm may not come to me, for I am shielded by the Star Chamber."
At mention of this dreaded, despotic Court, which had committed so many judicial murders, Ralph Coombe shuddered.
"Where no harm is intended, gentle stranger," drawled Roger Coombe, "no fear is felt. Go, nephew."
Reluctantly the youth passed to the door; he feared the man in black velvet, shuddered at his stealthy tread, and mistrusted the purring tones, with their undercurrent of menace.
Ralph's fears were scarcely lessened when, in the passage from the open door, he found a man-at-arms on guard without. The black-garbed visitor had made certain there should be no eavesdropping.
Ralph passed into the front room, which overlooked the main street, every sense alert, seeking the menservants who did the work of the house. His uncle, himself, and those two lackeys were the only ones inhabiting the house on St Mary-le-Port, which was the seafarers' home.
It was ten o'night, and save for a few roisterers at the tavern by the waterside every one was abed.
How had the sinister stranger gained admission? The two servants had not come, as the custom was, to announce: "All—is—well! The house—is—locked—up." Swiftly Ralph stepped to the casements, then, hearing a movement on the floor above, turned, and ran lightly upstairs.
"Tyrrell! Amory!" he whispered loudly, as he tapped upon their bedroom door. "Are you there?"
"Abed and forbidden to come forth, young master," answered Tyrrell, his voice broken with terror. "'Tis the Star Chamber that forced us to fail in our devoirs to our employer."
At mention of this instrument of cruel tyranny Ralph Coombe must needs be satisfied of his servants' fidelity, for none might resist the Star Chamber and live!
But—but—but what had the Star Chamber to do with Roger Coombe? And—and—and what was happening in that downstair sitting-room to which the black-velveted stranger had gained entry?
Ralph would have rejoined his uncle forthwith, but the man-at- arms forbade, standing across the passage and pointing the youth to the front room overlooking the street.
Again he passed to the casements, and this time he unlatched them and looked forth into the night.
Dimly he made out a motionless rider at the front doorway of the house, a musket in the holster at his side, a glinting helmet on his head. In his hands were bunched up the reins of two riderless steeds, those of the two men within the house, as Ralph rightly guessed.
Hearing a noise behind him, he sprang back from the window, to see the door of the chamber swiftly close—to hear a key rasp in the lock.
He was prisoned.
And what might be happening to that fearless uncle of his? The Coombes were inured to peril under the open skies, but this sinister messenger of the Star Chamber, who had crept to their very fireside, Ralph feared, he scarce knew why.
He rattled the handle of the door, but found neither exit nor response to his demand to be freed.
And lo! when once again he flung wide the casements the soldier on horseback below, hitching the reins of the riderless horses over the pommel of his saddle, threatened Ralph with his musket.
A night-watchman, carrying a lantern in one hand and in the other a truncheon, was chanting: "All—is—well! Half- past ten on a frosty Jan'ry night! All—is—well!" when he caught sight of Ralph beckoning.
Thereupon he rushed towards the mounted man, waving aloft his lantern and brandishing his truncheon bravely.
The soldier held out something that glinted in the moonlight, a metal star that he dangled in the watchman's eyes.
"All is well!" hurriedly chanted the intimidated man with the truncheon. "Half-past ten on a frosty Jan'ry night! All—is—well!"
"Nay, 'tisn't," shouted an indignant Ralph, "when men are prisoned in their own houses."
But he was menaced again by the mounted man, and withdrew within the room.
There was the clink of a spur in the passage without, and, listening intently, Ralph thought he could detect the soft, cat- like tread of the man in black velvet.
The baleful visitors were departing.
There was the clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the street, then the dree-op! dree-op! of receding horseshoes.
Ralph put out his head—to glimpse the backs of two soldiers disappearing into the night, and he sensed rather than saw the sinister figure in black velvet who rode before them.
Again the rasp of key in lock! And this time a door flung wide.
Roger Coombe stood in the entry. His eyes gleamed with excitement, every inch of him seemed to be quivering with keen delight.
"We go on a yet greater adventure than ever yet we have essayed, nephew Ralph!" he cried.
"Whither?"
"To far Cathay, thou son of Cathay Coombe," Ralph's uncle cried, reminding the boy of the exploits of the father who had died on his last voyage to the Far East.
"When, Uncle?"
"Immediately 'Zekiel Zobb can join us, Ralph."
"For what purpose, sir?"
"That I may not tell thee, lad," Roger Coombe replied, his face grown suddenly grave. "But I can promise thee we will, Deo volente, tread where Englishmen never yet have trod, see sights no adventurer yet has seen, hear strange tongues and barbaric music such as no one in these islands yet has heard, and return with such a treasure as will astonish all his Majesty's subjects."
"Is that what Black Velvet promises, Uncle?"
"Yea, and in earnest of his promises he will deposit one thousand golden guineas with Master Nicholas Morris, thy guardian and my thrice-worthy friend, the which thousand guineas are to be doubled when we return to England with our mission accomplished."
"And why has Black Velvet chosen thee for the mission, Uncle?" the youth asked.
"He tells me it has come even to the ears of the King himself how that we went where Englishmen never yet had gone when we tracked that Treasure of Gems in far-off Pegu. Wherefore Black Velvet, as thou hast dubbed him, says there are no others that may undertake this new quest of his, none so fitted for the task as the Coombes."
"I trust this Black Velvet will do all that he promises," Ralph said.
"In any case, dear nephew, 'tis a great adventure," declared Roger Coombe.
"And therefore thou and I, Uncle, must undertake it, guineas or no guineas."
But on the morrow, as the mysterious visitor had promised, lo! there came to the house of Nicholas Morris a cavalcade of his Majesty's musketeers, and they left with that worthy merchant a thousand golden guineas!
A SWIFT messenger was dispatched to fetch Ezekiel Zobb to Bristol Town. Along the shores of the Severn Sea to the port of Watchet the man galloped, with but short rest for his horse, seeking the faithful servitor, without whom the Coombes undertook no sea venture.
At Watchet the tubby little seaman had been celebrating Christmas among the companions of his boyhood, telling them strange stories of the wondrous new lands beyond the Indies, where he had been Court fool to a mighty Mongolian king.
The messenger cantered on to the quay when Zobb was in the midst of his recital. But instantly the little sailorman ceased to speak as the newcomer cried, "I seek Ezekiel Zobb!"
Zobb dug a fat thumb into his own chest.
"Roger Coombe wants thee," the messenger cried, "in the city of Bristol!"
"Zhall I get up behind thee, vriend?" the little mariner queried. "Zure az me name is 'Zekiel Zobb I be ready to gallop to Bristow Town thic zecond."
"Pray, gallant seaman," responded the weary horseman, "remember my horse and I have travelled without stint, and the gallant beast—not to mention my poor self—must needs eat and sleep ere we return."
"Zartain zure ye zhall," responded the faithful Zobb, "but I be goin' thic zelfzame zecond if zo be I can vind a hoss."
The messenger had come provided with money. Zobb's companions provided the mule.
So Zobb arrived in Bristol Town by dint of travelling all night—in spite of the footpads who put a bullet through his cap—surprising the Coombes, who were as yet not ready to set out.
"Here I be, zonny!" he cried, coming up behind Ralph, and clapping his horny hand on his young master's shoulder.
Ralph dropped the barrel of cured pork he was carrying to lade the pack-horses. "Dear old comrade!" he cried when he had got over his surprise. "We're off on high adventure with Uncle Roger."
"An' high time, too! Zure as me name is 'Zekiel Zobb, I be zinkin' in the doldrums, be grown dull as ditchwater vor lack of veeling me life is in danger. When there's new worlds to be vound, zartain zure 'tiz no time vor younkers like us to be droning away our time in idleness. Let's dance a zuccess to our new venture, Ralph zonny."
Whereupon in that crowded warehouse the volatile little seaman grasped Ralph's hands, and the two executed a sailor's hornpipe, scattering Nicholas Morris's serving men to right and left, and almost causing the pack-horses and sumpter-mules outside to stampede.
The departure of the party journeying to London was hastened. Roger Coombe was the leader of the convoy, which consisted chiefly of merchant adventurers and their merchandise. But there were others—a lady returning to Court, riding in a horse- litter, two other ladies, riding side-saddle, accompanied by their husbands and followed by servants, who rode pillion, man and maid. And there were a number of monks, with staff in one hand and rosary in the other, who trudged at the heels of the party, unfortunate men who had been driven out of their cloistered retreats at the time of the suppression of the monasteries.
It was one of these cowled and robed wayfarers that early sought to attach himself to Ralph, who rode a pony.
"Thou art a brave young rider," he said.
"I am of the Reformed religion," Ralph replied, hoping to fling off the monk, who clung to his pony's bridle. He did not trust those fierce black eyes that peered up at him from under the close-drawn cowl.
"And peradventure, son," whispered the man in the monk's attire, "thou art nearer the Truth than any one of these berobed wayfarers that follow thy train."
Ralph conned the man keenly; it was not uncommon to find a monk, turned adrift in an unsympathetic world, ready to change his belief if thereby he could find a living.
"What do you want?" Ralph asked bluntly.
The fierce black eyes blazed, but with an effort the man controlled himself, and quietly asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Ralph's face, "Whither dost thou travel, son?"
And Ralph, scarce knowing what possessed him, was about to reply meekly enough when Roger Coombe came cantering back from the van of the cavalcade.
"Art making friends with one of the black-frocks?" Roger Coombe queried, a trifle testy in his manner.
Confused, Ralph passed a hand over his brow.
"Verily I believe the fellow did bewitch me. 'Twas not I who made friends with the monk, but the monk who forced his company on me, Uncle."
"Did he ask whither we were bound, Ralph?" queried Roger Coombe, looking after the man as he slipped off betwixt pack- horses and case-wares.
"Yea, Uncle, he questioned whither we travelled."
"Of a truth I knew it!" exclaimed Roger Coombe. "There be those who mark our movements, though whether they be spies of the Star Chamber or enemies seeking to frustrate our purpose I cannot guess."
"What do they seek, Uncle Roger?"
The merchant adventurer smiled an enigma of a smile.
"They seek that which they may not find," he said, hooding his eyes till but the veriest twinkle shone forth. "I have but now warned 'Zekiel Zobb to attend to nought else but his mules, and to converse with no man. Our destination must remain a profound secret."
"Seeing, good Uncle, I know not the name of the city that we seek—if city it be—I am scarce likely to betray our destination."
"Thou knowest, Ralph, that we travel to far Cathay," whispered Roger Coombe. "That fact must remain a profound secret. In due course I will tell thee more. 'Tis not that I mistrust Zobb or thyself, but I know there be those who would not stop at torture to extract the secret that is hidden in my brain. 'Tis mighty difficult for the genial 'Zekiel to keep silent."
Indeed, had the Coombes but known it, at that very moment a man in monkish garb, with fierce black eyes, was helping Zobb to hoist a fallen bale back on to a sumpter-mule's rump.
"Thou earnest much goods to London Town, son," said the seeming monk when the task had been accomplished, and he surveyed the string of twenty beasts under the rollicking seaman's charge. "Surely thou dost travel farther!"
Zobb was seldom serious.
"Yea, holy father, needs must we carry a right royal load, zeeing we be calling on King Harry at Hampton Court."
The fierce black eyes gleamed expectantly, and he swiftly questioned, "Thou dost visit Hampton Court, son?"
"Maybe and maybe not, holy father," responded Zobb, with a wink of the farthermost eye. "An' if thou wilt promise to impose no penance, zure I don't mind runnin' up a score in the matter o' lies. Mayhap I be bozom crony wi' comrade Harry, both being inclined to corpulence, an' his nose being as knobbly as mine."
"Have a care, son!" breathed the monk in the seaman's ear. "'Tis high treason to insult his puissant Majesty. The Star Chamber has made away with men, so that not a hair remained to prove they had lived, for lesser offence than thine.... What is the mission of thy master, Roger Coombe?"
Zobb recalled the advice Roger had given him but five minutes agone, and answered, "Me name be Jerry Tellnaught, and me maizter's mission to make meat-patties vor King Harry at Hampton Court."
A vindictive look crossed the face beneath the cowl. "Dost jest with me?" the man barked.
"Maybe!" laughed Zobb, and sprung athwart his mule, to canter to the head of the cavalcade, where the leading horse, a veteran of the highways, went stolidly on its way, shaking its head ever and anon, as if it knew full well that the bell attached to its bridle-rein must ring to warn travellers of an approaching convoy and to guide its fellow quadrupeds on their onward way.
'Zekiel Zobb might have been less merry had he heard the words of the supposed monk muttered in his thick black beard. "'Tis ill work to jest with Anthony Peke, as thou shalt learn ere another sun arises, wanton sailor man."
Somewhere on the downs of Gloucestershire the wayfaring monks stayed their journey, weary from their walking. There they would wait till another convoy passed on its way, giving them protection for a farther stage of their journey to the capital. But not every man garbed as a monk stayed in that Gloucester village; one, his habit tucked about his hips, galloped forth on a waiting horse in the wake of the continuing convoy. Yet before he sighted it he turned aside, and in a hollow of the downs found the party of horsemen that he sought.
It was late in the day when the Coombes and their travelling companions put up for the night at the inn not far from Newbury.
Roger, Ralph, and some half-dozen other merchant adventurers shared the sleeping chamber of the small hostelry, the ladies jointly sleeping in another apartment. The male servants found quarters in tap-room and kitchen, while Zobb and two others mounted guard over mules and horses in the barn. The three worthy fellows arranged to keep watch in turn.
It was in the small hours that 'Zekiel Zobb, taking his turn at slumber, awoke to find a hand clapped over his mouth, while two stout fellows held him in their muscular grip.
"Keep silent, and all will be well," hissed one in his ear. "Shout, and thy weasand shall be slit."
Zobb made a grimace, finding he was powerless. By the feeble light of a lantern he was able to see that the other two watchmen had been surprised and were in similar plight to himself.
There were other sturdy fellows present, and outside the barn Zobb could hear the champing of bits, the stamp of hooves. The strangers fell to examining the baggage of the Coombes—theirs, and not the baggage of the other travellers!
Zobb was gagged, and could ask questions only with his eyes.
Presently there came to him one garbed as a monk, fierce black eyes gleaming forth from under the cowl.
"Thou didst jest with me yester morn, son," he said, in menacing tones. "Yet know now that my business is no matter for jest. 'Tis life! And also death for such as disobey. And reward for thee if thou dost play thy part. There be golden guineas for thee if thou wilt but show us what we seek. Canst thou tell me where Roger Coombe keeps his private matters—in which load?"
Zobb nodded, but there was a twinkle of laughter in his eyes which should have warned Anthony Peke that 'Zekiel would not betray his master.
The gag was removed from about Zobb's mouth, though he was still held in the grip of two guards.
"Zartain zure I ought not to tell thee, holy father, where zuch things be hid," the demure-looking little mariner said. "But they be in the bottom-most bundle yonder under the case-ware. Only have a care the mules don't kick thee, they don't relish being disturbed in their dreams."
To Zobb's disappointment he was promptly gagged again, and the night-riders made a simultaneous attack upon the pile of baggage under the big cart near which the mules were tethered.
The alert little mariner had counted much on the commotion that might arise. But Anthony Peke was no bungler. The barn door was tightly closed and guarded. And though one of the mules let out with its back legs on being disturbed, the man who was kicked was swiftly hushed by the monk himself.
At length the bale indicated by Zobb was hauled forth and opened. To reveal—an assortment of under-garments!
Anthony Peke strode up to the sailorman, who had assumed a look worthy of a village idiot.
"'Tis papers we seek—not shifts!" he exclaimed in fierce anger, removing the gag roughly from Zobb's mouth.
'Zekiel gaped.
"Thee axed vor private matters, holy father, zartain zure. Hast thee not got what thee wanted?"
The man in monk's habit held a pistol to Zobb's temple. "Verily, mariner, we will find what we seek. I know not whether thou be fool or knave. Yet understand this—raise but a whimper of warning, and it will be the signal for thy death."
"I know nought of private papers, holy father," protested Zobb, truthfully enough.
"If I thought thou wert wilfully deceiving me, fellow," responded Peke angrily, "this moment should see thy brains bespattering the baggage."
"Nay, worthy father, 'twere a shame to spoil yon shifts but now come clean from the washing woman," Zobb said solemnly and slowly. Then swiftly he roared out, "Help! Mur—"
For a moment it looked as if the furious Peke would have fired, but the men holding Zobb flung a cloth about their captive's head, effectually muffling his bellowing voice in its folds.
Zobb's cry of alarm, however, had awakened more than one in the inn; among those who looked forth from the attics was Ralph Coombe.
Roughly rousing his uncle, Ralph cried: "Zobb is in trouble, I fear! Follow fast after me. Highwaymen be at our baggage, mayhap."
And the youth, fully clad as he was, ready for an early start at daybreak, rushed down the stairs, raising the house with his shouts.
Already mine host was unfastening the bolts of the door.
Ralph was the first to hasten across the cobbles of the courtyard to the stables. As he did so he saw a cowled and robed figure spring swiftly to horse and go galloping forth into the night, followed by a string of riders.
It was found that nothing had been stolen, so no one was anxious to fare forth after the night-riders. Ezekiel Zobb was released, vowing vengeance, yet anxious to tidy up the barn, which looked as if used for its primitive purpose, with an influx of tithes littering the floor.
Roger Coombe, flinging a cloak about his shoulders, followed Ralph at some interval. Every one was crowding into the Tithes Barn to survey the confusion. For the moment the inn door was deserted.
Two of Peke's men, delegated for the purpose, took the opportunity offered. They too had been disguised as monks, like their master, and they had duly studied Roger Coombe's features for future occasion on the journey out from Bristol.
At the foot of the stairs Roger Coombe saw two men slip forth from out the stairway to the wine-cellar. Thinking naught of it, what was the adventurer's surprise to find himself pinioned and gagged before he could raise a shout for help!
By the dim light of a lantern the two myrmidons of Peke made a complete search of Roger Coombe's person. Like the rest of the travellers, as was customary under such conditions, the adventurer had slept in his travelling clothes.
"Give us the chart," whispered one of the men, "and thy life shall be spared."
Roger Coombe signalled the man to remove the gag.
While one held a pistol to his head, the other removed that which prevented Roger speaking.
"What chart dost thou seek?" asked Roger, conning the man with eyes sleepily hooded.
"That which Black Velvet gave thee," promptly replied his assailant.
"Prithee, good strangers, who serve me thus ruthlessly, the chart avails nought to any wight save myself," protested Roger Coombe, in guileless fashion. But his eyes bent to his pointed shoon.
The men, not unpractised in highway robbery, grabbed at Roger's right foot, and pulled off the tapering shoe with its upturned end. As they bent a smile passed swiftly over the merchant adventurer's face, to be replaced with a look of tragic indignation as they conned his countenance when they found within the upturned end of the shoe a securely folded parchment.
He was about to raise a shout when the first man flung his hand over Roger's mouth and promptly gagged him ere he could utter a sound.
The two men were in a ferment to be gone. They did not stay to examine their find, which they had not the slightest doubt was the chart their master desired. Twisting rope about wrists and ankles, securing the gag in his mouth, the two men flung Roger Coombe helpless among the wine-barrels.
Sauntering forth amid the hubbub, the two night-riders found their horses where they had tethered them in the orchard, and swung forth along the highway in triumph, congratulating themselves that they had accomplished that which Anthony Peke had set them to do.
It was Ralph who presently found that his uncle had disappeared; but even as he was gathering a party to pursue the mysterious raiders it was told him that some one lay bound in the wine-cellar.
Roger Coombe had kicked right lustily on the cellar door with his heels.
"What happened to thee, Uncle?" Ralph asked when presently they were alone.
Roger Coombe laughed heartily, then he said, "They made me captive."
"Prithee, Uncle, I see no joke in this dastardly attack on thy person."
"Nay, dear nephew, thou wouldst not unless thou didst know what really happened."
"Which was—"
"That my assailants sought a chart to a hidden city," Roger replied, with his eyes dancing with laughter, "and found—"
"What?" cried Ralph, as his uncle paused. "What?"
"An apothecary's charm for warts and corns, set forth in fair Latin!" exclaimed Roger Coombe, his features rippling with laughter.
THEY were lodged in a tavern nigh the Tower in London Town—Roger Coombe, his nephew Ralph, and 'Zekiel Zobb.
In the seclusion of their private chamber uncle and nephew sat chatting of their adventure at Newbury two days before.
"When the thieves who carried off thy cure for warts and corns, Uncle, find they have gotten no chart of a hidden city, verily they will make another murderous attack on thy person."
"Nay, Ralph," Roger declared, and his keen eyes roved round the apartment, "we are under the protection of the spies of the Star Chamber. Doubtless our assailants of Newbury, led by that cowled monk—who may or may not be as holy as he appeared—hasted to get their work done, knowing that once in London Town we should be safe in the shadow of Sir Black Velvet. They have made their attempt to secure that which is so much desired by those who are aware of its existence."
"You speak in riddles, Uncle. Do you refer to the chart of the hidden city?"
Roger Coombe swept a heavy book from the table, and the sound drowned Ralph's last remark.
"Hush! Even the walls have eyes," the wary adventurer whispered. And with a swift glance he indicated a portrait hanging in the darkest corner of the chamber.
Ralph stared at the corner—stifled an exclamation. He could have sworn the life-size portrait blinked!
Roger Coombe's lids drooped over his eyes as they were wont to do when their owner was particularly watchful.
"Have no fear, nephew. 'Tis to this inn our friend, Sir Black Velvet, did invite us, and so powerful a personage is he that I doubt if any other in this kingdom, save only his puissant Majesty, Henry the Eighth of that name, would dare molest us."
"But the portrait—I mean to say, Uncle, what of his lordship of the Black Velvet?"
The sudden change of query had been wrought by the click of Roger's finger and thumb. In days when danger had lurked on every hand the two Coombes had used the same sign to warn each other of lurking peril.
"Aha! Sir Black Velvet was a right wary visitor. He came on certain business, but he left me with a physician's prescription for warts and corns which I allowed those villains at Newbury to steal," went on Roger Coombe, his eyes almost hooded completely.
Ralph knew, however, by the glint of his uncle's eyes and the soft clicking finger and thumb that his uncle was playing a part, and that the portrait which blinked called the tune.
"I trust, Uncle, this chivalrous gentleman of the Black Velvet will permit me to join thee in the expedition which is afoot."
"That permission, Ralph, depends on thy discretion. Wilt come with me to the Spanish Main or through the North-east Passage? Nor question my leading? Nor be over-curious concerning that which I go to seek?"
"Thou hast tested my devotion in the past, Uncle Roger Coombe"—and Ralph spoke as much for the benefit of his uncle as for that portrait that blinked—"and thou knowest that we have ventured together in enterprises more hazardous than even Sir Black Velvet could provide for us."
There had been curious noises coming from the direction of the mysterious portrait in the shadows. A voice followed, a soft, silky voice, whose owner was clad—in black velvet!
"Perchance I can supply adventures enow to satiate thy peril- hungry spirit, young Coombe."
Ralph gave a swift glance at the portrait. The eyes no longer blinked; there were but pools of blackness where the eyes had been. Sir Black Velvet no longer spied; he had stepped into the room from out the space made by the sliding of a secret panel in the wainscot. Ralph rose to his feet, and bowed to the mysterious visitant.
"We have watched thy nephew closely, Roger Coombe," continued Black Velvet, turning to address the older man, "and he passes the tests."
"Oh, may the saints reward thee, sir!" cried the delighted youth. "I could not bear to be parted from my uncle, however hazardous the enterprise thou hast for us."
"Yet there is one final test," Sir Black Velvet declared. "He who sends you both on this great emprise would fain see you in the flesh ere he entrusts the priceless chart to your keeping. Likewise this same patron would see the sailorman, Zobb. And, having satisfied his august self that ye three are worthy of his trust, he will give into thy keeping, Roger Coombe, that chart which thou must guard with thy life. And shouldst thou perish, thy nephew here must guard it till there is accomplished that for which it is given thee."
"If there be naught in the project save what a true man may undertake, Sir Black Velvet, thou mayst rely on us to serve this unknown patron till we have accomplished our high enterprise. Thou hast so whetted our appetites, Sir Black Velvet, for the hazards ahead that we long to be away. When may we present ourselves to our august patron?" Roger was wide-eyed now.
"To-morrow, at three of the clock, I will bring horses and conduct thee, Roger Coombe, and thy nephew here, and that other man of strange name to be interviewed by one whom ye shall not see."
And Black Velvet, in his black velvet shoon, passed almost noiselessly to the door.
Roger bowed his head in acquiescence, while Ralph sprang to open the door for their visitor.
But the door swung open without Ralph's aid. An obsequious landlord and an armed soldier stood in the antechamber. They pressed to one side to let Black Velvet pass.
Ralph Coombe, though jubilant at the adventure ahead, was not sorry to see the back of the emissary of the Star Chamber. Black Velvet's cold, grey eyes seemed to pierce one's inmost thoughts.
"I'm right glad he's gone, Uncle," said Ralph, aware of the same sinister searching of those grey, cruel eyes.
Roger Coombe's finger and thumb clicked yet again, and he flung a warning glance at the portrait in the corner.
Eyes were still focused on uncle and nephew. But they were not cold, grey ones!
"Hahahaha!" came a chuckling laugh from out the wainscot. Whereupon watchful blue eyes disappeared from out the portrait to reappear in the room, after some fumbling and an expletive in broad Somerset.
"Zure and zartain, there be no cause vor vear," said 'Zekiel Zobb. "I bin looking after ye.... Black Velvet and one musketeer came into the tavern, and Black Velvet and one musketeer have gone away down street, whilst landlord went back to his bar."
And the Somerset sailorman went on to tell his story in the dialect he always used. The faithful fellow had kept close guard on his masters, and when Black Velvet arrived he had stalked him and seen him enter a secret door from the passage outside. Then when the man-at-arms and the landlord had passed to the antechamber he had secreted himself, and promptly taken Black Velvet's place when that mysterious individual vacated the space behind the picture.
"I pray thee, 'Zekiel, be not over-rash," begged Roger Coombe. "There is much more in this strange business than ever I can fathom. I know not the name of our ultimate employer, for it seems that Sir Black Velvet is but his agent. I only know that golden guineas are as plentiful as apples in Somerset orchards. As to the enemies who attacked us at Newbury, who they may be I cannot guess, though I know they strike athwart Black Velvet's plans."
"Ask Black Velvet hisself," advised 'Zekiel.
Roger Coombe said he would. But Black Velvet, when questioned on the following afternoon, gave little information. "'Tis Spanish work!" was all he would say. "Yet beware, Roger Coombe, of one named Anthony Peke."
Black Velvet had come to fetch the trio of adventurers to be inspected by their unnamed patron, and was attended by a gay cavalcade.
The party rode forth from the courtyard of the tavern, led by that black-garbed man on the handsome black horse which he always bestrode when abroad in the streets. He was the one sombre figure amid the posse of gay, liveried servants and armoured soldiers accompanying him. Horses were provided for the Coombes and Zobb, and each of the trio was attended by two lackeys, who rode close at their elbows.
"'Tis zartain zure," quoth 'Zekiel Zobb, "that Black Velvet don't mean to let us get lost, Ralph zonny."
The cavalcade clustered across London Bridge, and the fortified gates at the southern end were swiftly swung open at a mere gesture of Black Velvet's hand.
Thereafter the course of the river Thames was followed, save for certain short cuts where the river curved, till open country road was reached.
At a wayside inn a halt was called, and refreshment was promptly brought to the riders, whose advent, it seemed, was expected.
"Whither do we go, sir?" inquired Roger.
"To thy patron's garden," responded Black Velvet curtly. "Yet the way thither shall be hidden from thee and thy two companions' eyes."
With the words, and at a signal of his black-gauntleted hand, the leader of the cavalcade summoned servants, who proceeded to blindfold the three West Countrymen.
Roger Coombe uttered a protest.
"Such are my orders," said Black Velvet, in his silkiest tones. "It is only mine to obey. And, seeing how great an enterprise thou art embarked upon, Roger Coombe, it ill becomes thee to take offence in the small matter of a kerchief across thy eyes."
"Marry, 'tis not the kerchief I resent!" retorted Roger. "'Tis the want of trust."
"Fear not but what, when thou hast passed thy employer's scrutiny, thou shalt be trusted to the uttermost," Black Velvet responded, and he gave the order for the cavalcade to continue its journey.
For another hour the trio rode with hooded eyes. Ever and anon there came to their ears the sound of the river, and once Ralph felt sure, by the hollow sound produced by the horses' hooves, that a bridge had been crossed. Presently the soft pad-pad of horses' feet told the adventurers that they were riding across greensward—fields or, peradventure, a park.
Came the sound of trotting horses, a clattering of accoutrements, and a sudden halt.
"Pray descend from your steeds," came the command from Black Velvet, and outstretched hands helped the blindfolded men to their feet.
Zobb, unable to restrain his curiosity, put hands to his kerchief to unhood his eyes—only to have his hands seized from behind and tied up behind his back.
"No harm is intended, rash seaman," came the silken tones of Black Velvet. "Yet raise not the wrath of the mighty by any unseemliness, lest harm come to thy masters."
The argument effectually muzzled Zobb.
Thereupon each of the blindfolded ones felt himself led gently enough by two men-at-arms—to judge by clatter of accoutrements—across sward to firmer ground—it might be a drive or a garden path.
For some distance they were taken along this firmer ground, and then suddenly found themselves released. They heard the sound of retreating footsteps.
"It is permitted ye to unhood, but stir not one step from where ye stand," came the voice of Black Velvet, raised a key higher than usual.
All three were glad to lower their bandages forthwith. They blinked in the sunlight, and looked round them. There were none but their three selves to be seen, and thickset hedges on both sides of them.
Black Velvet's voice came from the other side of the left-hand hedge.
"Ye cannot come to me nor can I come to you. Yet from where each stands the business of the afternoon can be transacted. Hush, and doff your caps!"
There came sounds of footsteps treading heavily; it might be four or six soldiers bearing some burden. They halted at a word of command. A hoarse, querulous voice spoke haughtily in an undertone.
Then it seemed to Ralph there was a stir among the leaves of the evergreen hedge, and afterwards Ralph averred that he caught sight of a spy-glass focused upon them.
But the voice held them—that deep, querulous voice with cruelty in its tones.
"Are ye loyal subjects?" came the question.
"Yea," responded Roger Coombe to the unknown. "We love this realm of England, and for her sake we have ventured across tempestuous oceans to undiscovered lands on the edge of the world."
"Well zaid, Maizter Coombe," added Zobb, clapping his hands.
"Silence, knave," came the cruel, querulous voice. Even Zobb was awed by the unknown speaker.
"Roger Coombe, thou shalt be rich for life," went on the hoarse voice, "if thou dost but bring back to this spot that for which I send thee to far Cathay." There was a deep groan of anguish, as if the speaker were smitten with sudden pains, a volley of oaths, then: "Obey my servant with whom thou hast already conversed. Disobey him in but the smallest particular, and thou shalt rue it to thy dying day."
There were whispered words, then the tramp of men retiring with a burden.
"A litter," Ralph said in an undertone to his uncle.
Roger Coombe held up a warning finger, and there was a tense silence. But with the departure of the unknown came a sense of relief, as if an evil influence were removed. At no moment in the mysterious enterprise was Roger Coombe so inclined to withdraw from the stern toils that gathered about the three adventurers.
The silken voice of Black Velvet, however, came purring through the hedge.
"Thy fortune is made, Roger Coombe, and the fortunes of thy companions."
"Zure as me name is 'Zekiel Zobb, I be main glad to hear that," remarked the sailorman. "That chap with the rheum in his voice gave me shivers down me back."
"Fare thee well for the nonce," spake Black Velvet. "I will rejoin thee later, Roger Coombe, if ye three do not find me first."
"That gives us permission to move!" exclaimed Ralph. And forthwith he hasted along the narrow path betwixt the two hedges, that were too high to peer over and too thick to peer through.
But haste as the trio might, no other view than that of two evergreen hedges met their gaze. There came choice of turnings, but they only passed from one circular path to another similarly girt with trimmed hedges of uniform height.
'Zekiel Zobb had taken to running, but he presently stopped short when he found his companions were out of sight. Not without difficulty the three found one another.
"Get thee on my shoulders, Ralph," cried Zobb, "an' zee if we do live in a world of hedges!"
The youth hoisted himself on the mariner's shoulders.
"Verily it is nought but hedge-tops that I see. We must be in a maze."
"Amazed have 'Zekiel Zobb been this last hour an' more," growled the sturdy sailorman. "Tell us summat vresh, Ralph Coombe."
"Beyond the hedge-tops there is a park of many trees," the youth continued, swaying ominously on Zobb's shoulders.
"And beyond the park is there not a palace?" eagerly questioned Roger Coombe.
"Not one that I can see," responded Ralph, and came toppling to earth.
On in the puzzle-garden the trio wandered, yet found no exit; indeed, half an hour later they found themselves where they had started.
"Zure 'tiz walking round ourselves we be," Zobb said. "I zwear this be the spot where Black Velvet spoke."
"In two minutes I will be wi' ye," came the silken tones of him whom they sought. And, as he had promised, so it came to pass. Black Velvet stood before them, smiling.
"My master," said he, "is satisfied that ye will penetrate to the hidden city of Lamayoorah, to bring back the treasure he covets. He desires me to hand thee this chart, Roger Coombe, and he commands ye all three to defend it to your last breath. Now ye must return to your tavern in such fashion as ye came."
BLINDFOLDED, as on the outward journey, the trio returned to London with their escort and Black Velvet. As they neared the confines of the city their eyes were unhooded.
"Verily I have learned little from my darkened journey, Sir Black Velvet," Roger Coombe said, as he scanned the unnamed man in whose hands were their destinies, watching him intently.
A ghost of a smile flickered over the pale features of Black Velvet.
"'Twas little thou wert expected to learn," he responded. "It was, rather, that thy patron desired to read thee and thy two companions. The Maze was grown by those who wished to see rather than to be seen. His—lordship is satisfied that thou art a true man; of thy prowess and that of thy young nephew Ralph, and of thy mariner servant, he was already assured. Indeed, so set is he on the project, so impatient to handle that which thou art sent forth to seek, that already at Blackwall a tall ship even now rides at anchor, waiting to fare forth to the far-distant city of the Grand Turk. Which ship is replete with all stores for thy voyage and for the overland journey which must follow thine arrival in Constantinople. The chart of that land journey thou earnest in thy bosom."
The two men rode ahead of the rest of the cavalcade. None could overhear their words.
Roger responded. "Thou didst tell me, Sir Black Velvet, that Spaniards, or a certain Anthony Peke, were my assailants at Newbury. When they discover how they have been duped it may be they will make further attempts. Who is this Anthony Peke?"
"The Star Chamber has thee under her care Roger Coombe," responded the man who would answer to no name save that of Black Velvet. He went on, ignoring the question that had been asked:
"Thy swift departure on to-morrow morning's tide will circumvent those who may watch for thy going. They will not anticipate thy sailing so soon, and, of a truth, thou wilt be well-nigh returned with the Golden Globe before ever the others get on thy tracks."
It was the first mention Black Velvet had made of a tangible object for the perilous venture into far Cathay.
"Which Golden Globe is to be found in the city of Lamayoorah?" queried Roger quickly. "And it contains—"
But Black Velvet was not to be caught napping.
"That which it is thy high honour to bring back with thee. That which is within is worth more than the Golden Globe itself. That which is within!"
"Yet if I know not what that which is within may be," argued Roger, "how do I know that my mission is successful? If I return with an empty globe of gold my patron may dub me mere fool."
"If thou dost return with the Globe of Gold," answered Black Velvet, "that which is within will be within."
"Thy words are like thyself—an enigma," retorted Roger.
"Hist!" said the man in black. "Here come the others at our heels."
Roger Coombe could learn no more for the moment, but that eve, in the seclusion of the tavern chamber, Black Velvet gave further directions.
Looking up under drooping lids, Roger saw shining eyes in the watchful portrait on the wall, and Black Velvet whispered his words.
"Surely no one can overhear us twain talking through the thickness of the walls about us," Roger remarked slyly.
"Walls have ears," Black Velvet responded.
"And sometimes eyes," said Roger softly.
Black Velvet looked up swiftly, but Roger was gaping, gazing at the door of the chamber.
"The keyhole is secure from prying eyes," Black Velvet said.
"Ah!" replied Roger, as if satisfied. "Thy sentry is without."
Black Velvet leaned forward, speaking low.
"Reaching the city of Constantinople, thou wilt go to the house of the English factor, Dick Darsall, who dwells in Pera nigh the fish market. Give him this symbol—a metal talisman in the shape of a star—and Darsall will supply all thy wants without one word of payment.... Remember, Roger Coombe, thy patron is very powerful."
"As powerful as—the King!" snapped out Roger, as he put the emblem of the Star Chamber within his bosom. "As powerful as King Henry!" he repeated.
But Black Velvet did not answer, only smiled faintly, whilst his grey eyes raked Roger through and through.
"I hid thee good-night and restful slumber, honest adventurer," said the man in black as he passed to the door, which opened before him.
After taking his evening meal in the common-room of the tavern, Roger retired to the bedroom for the night, Ralph using the same room as his uncle, for safety's sake.
Zobb would spend the night in no other place than the stable, where were the sumpter-mules and bales of belongings wanted on the voyage—and after. "Thic time 'Zekiel Zobb won't be caught napping like he wur at Newbury," declared that worthy. "Ef I do sleep 't'll be wi' open eyes an' ears."
The night was cold, and a lackey—a long-nosed, long- shanked fellow with shifty eyes—tapped at the bedroom door and asked whether the Coombes would require charcoal to take the chill off the night air.
"Tell our worthy landlord 'tis a kindly attention of which we will gladly take advantage," Roger replied.
The long-nosed lackey quickly returned with a pan of glowing charcoal, and placed it on the hearth, promptly retiring with no other word.
"Why couldn't the wood already on the hearth be lit?" Ralph asked. Somehow he liked not that serving-man of sly looks.
But his uncle was already abed, and sleepily murmured, "Don't forget thy prayers, nephew."
Soon both were asleep on the straw pallet beneath which Roger had hidden the precious chart handed him in such strange circumstances that afternoon.
Ralph woke gasping—to feel hands at his throat—his own hands! He was struggling for breath.
Roger Coombe lay snoring in stertorous fashion, his eyes open, staring with no sign of consciousness in them.
Ralph tried to rise, but his limbs refused to respond to his will. And then, lying there helpless, not sure that he wasn't dreaming, he saw a long-nosed lackey peer into the bedroom from the slowly opening door.
Ralph had himself locked the bedroom door, and the key lay beneath his head under the pillow.
The lackey must have a duplicate key! But what was the fellow doing in the chamber at that time of night? Did he fear the charcoal might fire his master's inn? Ralph watched through a fringe of eyelashes.
The drugged youth wanted to shout—wanted to ask the lackey why he held a dripping cloth before his lantern jaws.
What a curious nightmare! How would it end? For lo! another figure came creeping into the bedroom—that of a soldier.
Then the soldier suddenly sneezed. And Ralph knew it was no dream!
The lackey, who was stealthily approaching the bed on which the Coombes lay, sprang round.
But muscular arms gripped him. There was a fierce struggle. Both went crashing to the floor.
A second man entered the apartment, gasped, and sneezed!
"Take that charcoal-pan from out the room, Will!" cried the muscular soldier, sitting astride the long-nosed lackey. "'Tis stored with some devilish drug that suffocates."
The newcomer addressed as Will, coughing and gasping, ran from out the room, bearing the pan the supposed lackey had placed there a short hour before.
The lackey lay felled on the floor, motionless.
The soldier of the Star Chamber rose, and, rushing to the casements, flung them open to admit fresh air.
"Nigh poisoned thee, lad," he said, as Ralph blinked and struggled to a sitting posture.
Ralph shook his uncle violently, and soon saw reason light the vacant eyes. The two Coombes, breathing deeply, took fresh air into their drugged lungs, replacing the fumes inhaled from the pan introduced by the man who had pretended to be a lackey of the tavern.
"What does it all mean?" Roger Coombe inquired, holding his throbbing head between his hands.
"It means that there be those who seek something that is hidden in this room, O worthy adventurer," responded the soldier who had saved them from suffocation. "Will yonder was set to watch thy door, but, an' I mistake not, his possett was drugged, and he slept on the bar settle instead of on the threshold of this room. It was well that more than one of the servants of the Star Chamber was set to watch over thy welfare. Disturb not thyself, good sir. A dozen men and more are buzzing round like so many bees, and intruders are like to get stung. We will remove this carrion from the floor, and purge thy chamber from all fumes."
"But what of my servant Zobb?" gasped Roger.
"A special guard of three soldiers watch over his safety."
"But they too may have been drugged!" Ralph cried.
"Nay," said the soldier. "I was one of them, and only now have I come from the merry mariner to see how Will was faring. 'Twas among the baggage we expected thieves, if anywhere. Thy foes be desperate, good sir, if they dare to brave the enmity of the Star Chamber."
Two more retainers entered the bedroom, and bore forth the unconscious lackey.
And when the Coombes bade farewell to mine host of the tavern on the morrow he pointed to Tower Hill, and there they saw that same lackey prisoned in the stocks. Each side of the long nose there was branded the letter 'F,' publishing to all the world that the man was a thief.
Black Velvet rode at Roger's side.
"I trow thou wouldst have been dead ere this had that villain got his way," said the man of the Star Chamber. "We met in the Star Chamber in the early hours, and nigh had decided to string up yon carrion to dance on empty air, but we knew right well he was but a helpless tool. It may be necessary to teach his master a lesson."
"Anthony Peke?"
"The same," responded Black Velvet. "But he walks in high places, and still enjoys some favour in King Henry's sight, seeing he played traitor to his former benefactress Catherine of Aragon, who once was Queen." The man in black was whispering in Roger's ear. "Peke has been our English spy in Spain, and is high in favour with the Emperor Charles. Harm done to Anthony Peke might be regarded as an affront to Spain, the which King Henry would fain avoid. Yet"—the cold, grey eyes stared, suggesting more than speech—"were Anthony Peke a nuisance to thee I know the Star Chamber would not inquire into the matter of a mere dagger having let out his blood."
"I'm not to be hired, as private assassin!" cried Roger Coombe indignantly.
"Nay, I did not ask it," purred Black Velvet, in his silkiest tones. "Yet, friend Roger, thou mayst find Anthony Peke less scrupulous, for, I have reason to know, that the Emperor Charles would give half his huge fortune to possess the Golden Globe—to grasp that which is within."
"'TIS right good to be afloat again," said Merchant Adventurer Roger Coombe, stretching aloft his arms to a sunlit sky.
"Aye, Uncle, and to be bound withal for the city of the Grand Turk," added Ralph, rubbing hands together in his glee.
"An' zure as me name is 'Zekiel Zobb, I be main glad to be out o' zound o' Black Velvet's purr," added their handy-man. "He wur too much of a cat wur thiccy man, an' made me feel no better than a mouse. But the cat's away, zo now we ull play, my maizters."
And the irrepressible mariner danced a hornpipe on the deck.
The trio of adventurers were aboard the tall ship Susan, fourteen days out from Blackwall. Contrary winds caused delay at Cowes, in the Isle of Wight, but, hugging the coast, they came at length to Plymouth, whence prosperous winds sent the Susan spanking southward, so that within three days they had sighted Cape Finisterre.
"With the wind at our backs," Roger declared, "we should touch at Cadiz within the week. 'Tis there our excellent shipmaster, Jeremy Tunder, may call for fresh water and supplies, though it may be he will elect to make all speed to the capital of the Grand Turk, staying the voyage only if there is dire need. Indeed, Tunder has orders to do my will rather than his own."
"'Tis as though we went on King's business," Ralph remarked jocularly.
Roger leaned forward, his face set in solemn lines.
"I am not so sure, nephew, but that it is the King's business on which we are embarked."
"Why d'you think it, Uncle?" asked a startled Ralph.
"'Twas the Maze at Hampton Court whither we were taken, or I'm a Hollander!"
"And who is Black Velvet?"
"Merely the servant of the Star Chamber and the King behind the Star Chamber. But hist! Here comes our good captain."
"Worshipful Master Roger," said Tunder, a cadaverous man with twinkling blue eyes, "if it be thy will we will not stay our voyage till we come to Mallorca. Our water will last if ye all grow no thirstier than at present."
"Mallorca be it!" said Roger Coombe, who was eager to test the chart reposing in the pocket-belt about his body.
Therefore it was that, passing Capo di Sant Vicente and Capo Santa Maria, the Susan was soon athwart Gibraltar, and, within another five days had anchored in the harbour of Port Sant Pedro, on the island of Mallorca.
Much friendliness was shown by the islanders to the ship's company, and casks of fresh water could be had for the fetching, said the Spaniards.
"Strange that they should not seek to make gain by the sale of the casks, as is their wont," remarked Roger.
"They are most polite—these Spanish officers," Ralph responded, as he spied through a porthole. "Already some of our seamen are ashore with the empty water-casks."
"'Tis not the going ashore that matters," Roger Coombe said grimly. "'Tis the getting back aboard that may be difficult."
"But England is at peace with Spain, Uncle?"
"Yea, but Spain is a treacherous ally," Roger replied, "and Charles covets the English islands for himself or his son Philip. Mark my word, Ralph, thou wilt yet live to see an armada fitted out to conquer our England.... No, Ralph, neither thou nor I will go ashore, however polite the Mallorcans may be."
"Come to the porthole, Uncle!" cried Ralph. "Look! A gay cavalcade advanceth to this very vessel. What think you they want with Captain Tunder?"
Roger, looking forth, saw a horseman approaching, gaily bedight, and at his heels a second cavalier in resplendent armour astride a white horse.
"'Tis the Viceroy's own self come to honour us, worshipful Roger Coombe!" bellowed Jeremy Tunder through the hatchway.
"Thou canst invite him aboard," Roger said, "but say no word, shipmaster, of my presence here."
The Spanish representative was prompt in mounting to the Susan's deck; indeed, insisted on his right to do so. He was a mean-featured little man, as his raised visor revealed. His armour was several sizes too big for him.
"He do rattle like a pea in a pod," declared Zobb in Ralph's ear, as the ship's company mustered to meet the Viceroy.
The little, ratlike eyes roved over the company and fell on Ralph.
"Ze cavalier Coombe, is it not?" queried the Viceroy.
Ralph sprang to attention—stared in amazement. His uncle had allowed him to come on deck, thinking he would be taken for one of the ship's apprentices. What should a viceroy of a Spanish island know of Ralph Coombe? Who had told the Spaniard that the Susan bore a passenger named Coombe?
Ralph bowed.
"What might so gallant a cavalier require of a poor English voyager?" he asked.
The Viceroy knew only a few words of English; he turned to the second cavalier, who was still in close attendance.
A second time Ralph was startled. The cavalier at the Viceroy's elbow had raised his visor, to reveal a face dominated by fierce, black eyes. Surely Ralph had seen those cruel eyes under a cowl on the road out of Bristol! And the figure? Yes, the cavalier was of the same height and bearing as that monk who had escaped from the inn at Newbury after the attack on Zobb!
The two cavaliers whispered together.
When the Viceroy turned again to Ralph, he spoke sharply in Spanish, and, turning to his companion, "Translate, Sir Anthony," he concluded.
Whereupon the second cavalier interpreted the words spoken in Spanish, not knowing that the Coombes understood that language. "His highness," said he, "desires to speak with the uncle, not with the boy nephew."
And then Ralph knew he must be in the presence of Anthony Peke, and no other! He was too surprised to speak.
It was 'Zekiel Zobb who came to the rescue. With a most woebegone face, the tubby mariner stepped out from the ranks of the seamen, wiping imaginary tears from sad eyes.
"My maizter is not yet dead," he wailed. "Yet, zure an' zartain, he ull be a dead un if ye worrit him."
Whereupon a wondering Ralph flew to the cabin below decks—to be greeted with a prodigious wink of his uncle's eye.
Roger Coombe and Ezekiel Zobb had done much in little time.
The merchant adventurer lay back in his bunk with a face whiter than the sheet drawn close about his bared neck—a little chalk goes a long way—a mouth drawn down at the corners (Roger was a consummate actor), and a feeble hand hanging limp over the side of the berth.
"Uncle, your enemy has come aboard," Ralph hissed. "The monk of the Bristol road, an' I mistake not. Perhaps Anthony Peke's own self!"
"Zobb recognized his assailant of the Newbury inn," Roger responded rapidly. "Wherefore our preparations. Return on deck, say I am too ill to be seen, and remember I have plague."
Anthony Peke, confident that the Coombes would never recognize in the interpreter of the Viceroy the monk of the Bristol road, declared that the Spanish representative of the island desired to pay his devoirs to so notable a voyager as Roger Coombe, and could not be content with seeing the boy Coombe.
Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder, to whom the words were addressed, bowed gravely. The captain knew there was more in the Susan's mission than he understood, and so remained silent, awaiting Ralph's return.
"My uncle is indisposed—to see visitors," Ralph explained.
"'Tiz my belief that Maizter Roger be zick of the plague," said Zobb, in a loud aside to a shipmate. But his remark was overheard by Anthony Peke, as 'Zekiel meant it to be.
Anthony Peke shivered.
"The Viceroy will send his barber-surgeon to see the invalid," he said, after a whispered consultation with the little Spaniard. "And if Roger Coombe can be moved he shall be taken ashore—to recover his health."
But that was the last thing that Ralph desired!
"We thank the Viceroy for his kind thought, and—and we will expect the good surgeon on the morrow."
"Nay, the case brooks no delay," Anthony Peke replied. "The surgeon comes within the hour."
"We must up-anchor and sail within the hour," Ralph declared, as the visitors went ashore, to gallop forthwith toward the town, which lay at some distance from the port. "Look, Master Tunder, there be men on horseback and on foot gathering in the woods overlooking the harbour, and if I mistake not they are dragging four or five brass pieces to the point overlooking the harbour entrance. The Mallorcans mean mischief, Master Tunder."
"Yet first must I get my men aboard," Tunder declared. "We will see how the plague-smitten one progresses."
But a lively Roger himself stepped up to the shipmaster ere he could descend to the cabin below.
"How soon may we sail, Master Tunder?" the merchant adventurer asked.
"When I get my men aboard, worshipful sir, begging your leave," the captain of the Susan said.
But though the trumpeter blew the blast of recall, the sailors failed to return to their ship. They had been lured into the city, and Majorca, the capital of the island, was three miles distant from the port.
Roger looked at Ralph. Ralph watched his uncle intently. Both knew the peril of their position, with those guns getting into position at the harbour mouth. Both knew the strength and ruthlessness of their enemies the Spaniards and that renegade Englishman Anthony Peke.
"We cannot leave our countrymen to the mercies of the rascally Mallorcans," Roger Coombe finally declared. "But we will prepare to tackle whatever betide."
As Anthony Peke had promised, a barber-surgeon, accompanied by a couple of fully-armed guards, came galloping back to the quay within the hour.
The barber-surgeon demanded to come aboard. While he was parleying with the captain Ralph looked out from the cabin where the supposed plague patient lay, and invited the two Mallorcan soldiers to look through the porthole.
One spoke to the other in Spanish after he had seen the apparently dying Roger.
"Marry! But 'twere better to let the heretic die where he lies than bring him ashore to infect good Catholics."
And the two guards sheered off from the ship's side.
The Susan lay but a few feet from the shore, and it was necessary to fling a gangway board to bridge the gap between ship and quay.
It was 'Zekiel Zobb who was deputed to attend to the insistent surgeon's shipment.
The deck of the Susan was some feet higher than the quay. The pompous surgeon ordered the first man-at-arms to precede him aboard.
The man obeyed reluctantly; he was mightily afeared of plague. He waited with drawn sword at the head of the gangway board, a primitive affair, with no handholds—in fact, little better than a mere plank.
The barber-surgeon, weighty in both body and mien, stepped haughtily on to the gangway to pace upward with much majesty and deliberation; not often did a heretic ship have the honour of receiving so distinguished a surgeon, he said to himself.
But as he said it there was a sudden commotion.
Zobb appeared to slip—fell heavily against the man-at- arms—deftly knocked the drawn sword into the water below, at the same time pushing the gangway sideways, so that it failed to bridge the gap between ship and shore.
The soldier fell to the deck, the surgeon fell to the water, while a hypocritical Zobb howled contrition for his clumsiness.
Jeremy Tunder, who was in the conspiracy, declared the seaman should be shot, drowned, and imprisoned for the rest of his clumsy life. Then, looking over the bulwarks, he shouted fulsome apologies to the purple face that looked furiously upward from out the bilge of the port.
It was Ralph who flung a rope to the drowning man, and Ralph who helped drag the dripping surgeon, bump! bump!! bump!!! up the slimy side of the ship.
It was Ralph who helped drag the dripping
surgeon up the slimy side of the ship.
The surgeon was beside himself with fury, and was only pacified at the sight of 'Zekiel Zobb in irons. He refused to see the patient, though Ralph implored him to do so.
Covered with filth, and full of water and strange oaths, the barber-surgeon remounted his horse, and did not report his failure to see the plague-smitten man till it was too late for Peke to act.
But the Englishmen's difficulties were by no means over, for Roger Coombe insisted that the ship should not sail till all the sailors came safely aboard again.
And Anthony Peke held the four men as hostages—to be released in exchange for a chart which he knew to be in the possession of Roger Coombe.
"ZURE, me zonny, 'tiz old 'Zekiel az ull vind a way out o' thiccy quandary," declared the sturdy little mariner out of Watchet as he and Ralph sat in the shadow of the huge figurehead, a buxom, blue-eyed 'Susan,' looking seaward.
Ralph was low in spirit. This Anthony Peke seemed gifted with superhuman powers; he knew all that was afoot. How had he learned of the Coombes' swift departure? How had he contrived to outsail them? The man must have a spy among the very inner circle of the Star Chamber itself. Peke knew everything and everybody, mightily influential withal, the friend of emperors. Who were the Coombes to fight him? And how were they to get away with the coveted chart if Uncle Roger refused to sail without the missing mariners?
"Marry come up!" Ralph sighed as he scanned the preparations at the harbour mouth to prevent the Susan's escape and the line of watch-fires along the quay, where sentries paced. "I can't see how we can escape the machinations of Anthony Peke."
"Zwim!" was Zobb's solution of the problem. Whereupon the little sailor started to strip himself.
There came a hum of voices from the captain's cabin. Jeremy and Roger were deep in consultation. The sailor on watch with Zobb was more asleep than awake; he left the job to Zobb.
Ralph looked longingly at the enterprising mariner. What were his plans? ... 'Zekiel and he had faced many perils together in the past.... It was a hot night, and a swim would be mighty refreshing.... It would be a solution of the problem if the four missing mariners could be got aboard again.... But his uncle would aver that they swam to catch wild geese.... Yet if the men were only on board the Susan could sail on the instant, and chance the Mallorcans at the harbour mouth being unprepared.
Ralph found himself unloosening his doublet.
Zobb was already sliding down a rope hanging over the side of the ship farther from the quay.
Ralph followed, wearing only his trunk-hose.
As noiselessly as otters, the two Englishmen slipped through the water, keeping in the shadow of the fishing craft that dotted the harbour. They ran the gauntlet of the watch-fires on the quay without being detected by the sentries.
They were no longer hidden by the boats riding at anchor. But the night was dark, and they had reached an area where no lights shone.
Zobb touched Ralph's shoulder, then pointed to a wooded spit of land.
Within two minutes they were ashore amid the trees.
"West Countrymen twain are the equal of half a hundred Dons, zonny," whispered Zobb as he led the way along a scarcely-to-be- discerned path through the wood.
There was no moon in the sky, and the rash rescuers reckoned the absent moon their best ally. But for an old sailor in his shift and a youth in his trunk-hose, both of them weaponless, to attempt the rescue of four comrades lodged in the gaol of Majorca Town was so mad an escapade that even reckless Roger Coombe could never have fathered it.
But chances are wont to come to men daring enough to seize them.
Zobb held up a warning finger—right under Ralph's nose. It was fearsomely dark under the dense, stunted trees.
Ralph listened keenly.
Voices! The sound of a tinder-box being scratched. A flicker of light, and the Englishmen saw two shaggy figures in a clearing bending over dry leaves, twigs, and heaped wood, which they were trying to kindle.
"Charcoal-burners?" Ralph hazarded.
Zobb frowned, and nodded his head. It was no time for speech, lest the peasants be startled into fight. With a finger he indicated himself, then pointed to the peasant to the left. Then, tapping Ralph, he singled out the figure to the right.
Two startled charcoal-burners had a sudden vision of 'two naked corpses in their shrouds'—as they afterwards described their assailants—leaping through the air to alight on their scared selves.
The ghosts, however, were sufficiently solid to bowl the Mallorcans completely over—bodily and mentally.
The prone peasants could not shriek, on account of the hands that covered their mouths—hands that were cautiously removed to be replaced by strips of torn shift. Zobb's attire grew yet more light.
Soon, however, both Englishmen were better clothed—as charcoal-burners!
The two unfortunate peasants were left bound in the adjoining rude hut which was their home, Zobb assuring them that he would return their clothes in due course. Also he informed them that if they dared to raise an alarm they might consider themselves as bad as dead—that was how he expressed it in broad dialect.
The Mallorcans could not understand a word of the little seaman's parting speech, but his grotesque antics almost scared them out of their few remaining senses, and they lay cowering under the grass mats Ralph flung over them.
So it came to pass that two seeming Mallorcan charcoal-burners came to the gates of Majorca Town at an hour when all respectable watchmen of a law-abiding city are dozing in their boxes.
Sleepily the warders at the gate allowed Ralph and Zobb to pass. The military authorities, under the instigation of Anthony Peke, had placed a triple number of guards at the port, but made no provision whatever for any attempt on the town itself.
Screened by the eaves of the low houses and the out-jutting upper stories, the two 'charcoal-burners' made their way to the centre of the city. Such wayfarers as were afoot at that hour of the night were themselves anxious to escape observation.
Only once were the supposed peasants challenged by a night- watchman.
Whereupon that rascal Zobb lurched shamefully in his walk, and made as if to embrace the indignant official.
"Peste! Thou drunken villager, get out of my way!" cried the watchman in Spanish. "I would verily clap ye both in gaol, but 'tis more than full with four English sailors, who take up as much room and make as much noise as forty Mallorcans. Get ye gone, and thank the saints ye are Mallorcans."
"Mallorcans indeed!" Ralph chuckled as the watchman fled.
And then they listened for the chanting sailors. They were within a short distance of the square, and soon they heard the sounds of revelry—vocal English merriment.
The prisoners were awake. And so was the weary gaoler! Try as he would, he could not sleep for the hideous row the heretics made. Seated outside the gaol, with his fingers to his ears, and his eyes closed, he did not note the approach of the two Englishmen.
The gaol—a circular stone building at the back of the market—was overlooked by no dwelling-house. If a second Mallorcan had been in sight of the prison that night he might have seen two charcoal-burners suddenly fling themselves on a nodding gaoler. But he would have heard little!
The fat little gaoler was deftly silenced with a dexterous blow of Zobb's mighty fist. There were occasions, the mariner said afterwards, when one could not observe the rules of the boxing art.
The Mallorcan gaoler gave one gasp at the impact of Zobb's punch below the belt, then subsided, while the seaman made certain arrangements of the gaoler's person.
Gaping in bewilderment, and more in consequence of the big round pebble with which he was gagged, the bewildered gaoler gave up his key.
Zobb handed it to Ralph, and Ralph promptly fitted it into the lock of the tollbooth.
The heavily nailed door of the prison swung open.
"'Tis 'Zekiel Zobb, iss sure!" exclaimed a Devonshire shipmate of the little Somerset sailor. "How be goin' to get us out, me dear?"
"Through the doorway, zaime way az I be bringin' thic gaoler in, forsooth!" responded Zobb, who was struggling to bring the Mallorcan to change places with his prisoners.
Ralph had run to unhitch the lantern hanging above the gaol door, to light the dark interior.
Zobb had not forgotten to bring a knife from the charcoal- burners' hut. Soon the cords about the Englishmen's legs were severed, and they could stretch their nether limbs.
The captives' wrists, however, 'Zekiel did not attempt to release.
"Zobb, me dear, are yeou not going to finish the job of freeing us?" the Devonian asked.
"Trust yer Uncle Zobb, comrade," snapped the tubby little seaman, busy with the tubby little Mallorcan. "Ye are goin' to change gaolers, ye sailor-men. Ralph, tie 'em all vour to yon chain."
Ralph gave a chuckle of delight; he guessed at Zobb's plan of escape. The little seaman was making yet another change of costume—from charcoal-burner to that of gaoler. Ralph realized with a grin of delight that Zobb and the gaoler were much of the same build.
Chuckling, the four sailors allowed Ralph to string them up to the rusty chain hanging from its staple—which came away with one wrench of the English boy's fist.
Zobb suddenly uttered a hiss of warning.
Steps approached. There was the clank of spurs!
"Douse the lantern," whispered Zobb, now completely disguised as a gaoler.
The interior of the gaol was left quite dark. The resourceful little mariner strolled confidently to the doorway, saluting as the officer strode up, and taking care his lifted hand should shroud his features.
"What are you doing inside the gaol, sirrah?" the young officer demanded in Spanish. "Your post is outside."
Zobb understood never a word, but beckoned mysteriously, and hastily withdrew into the darkness within.
Now, Alvarez was but a young officer lately arrived from Spain, and suspected no trap. He followed the beckoning finger—and felt a mighty fist!
"The Zaints be vavourin' us," said Zobb, as the young officer fell senseless. "Get thee into his uniform, Ralph, an' our game's az aizy az playin' knucklebones. Lizzen, all of ye. We be two Dons takin' ye back aboard the zhip by order of the Viz'roy. Ralph, haste thee to don the Don's gay colours."
The English youth soon transformed himself into a Spanish gallant, the helmet covering the upper part of the face, but not the lower. The young Alvarez wore a pointed beard; still, that was a small detail, and having gagged and bound the stripped officer, who showed signs of regaining consciousness, a prompt departure was ordered by gaoler Zobb.
The little procession set out as quietly and unostentatiously as was possible, choosing the byways and back lanes of the city.
Ralph, in the Spanish officer's uniform, led, his drawn sword held as its real owner had held it but five minutes before. Four abject-looking English seamen followed, securely chained, to judge by appearances. Bringing up the rear came the tubby little town gaoler. At least, that was how the procession presented itself to the three or four night-birds who sighted it.
Presently the party came to the main highroad to the port, and it was well that Zobb insisted they should turn aside to return the loaned costumes and the knife to the poor charcoal-burners. For no sooner were the Englishmen out of sight among the trees than there came trotting up from the port the military officer in command, and he would assuredly have asked why 'Alvarez' had dared to move the English captives without his orders.
The charcoal-burners, still cowering under their mats, and having no change of clothes to resort to, shivered afresh as there came to their ears the sound of clanking chains, and their hearts leapt in their bosoms as there came the thud of something being flung against their hut door. When morning came they were glad to find it was no dead body, but their own clothes, which the 'ghosts' had returned. They were overjoyed, and decided to say nothing of the black doings that were enacted before their very eyes on that night of mystery in Mallorca Isle, seeing that the 'ghosts' had been good to them.
At the port a mystified non-commissioned officer stared at the approach of the English captives. However, he was not prepared to dispute the doings of his superior officer, for had not the Señor Capitano even now gone up to the town, and would he not have ordered Alvarez to return with the prisoners to the gaol if all was not well? It was strange policy to imprison the men in their own ship; orders had been so urgent for their capture and imprisonment in the town gaol. Yet with Alvarez in command, and fat old Stephano bringing up the rear, who was he to interfere? Certainly the early morning light was confusing to the senses. Alvarez's pointed beard was invisible, and Stephano's beard was red rather than its customary black.
Aboard the Susan were a woeful Roger Coombe and a doubly anxious Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder. The absence of yet two more of the ship's company had been noted when changing the watch.
"Ye can trust that old demon 'Zekiel Zobb to wriggle out of most difficulties," Roger asserted, trying to console himself and Tunder. "I only hope that daredevil nephew of mine won't dare too much."
No one could trust themselves to sleep that night aboard the Susan. There wasn't a man missing at the ship's side when the chained captives tramped toward the Susan.
When a stalwart youth in Spanish uniform halted and saluted it was Roger Coombe who asked in Spanish: "Why do you bring our men hither in this guise? What have they done to be so evilly treated?"
Pedro, the non-commissioned officer, flinging a joke at Stephano in the rear of the file of prisoners, was passing forward, wanting to see if Alvarez had really shaved off the beard that so became him, when he was stayed by a gauntleted hand. Alvarez always did stand on his dignity, the young whipper- snapper!
And then Pedro heard "Alvarez" reply in Spanish: "We bring the seamen back because they are infected by the plague, if we are to believe our barber-surgeon, indeed—"
"All aboard there!" roared Jeremy Tunder, while Pedro shrank back, and bade his men beware of the plague-stricken Englishmen.
It was Roger Coombe himself who ran out the gangway; the supposed Alvarez had clicked finger and thumb, the Coombe's private signal.
Making much clank of chain, the captives climbed aboard the Susan. And, to the utter bewilderment of Pedro, lo and behold, Alvarez and Stephano followed!
Making much clank of chain, the captives climbed aboard the "Susan."
"What mean this?" Tunder started to ask the supposed officer in broken Spanish, but he concluded in English, "You young demon!"
"Up anchor and sail at once," responded the eager Ralph.
"Let the fellows ashore have ten minutes to get over their surprise," suggested a cautious Roger, and he yelled out to Pedro in Spanish: "Permit us to offer hospitality to thy officers, O most worthy sergeant."
Pedro puffed out his chest and nodded agreement.
Roger made a stately bow, and Pedro tried to make a statelier, and nearly toppled over on his pate in the effort. It was wonderful, the sergeant remarked to his men, how these English, though heretics, recognized merit in a man.
Yet ten minutes later Pedro doubted his own eyes. The English ship was unfurling her sails, and heaving aboard her anchor—sailing off with their young officer Alvarez and the town gaoler Stephano.
"Hola!" Pedro shouted, as the Susan got under way. "Whither goest?"
"To air the ship," shouted Roger from the poop. "'Twere sad were the taint of the plague to be wafted to the quay to lay low so gallant a sergeant."
While Pedro gaped and considered this view of the case the English ship, catching the breeze, careered gaily toward the harbour mouth, where the company in charge of the guns recently mounted slept soundly, having learned that the heretics would not sail without their seamen, prisoned in the town gaol.
With the least possible noise the Susan crept out to sea under the nose of the sleeping gunners.
Pedro still gaped and worried himself about that beard which Alvarez had shaved off when—
Lo! Alvarez, bearded, but most dishonourably clad, came galloping to the quay.
"Madre di Dios!" cried the young Spanish officer, who had freed himself from his bonds and roused the town. "'Tis the heretics escaping! Stop them, ye fools!"
Came the clatter of other hooves. A furious Anthony Peke, a cloak about his half-clad figure, raged impotently at the escape of the hostages he had intended to use as bait to secure the chart in the Coombes' keeping.
"Man the caravel yonder!" cried Peke. "We will overhaul the English ship yet."
ONCE past the cannon at the harbour mouth of Port Sant Pedro Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder declared there was nought to be feared at the hands of the Mallorcans; there was no vessel of Spain that could overhaul the Susan.
This last boast, however, Roger Coombe was inclined to question, for had not Anthony Peke come first to Mallorca, having outsailed the Susan on her voyage from Blackwall? Thus Roger to his nephew.
To which Ralph replied: "Maybe thou reasonest a right, Uncle, yet it may be that Anthony Peke started on his voyage some days previous to us, knowing we must needs come to Constantinople. While we tarried in the tavern nigh the Tower Peke may have gone ahead to intercept us. Remember, we did not see him after his flight from the inn at Newbury."
"Verily, that may be the explanation of his lying in wait for us at Mallorca, Ralph. He is no ordinary man, this Anthony Peke, and I look to rare sport ere we have done with him. At first, spite of the thousand guineas which are to be doubled on our return with the Golden Globe, I did not altogether savour the quest; Black Velvet is a man whose mind I cannot fathom, and no freedom-loving Englishman loves the Star Chamber set up by the seventh Henry. Yet now, Ralph, that the contest has commenced my blood quickens, and I long to show Peke who is best man."
"That have we done already," Ralph remarked gaily, "seeing we have left him lamenting at Mallorca while we fare forward to the Golden Horn."
"The contest has not yet concluded," said Roger solemnly, though even he had not the slightest conception of the great task ahead, nor did the merchant adventurer rate the powers of Anthony Peke at a sufficiently high figure.
Some days later Galata, on the African coast, was discerned in the offing, and next day the Susan passed the island of Sardinia.
"Avoid all Spanish ports, Master Tunder," Roger ordered. "Sardinia is under the Spanish yoke, and peradventure Anthony Peke is already there raising the port against us."
Tunder's blue eyes blazed. "By the sea-serpent, Roger Coombe, did I not tell thee that there's no Spanish craft can outsail the Susan?"
"But perchance Peke had his own English craft hidden in some obscure creek of Port Sant Pedro, and that craft, being English, like thine, worthy shipmaster, may sail no less swiftly than thine."
Jeremy Tunder, jealous for his ship, was somewhat mollified, and stalked off to see to it that all sails were set to the favourable wind blowing.
Under the lee of the island of Pantalaria, betwixt Sicily and Africa, a Moorish galley lay at anchor. There was some stir aboard the corsair, but the Susan showed a couple of culverins and a clean pair of heels, so the Barbary corsair did not pursue the English ship.
Needs must Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder put in at the friendly port of Zante, in Greece, which, having been conquered by the Turk, was under the government of Suliman the Magnificent.
At Zante were purchased certain necessary commodities, and questions asked regarding the Grand Turk. Was he still at peace with the English?
To which came disquieting answer. A Spanish embassy had visited the Golden Horn, seeking sole rights of trading with the Grand Turk. But there came some relief to Roger Coombe when he learned the news was six months old.
"We must needs call at Gallipoli, Shipmaster Tunder, and glean the latest news there," the merchant adventurer decreed.
So the Susan, without more ado, sailed away, making for the strait and the monastery of Franciscan friars at Gallipoli itself.
As the bell was tolling for evensong came the English craft to the alien shore.
The bell ceased its tolling, and a bevy of brothers came swarming down to the beach. Christian visitors were right welcome to these exiles in the lands of the Saracens. Though but one of their number was English, the prior and his brethren yearned to give hospitality to the English ship. Of a truth, the last Christian craft that had called six months before, a Spaniard, had spoken of ill-doings in England, of an English king who flouted the Holy Father at Rome, and of holy monks driven forth from their homes. Howbeit, the friars came hasting to the landing-stage, Father Grolls at their head.
"An English monk, Thomas Grolls, has long lived here," Roger explained to Ralph. "From him we may learn the temper of the Grand Turk at this time. It were foolish to land at the Golden Horn only to be cast in prison. Father Grolls or one of his Spanish brothers will have visited Constantinople recently, and can give us reliable news."
Father Grolls, saintly old man, had tears in his eyes when he greeted his countrymen.
"'Tis good to see an English face again," he said as Roger stepped ashore. "No English ship has come to our shore for two score months, and I have awaited thy coming with feverish desire that wars against the spirit."
"Awaited us, father?" queried Roger Coombe sharply. "How may that be, seeing I sent no courier to acquaint thee of our coming?"
"Thy fellow-countryman Anthony Peke sent swift messenger overland," answered the simple-hearted English monk. "The man came but three days agone, but would not stay, saying he had further business to do in Constantinople. It was he who told us the Susan would come our way and was like to touch at our shores. The good Anthony bade us give thee right good welcome, and to detain thee with brave hospitality till he came hither himself."
Roger decided that two could play at hypocrisy.
"So sweet coz Anthony would press his dear company upon us. How truly beautiful!"
"Yea, he is a good Catholic, and much valued by the Spanish king, Charles, as I saw with these own eyes of mine when I sojourned at the Spanish Court," said Father Grolls, and the old man whispered in Roger's ear, "I may add that my old acquaintance sent a written message to me declaring that we must not let thee depart, demanding that in the name of the King we hold thee till he come."
"How like his sweet self!" exclaimed Roger the hypocrite.
Ralph and his uncle exchanged glances. They had anticipated no danger, yet here they were encompassed about by a crowd of men from whom they could scarcely escape by force. The twenty Franciscans were sturdy fellows for the most part, and even if the Coombes could overcome the twenty, there were still the armed men of the port, who carried muskets.
Roger spoke with honeyed words.
"It is a sorry case in which we find ourselves; our mission brooks no delay. Doubtless we have later orders than our dear friend Anthony wots of. With sorrow we must set aside thine offer of hospitality, good Father Grolls. We must hasten—Dr—on the King's business, and thou must tell sweet Anthony how sad we were to miss his kind companionship."
"That will I," answered the English monk. Looking perplexed, he added, "Yet will the Prior desire to fulfil the King's commands."
"Yea, verily, father," agreed Roger. "Permit me to confer with the shipmaster."
The loyal Spanish prior protested as the English adventurer pushed his way through the ranks of the monks and armed men to regain the Susan's decks.
Father Grolls caught hold of Ralph's arm, and, at a sign from his uncle, the youth remained.
The English monk frowned.
"I like not this unseemly haste to be away."
"Yet thou wouldst not stay those who are on the King's own business, holy father," Ralph said softly.
"I will confer with the Prior," the English monk said, and he passed to where the head of the monastery stood, a little apart, holding converse with Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder, who stood on the ship's poop.
Ralph slyly followed, and his further progress was stayed by only the strip of water between shore and ship's waist. Armed men of the port stood guarding the gangway communicating with the ship.
While Father Grolls and the Prior conferred Ralph acted.
He grabbed the long staff of an astonished monk of Aragon, and, using it as a leaping-pole, went flying through the air, to alight on the toes of 'Zekiel Zobb's own self in the Susan's waist.
It was, indeed, high time to be going! A strange craft, standing out in relief against the setting sun, was making for the selfsame strand on which the Susan lay.
"Give sweet Anthony our dear love!" cried Roger, safe on the Susan's poop. "Forgive my boorish nephew for his abrupt departure, good Father Grolls; he has had no monastery schooling. And remember, all of ye, that those who are on the King's business must needs hasten."
The anchor was coming swiftly aboard. Roger feared the ship on the horizon might be that of Anthony Peke, but Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder swore it was a pirate craft, still asserting that no ship afloat could outsail the Susan.
Tunder had learned all that he wanted to know about the state of affairs in Constantinople: Suliman the Magnificent was favourable to the English voyagers, and there was no fear that the Susan would meet with an inhospitable reception.
Father Grolls had translated Roger's words for the benefit of his brethren, and the good friars agreed to allow the Englishmen to depart, the Prior ordering the men with the muskets to ground the arms pointed at Ralph's breast.
Roger Coombe was at pains to be gone.
"Whether pirates or Peke, let us make haste, Tunder, to visit Dick Darsall before Anthony's emissary do us mischief in Constantinople."
So while the Susan, with the Coombes safely aboard, sped on its way to the city on the Golden Horn, the swift caravel of Anthony Peke came to anchor at Gallipoli.
ARRIVED at their anchorage in Constantinople, the Coombes had no difficulty in finding Dick Darsall's house nigh the fish market on Pera.
The worthy factor himself was close on the heels of the deformed slave who opened the house door after quizzing them through a grating.
Zobb had been left unlading the baggage from the Susan; the Coombes were unattended.
"Thy visit concerns—what?" Darsall barked at them over his servant's shoulder. The English factor was a bent old man, with shaggy, grey eyebrows and a long grey beard. "Thy visit concerns—" he repeated.
"The Golden Globe," tersely replied Roger Coombe.
The factor brushed his servant aside, shook his head sadly from side to side, and held out his left hand.
"Fellows in tribulation, shake hands!"
Solemnly the Englishmen exchanged greetings.
"Look and learn!" quoth Darsall, lifting a right arm and revealing a stump where should have been a hand. "Lost it seeking the Golden Globe," he explained.
Roger Coombe expressed sympathy, then: "Has any one forestalled us?" he asked. "Has one come visiting thee in this matter of the Golden Globe?"
The adventurer was thinking of the emissary of Anthony Peke, who had been before them at Gallipoli.
Dick Darsall spoke cautiously. "No one has broached this matter of the Golden Globe these many months past. Though many a fool has sought the secret locked in my bosom."
"Yet known to Black Velvet," interpolated Roger sharply.
"Little is hid from that man of black arts," Dick Darsall responded. "Verily he is the master of the puppet-show. Come in, poor puppets."
The English factor, leaning heavily on a stick, limped into the dim interior of his dark house. The front door was bolted and barred by the black servant, who stepped out from some hidden corner. The Coombes followed through a tunnel-like passage, on through several doorways, which the deformed servant closed and bolted and barred in their rear.
"Two Barbary slaves are my only servants," explained Darsall, "and I am a bachelor, who can give thee but poor entertainment."
Roger Coombe took from his inmost pocket the talisman of the Star Chamber given him by Black Velvet. Seeing it, Dick Darsall changed his tone.
"All that I have is thine!" he cried. "Bring refreshment, Selim!" he shouted.
The twisted figure of the slave reappeared.
"I bought him cheap at Tripoli," Dick Darsall said, as if to apologize for his servant's deficiencies. "Also, remember, a stalwart slave would hit his head against my low ceilings."
"That would he," agreed Ralph, who was still rubbing his forehead, which a moment before had collided with a beam. "Is thy second servant, sir, also of small stature?"
"Agarim!" shouted Dick Darsall, in his booming bass voice.
A roar echoed around the house. "Sah!" It was Agarim responding to his master's call.
Ralph expected to see an enormous man to fit the voice of the second slave. Instead, however, there appeared a misshapen dwarf of ebony-black countenance.
"Bought him cheap," explained Darsall, also apologetic for this second servant. "A slave in the quarries at Algiers was Agarim, but a rock fell upon him and brought down his price. He fits well with the house, do you not think, young traveller?"
Ralph nodded grimly.
"Sah?" came the questioning bellow from the dwarf, who, in Ralph's eyes, seemed to be half-witted. But one thing was certain: Agarim was devoted to his master. "Sah?"
"Good lad! Get thee back to thy cooking, Agarim, and prepare thy best dishes for to-night's feast. Travellers of great importance are these gentlemen." Darsall spoke in English, but he accompanied his words with much gesticulation, holding up fingers, opening his mouth in the attitude of eating, and making other signs which Agarim answered with vigorous nods and a final "Sah!" as he waddled from the room.
"Lock all doors, Selim," commanded the factor, turning to the other servant.
The twisted slave slouched from the apartment, banging the door as he went, and barring it fast—to judge from the noises that came to the Coombes' ears. Following that came the banging to of other doors, the turning of keys in locks, the shooting into sockets of wooden bars, and the rattling of chains.
"We shall be secure from interruption," said Dick Darsall, listening with all his ears till the last sound had died out. "More goes on in this house of mine than the Mussulman of Stamboul imagines."
"Thou art an agent of the Star Chamber?" hazarded Roger Coombe.
"That amongst other matters," agreed Dick Darsall, with a chuckle of merriment. "But our present concern has to do with the tragic Globe of Gold, which lures so many to their hurt. How soon dost thou wish to set out to thy death?"
"As soon as the caravan is ready for its journey to far Cathay, Dick," responded Roger Coombe, who trusted the kindly eyes that twinkled under the shaggy eyebrows. "Yet first we would know all that thou canst tell us of the Golden Globe and that which is within. After which we must study the chart together, as Black Velvet desired. He has told me little, saying that thou could tell me all that is to be known concerning this treasure of mystery, Dick."
"I can tell thee much, but there is more in it than we Westerners can guess," the old factor said, as he sank on to a couch, indicating that his hearers should do likewise. "I was a young man when the Golden Globe lured me to my undoing. To the door of this very house here in Pera came a frater of St Francis nigh unto death. He was a Spaniard, but had lived most of his life in the distant Orient. Seeking to extend his Church's conquests, he set out from Goa, which, thou must know, is in the land of Ind. Disguised as a pilgrim, he journeyed to visit the holy places on the Upper Ganges, the great river of the Hindoo nation. Thence he travelled with much travail to the distant sources of the Vishnu-Ganga, amongst the great mountains that are known as the Roof of the World. From the Mana Pass—forgive me if I unwittingly give thee wrong names—the Franciscan frater and his companions came to snow, where he and they sank to chest and armpits in the deep snowdrifts. Frater Antonio looked forth over the lands of Western Cathay, where white men never yet had walked. At night the howlings of the snow-winds, the crashing of the snow cataracts, terrified his companions, who vowed the demons of the mountains would not let the party proceed. They fled, but holding aloft the Cross he carried, Antonio went on into the wilderness of snow. Day after day he travelled, till his provisions were exhausted, and no means could be found to replenish them. No inhabitants of these desolate places could he discover. But he plodded on, praying to heaven to succour him, till he dropped nigh dead.... God heard the holy frater's prayer, for there came monks—heathen 'tis true—who bore him to their monastery in the Buddhist city of—"
Dick Darsall paused, waited, looked at Roger Coombe.
"Lamayoorah," suggested the adventurer.
"Yea, I see that Black Velvet has trusted thee much, Roger," continued the old factor. "I but tested thee, as he would wish me to do."
"Continue thy wondrous story, Dick," pleaded Roger, and Ralph expressed similar sentiment at the selfsame moment.
Thus adjured, Dick Darsall, settling himself among the rare cushions of the reclining couch, continued: "So this Franciscan brother was nursed back to life by the heathen brothers of the Lamayoorah monastery, and Frater Antonio bethinks himself he will Christianize these followers of the false god Buddha. Now, the Bonzo, as these heathens call the prior of their monasteries, was a man of great knowledge, maybe a student of the black arts. He made much of the newcomer, the carrier of Western wisdom, and bade him tarry a long time at Lamayoorah. The Bonzo learned of Frater Antonio the wisdom of the Occident; yet was the wisdom of the Orient a much more wonderful thing, and shouldst thou reach Lamayoorah alive thou shalt see things that may well curdle the brains in thy head, Roger Coombe. The Bonzo himself has lived longer than men could remember, and doubtless lives still, for Frater Antonio declared the Bonzo held the secret of life, and asserts he will die only when he chooses. Antonio swears he saw a slain youth brought back to life. And many more wonders I could tell thee, but desist lest ye Coombes should dub me liar.... So this Bonzo and the Christian brother became close friends. But Frater Antonio found the hearts of the heathen very hard, and at the end of ten years he could scarce swear to one Christian. The Bonzo was friendly to the Franciscan, but his great learning gave him overweening pride in his own Buddhism. And it is this man of Cathay, this Buddhist monk at Lamayoorah, who is guardian of the Golden Globe and that which is within."
The Coombes gaped open-mouthed at the wondrous story told by Dick Darsall.
"Dost know what the Golden Globe contains?" Ralph asked, with bated breath.
"Frater Antonio would not say," Dick Darsall responded. "I scarcely think he knew, though one night he whispered in my ear that there might be a genie prisoned in the globe, whom the Bonzo sets free to work witchcraft when he would.... But thou dost break the thread of my narrative, young sir. Let me conclude."
"Thou camest to the point where Frater Antonio tired of his missionary efforts," said Ralph, jogging the old factor's memory.
"Yea, Frater Antonio yearned to return to the country of his birth," continued Dick Darsall, "and with great difficulty gained permission to leave Lamayoorah, But there were none who could guide him to the Western world; no single monk had ever passed the barrier of the mountains with which they were surrounded. So Frater Antonio found carriers, who accompanied him from one village on to the next, but often he journeyed alone. Certain it is that when he reached my doorstep he was a solitary and dying man. Yet I nursed him back to life, and, seeing he had naught of value to give me for what I did for him, he gave me directions how I might reach the wondrous city of Lamayoorah, where was the Golden Globe that contained treasure untold."
"Did he give thee a chart to the hidden city?" Ralph asked.
"That did he not," responded Dick Darsall. "'Tis best that charts be written on one's brain, then none can steal them."
Roger Coombe nodded, and shook his head.
"Yet could I not read that which is writ in brain-cell as easily as I could scan journeyings set down on parchment."
Dick Darsall's eyes twinkled. "Keep thy chart safe in thy bosom, Roger Coombe."
"We will study it together, friend Dick," said the merchant adventurer. "Yet tell us how now thou didst prosper on thy journey in search of the Golden Globe."
"'Tis too long a story to tell thee every detail now," Dick Darsall responded. "Sufficient to say that Frater Antonio set a maggot in my brain that would not rest till I set out with my servants on that wild adventure in midmost Asia. Leaving my home in Constantinople, I journeyed, with such direction as the Franciscan had given, through Armenia to Tabriz and Khorassan, in the kingdom of the Persians, till I came to the wild lands of Badakstan. Of my conflicts with fierce men of the hills, of my encounters with wild animals, of horrors by night and terrors by day, of journeyings through waterless deserts, and struggles over snowy passes where the avalanches came thundering down, I will not tell ye both till ye have eaten. I will but hasten to bring the caravan to the pass of Chong-an, where we met a horde of slant-eyed savages who barred my progress. Through my carriers, who understood the language of the Cathayans, I said that I had the blessing of the Bonzo of Lamayoorah on my pilgrimage."
"Hadst thou?" queried Ralph.
"I am no liar, young man," answered Dick tartly. "So much did the Bonzo love Frater Antonio that he begged him to return to Lamayoorah, and made him swear if he did not return himself to send a friend. And listen, for this is the very essence of all the attempts to reach Lamayoorah! The Bonzo had promised to give the Golden Globe to the first white man who reaches his monastery peaceably. No man can enter Lamayoorah armed."
"Black Velvet swore to me that such was the truth," agreed Roger Coombe. "I vowed I would travel to steal no man's treasure, but he persisted that the Golden Globe was the gift for the first man who would fetch it, as long as he came in peace."
"Again I am diverted from the main stream of my story," protested Dick Darsall. "I told thee I came to the pass of Chong- an, and that there my passage was stayed. The Chikan who led the savages said the Bonzo was but a servant of the Great Khan at Pekin, and unless I instantly turned and went back whence I came dire disaster would surely follow. I was young then, and had not learned the wisdom of being truthful in action as well as in word. I pretended to agree to return, requesting only to remain where I was camped till the sun rose next morning. The Chikan agreed, but I know now he had me watched.... In the dead of night, with a faithful guide, I sought to circumvent the Cathayans, climbing the cliffs by a secret path shown me by my guide.... This was the result!" Darsall held up the stump of his arm. "They were waiting for me at the head of the cliff.... When I recovered me of my wound the Chikan told me to return to my home, but if I wished to make a second attempt to reach the hidden city of Lamayoorah I could do so if I did not object to the loss of my left hand. A third attempt could be paid for with my right foot, a fourth attempt with my left foot.... I came back to Constantinople through dangers innumerable and hazards so great that ye Coombes can but faintly guess at them."
"How came Black Velvet to learn of thine existence?" asked Roger of Dick.
"By way of the Franciscan Antonio. The good frater went back to his country—he has long since repaid me the money that I loaned him for the journey—and was received with much honour at the Court of Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile. When the fair daughter of Ferdinand, Catherine of Aragon, came to England as Prince Arthur's bride Antonio accompanied her as her father confessor. Later, when Prince Arthur died, Catherine married his brother, who is now the eighth Henry, and she and her father confessor went to live at Hampton Court. 'Twas in the royal palace at Hampton that Black Velvet gained the information about the Golden Globe and received from Frater Antonio the chart that now reposes in thy bosom, Roger Coombe."
"Thou dost make shrewd guesses, friend Dick," responded Roger. "But I have not yet told thee I possess a chart."
The shrewd eyes under the bushy eyebrows twinkled. "Thou hast already promised me we should study it together."
"But I had not confessed to having one, nevertheless," said an equally shrewd Roger. "It was at Hampton Court that Black Velvet gained the chart, you say. Doubtless it was there also that Anthony Peke—"
"Anthony Peke, saidst thou?" cried Dick Darsall. "There came to me but yestreen a messenger from one of that name, saying he was on his way to Constantinople with all speed—and would I await his coming?"
"And no mention was made of the Golden Globe?"
"Not one word!"
"Yet that is what Anthony Peke is after, Dick Darsall."
"I had guessed it, Roger Coombe," responded Dick Darsall. "For Black Velvet has sent more than one adventurer to these doors of mine. And always their ultimate quest is the same—the hidden city of Lamayoorah, the Golden Globe and that which is within."
THE great and most stately city of Constantinople, with all its gorgeous palaces and sumptuous mosques, its beautiful and commodious houses, struck wonderment in the breasts of the Coombes.
"Verily, 'tis no less wonderful than travellers have declared!" Roger Coombe said to Ralph. "I commend thee, nephew, seeing thy help is not needed, with Zobb to attend to the baggage, to see Sant Sophia, which was once a Christian cathedral, and such other sights as a morning's tour will permit. Indeed, Dick Darsall has appointed Selim to show thee round."
"I wish thou wert coming with us," responded Ralph. "We have left Anthony Peke far behind at Mallorca."
"His agent, however, is before us, as we learned of Father Grolls," Roger reminded his nephew. "Besides, I need to learn of Dick all that there is to be known of the hazardous journey ahead, and with him I want to study the chart. As to Anthony Peke, I am not so sure that he is as far distant as Mallorca. I think it likely that his was the craft we saw coming up from the horizon at Gallipoli port."
"Shall I not stay with thee, Uncle?" Ralph queried, and in the light of subsequent events Ralph was right glad he had made the offer.
"Nay, nephew, should the agent of Anthony know of our arrival he will be off his guard as he sees thee sight-seeing, rather than feverishly hasting to be gone. Besides, it is fitting that thou, for thy education's sake, see something of the magnificence of Constantine's capital. Though the Roman Empire has passed into the hands of the Saracen, yet will the memory of this half- English Constantine, born in York of an English mother, live long because of this city which he founded."
So Ralph, fitly clothed as a Turk, set out with Selim to view the sights of Constantinople. The twisted slave, who could walk swiftly enough, took the English lad to a spot where he had a panorama of the two-mile wall about the palace of Suliman the Magnificent.
Later he saw that palace whose splendour had passed, the abode of that emperor who had given the city its name. From where he stood he could look round on the work of Constantine set there, a gigantic triangle of mural magnificence, laved by seas on two of its sides.
Selim conducted Ralph to the outer courts of Sant Sophia, for the viewing of which Darsall had been granted a special pass sealed by Suliman's own self.
A tall man wearing a square box hat bore down upon them.
"I am Mahmoud of Persia," he said, in stilted English. "It is permitted by the janissaries for Mahmoud to show Sant Sophia."
Selim nodded approval. "The man is known to Master Darsall," he said as he slumped to the ground, leaving Ralph in Mahmoud's care.
The guide calling himself Mahmoud stood proudly before Ralph. Truly he made a valiant figure of a man, with white robe and box- like head-dress that lent inches to his height, though his broad proportions served to balance what might otherwise have been undue length.
Ralph looked Mahmoud up and down, and with folded arms Mahmoud seemed to enjoy the scrutiny. Roger Coombe had mentioned that he needed a guide for the journey through Persia.
"Thou canst guide me round the cathedral, Mahmoud," said Ralph. "And it may be that, proving thy worth, we may need thee for a longer journey."
"I am Mahmoud," said the Persian, as if the appointment were already settled. "But first I show thee the mosque. Follow."
Smiling at the man's overweening confidence in himself, Ralph followed dutifully enough. Coming to the place where stood a fountain, Mahmoud took off his sandals.
"Take off shoes," he commanded, pointing to Ralph's feet.
The English youth hesitated, yet, seeing that every one else removed their footgear, he placed his shoes beside his guide's, and followed the latter into the mosque.
The pavements were of marble, and under the dome were covered with most beautiful carpets. The walls were hung with tapestries.
"All come from Mahmoud's country," explained the guide.
Ralph hesitated then, as he was to do thereafter, to accept all the Persian's statements as truth.
"Is it indeed so!" he said.
"I am Mahmoud," said the guide severely, as if it were sacrilege to question his statements.
Ralph followed humbly. The stalwart guide pointed to the magnificent pillars on either hand. "There are two hundred pillars of marble—all different—all from Mahmoud's country. Also the dome is lit by two thousand lamps—"
"All from Persia?" queried a teasing Ralph.
"All but one, broken this morn," promptly retorted Mahmoud. "A messenger has gone to Persia to fetch new one."
"Are all the Persians as careful of the truth as thyself?" queried Ralph, his eyes twinkling with laughter.
"Best Persians worship sun like me. So always we tell true things."
Ralph did not see exactly where the force of the argument lay, but he asked, "Are not most of the Persians Mussulmans?"
"Nay, we are Parsees, worshipping the Light. When Mahmoud come to Persia he show English boy great sun-temples—silent towers where we worship."
Ralph thought to himself that he had taken Mahmoud on the expedition's shoulders, like to the Old Man of the Sea, who cannot be shaken off—as the Arabian story hath it. But aloud he said, "Show me more, Mahmoud."
"See the hurt done to Crusade tombs! See bruise on the Christian figures!" the guide exclaimed, as he pointed to the relics of the days when the heroes of the Holy Land found a last resting-place in Sant Sophia.
The Persian next led the Englishman to adjoining chapels of marble, where were the tombs of the sultans and other members of the ruling Saracenic house. Tapestries of great worth covered the walls, and coronets of many jewels were suspended above each tomb that contained a crusader or Christian warrior.
"All come from Mahmoud's country," said the pilot. "Artificer of Persia make the golden ceilings, yes."
Ralph was not altogether sorry when he had rid himself of the all-sufficient Mahmoud, who, however, declared he would come to see Ralph "very soon."
Ralph chuckled to himself.
"Glad I have escaped without giving Mahmoud the name of my dwelling."
But when Ralph told Roger of his encounter with the Persian, Darsall, who stood by, laughed.
"I know Mahmoud, and, mark me, Mahmoud knew Selim as my servant. Ye will see the Persian anon."
'Zekiel Zobb had had a very busy morning, superintending bringing the bales of baggage from the Susan to Dick Darsall's warehouse. Dick Darsall had a queer medley of men in his employ.
"I believe every servant of Dick's has been a Barbary slave," confided Roger to Ralph. "There's no one of them that isn't black or brown, and no single one that has not been damaged in limb or person."
"All bought cheap, no doubt," said Ralph, with a sneer, for which he could not forgive himself when, at length, he learned the truth.
"Yet every mother's son of them worships the very ground on which Dick Darsall treads, Ralph."
"They fear him, no doubt. 'Tis fear, not love, Uncle."
Roger Coombe shrugged his shoulders.
"'Tis a motley crowd of servants certainly, and I can well believe that, as Darsall himself has told us, more goes on in this establishment than the men of the city imagine."
"Yea, very cheap I buy them," came the words in the deep bass voice that the Coombes knew must be the English factor's own. The guests had been hidden by a great bale of goods, little guessing their host was so near at hand.
Ralph blushed, and held his head bent.
"Your words do not hurt me," explained Dick Darsall. "I am a great trader, and am proud to buy slaves cheap." The strange old Englishman turned to Roger Coombe. "The preparations for thy journey are well afoot. There be ten muleteers, each of whom will be true man to ye to the death. I will swear to that, even if some be branded on the cheek or maimed in some member. I give ye Balthasar to lead the muleteers; he is an Armenian, who, though a slave, held high position amongst the pirates of Tripoli till he lost one eye and I bought him cheap. Better than most men, he knows the first stretch of country through which ye must pass. The Persian country which follows, however, he has not penetrated. On the borders of Persia he will find a guide, unless—"
There came the twisted Selim, speaking to Dick in a jargon which none but Dick could translate.
Dick signalled permission to Selim to bring forward a messenger, who waited without.
Stooping, a stalwart figure in black box-like hat came forward.
"I am Mahmoud, Lord Coombe. I come to take thee through Persia," said the newcomer, stepping up to Roger, with a familiar wave of the hand in Ralph's direction.
Dick Darsall spoke.
"I said thou wouldst see Mahmoud again. Accept his services. He is too proud to fail, or, at least, too confident a fool ever to confess failure. He is that sort of fellow who will not keep still till he lies in his grave, and, even then, Roger, I should take the precaution of placing a very heavy stone on his coffin."
So Mahmoud was duly engaged as one of the caravan, which was to brave the perils of mid-Asia.
Dick Darsall, though he had very quickly found muleteers, was far more particular in his choice of mules.
"Slaves I buy cheap, Roger Coombe," Dick declared, "but quality is my first consideration in purchasing mules. I do not make payment for any mule till I have tested its powers by a day's work. Begrudge not the time spent in the choice, Roger; the salvation of a caravan depends on the hooves of its mules. Though, like as not, Balthasar will replace the mules with camels at Khorassan for the crossing of the Great Salt Desert."
"I trust thee implicitly, Dick, in this matter of fitting out an expedition into Asia," said Roger Coombe, who was yearning to be away. "But I fear this Anthony Peke who is hard after us."
"Ye shall set out at sundown to-morrow," promised Dick Darsall.
But the caravan was not to set out on the morrow!
Next day, early in the morning, Dick Darsall and Roger Coombe went to the bazaar to purchase goat-skins for the carrying of water.
Dick Darsall came back alone.
Ralph was in the courtyard, helping Zobb to attach a bale to a restive mule which they wanted to test. Ralph looked up.
"Where's Uncle Roger?" he asked carelessly.
"He hastened back here at thy request, leaving me to—"
Ralph sprang to the factor's side.
"But I sent no request!" he cried.
"I bade Roger beware!" exclaimed Dick, mightily alarmed. "But thy uncle believed the messenger, for the fellow clicked finger against thumb, and thy uncle whispered to me that it was a private signal arranged betwixt thee and him."
"Verily there is treachery afoot!" cried Ralph, looking at Zobb, who stood rubbing his bulbous nose in deep thought.
"Axin' the pardon of ye gentles, I beg to zay az zure az me name is 'Zekiel Zobb, I go vind Maizter Roger Coombe."
BUT when evening came a weary Zobb trailed tired feet into
Dick Darsall's warehouse.
Dick himself and an army of servants had sought traces of the missing Englishman.
It was Ralph who alone had a hint of what might have happened.
Searching independently, an Arab hooded cloak over his shoulders and dress, he had wearily stepped to an archway, tired and hot, bidding Selim, who accompanied him as servant, to rest awhile.
Idly he noticed an Arab, hooded like himself, astride a fine horse. The horse drew his attention rather than the man.
Suddenly the hood that entirely shrouded the face of the rider blew aside.
The face was the face of a white man—a man with fierce, black brows—the face of an Englishman Ralph had seen under a monk's hood on the Bristol road—flying from the inn at Newbury—astride another such horse on the quay at Mallorca. Anthony Peke!
Ralph sprang forward.
Piercing eyes under fierce black brows were bent upon him.
And then the Arab horse, cruelly spurred, had leapt forward, and was gone, scattering wayfarers like leaves before a hurricane.
Ralph had seen enough to know that Anthony Peke was in Constantinople—enough to account for the disappearance of his Uncle Roger.
IN the narrows of the Black Sea, over which Darius the Persian king had transported his armies against his European foes, built by Sultan Mahomed at the time of his taking Constantinople, stood a dark and gloomy tower, wave-washed on all sides, and to be approached only by boat.*
(* A description of the Black Tower has been left by Wenceslas Wratislaw. A young member of the suite of the Bohemian Ambassador Wenceslas, a mere boy, with the rest of the Embassy, endured the horrors of captivity in this foul prison in 1592. —S.G.)
The Turks used this ancient fortress to immure State captives, and it was their boast that none ever escaped from this place of misery and despair, this grave of the living.
In a foul and reeking dungeon, deep in the bowels of that loathsome prison, was a cage of stout oaken bars, such as might be used for wild beasts. About that cage brutal janissaries patrolled unceasingly, day and night, spying upon every action of the unfortunates within, ill-treating them at their will, and mocking at their sufferings, till the poor wretches, without hope of protection or redress, prayed for death instead of this death in life.
No ray of daylight, no breath of fresh air, ever entered that abode of darkness and misery, which gained but a faint glimmering of light from a glass-shaded lantern protected by iron bars. The damp, the filth, and the stench of the place caused much disease and suffering among the prisoners.
Within the cage were herded together a motley crowd of captives of many races and of all ages, from boys to old men, their heads shaven bare as a mark of degradation, their bodies nigh naked save for a few filthy rags. Their feet were secured in rude stocks, so high that only by a great effort could they drag themselves to a sitting posture; for the most part they were compelled to lie upon their backs on the slimy floor, unable to turn or to change their position, and so crowded that they sprawled half upon one another. Nor was this all, for heavy iron collars and chains yoked them together in pairs, so that, even when they were freed for a few moments from the stocks to ease their cramped and aching limbs within the confines of the cage, they could stand or sit or move about only by mutual agreement.
In the midst of that groaning, reeking, festering mass of human misery—with his feet wedged painfully in the stocks—chained by the neck to a hideous, misshapen negro—lay Roger Coombe!
Accused of being a spy in the pay of the English King, on information laid by Anthony Peke as representative of the Spanish Emperor, he had been ambushed—though a dirty bloodstained bandage about his shaven head showed that he had not been taken without resistance—and hailed before the Cadi, by whom he had been condemned unheard and consigned to the living death of the Black Tower.
In the perpetual night of the prison he had lost all count of time; he knew not whether he had lain there for days or weeks, when, above the moans of his fellow-captives and the jangling of their chains, he heard the rattling of keys, the sound of booted feet upon the slimy floor, and the murmur of harsh, menacing voices. He awoke to the reality that Anthony Peke stood gloating cruelly above him in that foul oaken cage.
"So, thou stubborn Englishman," said the bully tauntingly, kicking the helpless captive at his feet, "at last thou hast come into my clutches."
Unable to stand up, Roger, by a great effort, forced himself into a sitting posture, the chain jerking sharply at his throat as he did so, and prepared to play the part of a beaten man; and, indeed, wounded and weak from hunger and ill-treatment, it was no difficult task to simulate the depths of despair.
"Aye, verily," he wailed, "'tis foolish to contend with one so full of craft as Sir Anthony Peke."
"Ha, Roger Coombe," was the reply, "so thy senses have come to thine aid. Verily the Black Tower is wont to make men speak—or shriek."
Even the intrepid Roger could not repress a shudder as he learned for the first time the place of his imprisonment—that State prison infamous throughout the Mediterranean littoral, from which none might hope to escape.
Observing it, Peke cried in triumph: "Now truly thou dost shiver, and rightly! Here a man enters—only to go forth a corpse!"
Peke cried in triumph: "Now truly thou dost shiver!"
"I trust we be buried when we die," whimpered Roger foolishly.
The villain stooped and scrutinized his victim's features by the smoky light of the lamp. Roger, dropping his lower lip, grinned sheepishly.
Peke laughed, but it was a laugh in which there was no mirth, only the exultation of a tyrant. And suddenly it was gone, to be replaced by a frown of reflection. If Roger Coombe were really the fool he seemed, why had Black Velvet employed him on so momentous a venture? Peke peered downward again, but Roger was weeping abjectly, and looked but a sorry half-wit.
"Thou shalt be tested in the dungeon of torment, Roger Coombe," said Peke grimly. "There be arguments there to prove whether thou art imbecile or knave." He leaned forward and whispered, "I will wrest from thee the secret chart of the hidden city of Lamayoorah."
Roger Coombe whimpered like any child. "Brother Englishman—for so I am told thou art, though nurtured in a Spanish Court—how may I give thee the chart, when it is not with me?"
"Pah, Roger Coombe, I come to make search myself. I trust not these Turkish knaves to skin thee."
Peke called to the two janissaries standing at the entry of the cage, scimitar in hand, and, placing a golden ducat in the hand of each, he gave them certain orders in the Turkish tongue.
Thereupon Roger was released from the stocks and from the yoke that linked him to his hideous fellow-captive, and dragged forth from the terrible cage. Too stiff and numbed by confinement to stand, he was hauled bodily over the filthy stones and flung into another chamber hard by. There his scanty rags, and even the bloodstained bandage about his head, were torn from him and carefully examined, while rough hands searched his body from head to foot.
Roger Coombe retained his imbecile smile—as well he might, seeing the chart was in another's keeping—and to all Peke's angry questions he faltered out the replies of a half-wit, still feigning that terror had robbed him of his senses.
At length Peke lost patience, and, turning from his victim, he gave an order to the two janissaries, who took from the wall a stout pole, in the centre of which were two loops of chain. Roger Coombe was flung roughly down upon his face on the ground, his ankles were thrust through the loops, which were twisted tightly about them, and, holding the two ends of the pole, the janissaries raised his legs until the feet were held with the soles uppermost. A third warder took a stout cane, and, raising it above his head, waited with a gloating look of anticipation Peke's word to lay on.
Many a time during his captivity Roger had listened, helpless and shuddering, to the shrieks of his fellow-prisoners under the agony of the bastinado; many a time he had watched them crawling slowly back on hands and knees to their foul den, unable to walk or even to stand upon their mangled and bleeding feet. He knew full well the ordeal that awaited him, but he set his teeth and determined that no torture should wring from him any clue that should set his enemy upon the track of the Golden Globe.
The moments of agonizing suspense lengthened out as he waited for the first searing blow to fall—but the order was never given. Even Peke, renegade though he was, could not descend to the foulness of torturing a fellow-Englishman—at least, in that way.
"Pah!" he cried at length. "There is a better way. I go to bring hither this man's nephew, who dwells at the house of Dick Darsall, the English factor. The old fox will soon find his tongue when he sees the young cub languishing in this place of torment—and himself unable to stir hand or foot to succour him!"
As the English factor's name was mentioned Roger Coombe saw a look of interest pass over the features of one of the guards. When Roger seemed most sleepy-eyed then was he always most vigilant.
"Put the Englishman back in the cage, and secure him firmly," Peke ordered, and strode forth from the foul precincts of the prison in the company of two of the three gaolers.
Roger Coombe promptly went to work upon the Turk who remained.
"Thou dost know the wealthy factor, Dick Darsall?" he inquired.
The Turk replied in the affirmative.
"He will pay much for the freeing of me," Roger whispered, with an eye upon the door, where other janissaries clustered.
"Yet even Dick Darsall cannot pay as much as Sieur Anthony Peke will give me for preventing thy being set free," the wily Turk replied.
"Wilt tell Darsall I am a prisoner here?" pleaded Roger.
"Not unless the Sieur Anthony Peke desire it," responded the gaoler firmly.
"Wilt take a message to my nephew who lives at Darsall's house?"
"What will that message be, O Frank?" queried the gaoler, who was not averse to taking bribes from both parties, provided there was no risk to himself in the process.
"I do but desire my nephew to go on a journey—without me," Roger said carelessly.
"And thou wilt not mention the place of thine imprisonment nor plead for thy rescue?"
"Nay, 'tis my nephew I would succour. Does not the Quoran command men to have care for their own kindred?"
The Mussulman nodded devoutly, and then turned his thoughts to practical issues.
"Thou wilt command Dick Darsall to pay me ten golden ducats—and without question?"
"That will I, if thou, O valiant soldier and devout follower of the Prophet, cause my nephew to go forth unknown to Anthony Peke, who is both traitor and villain."
"But a good payer withal," added the practical Turk, rubbing his hands together at the thought of this lucrative captive, out of whom double profit might be made.
So, ere Roger Coombe was reshackled, he wrote with trembling hand a missive to Ralph, telling his nephew to set out at once for Cathay, adding, with wondrous faith for one in such a plight, that he would follow ere long. To this script he set his secret sign, that Ralph might know it to be true.
To the janissary he gave also a note, requesting Dick Darsall to hand over ten golden ducats to the bearer, who delivered both scripts. No questions were to be asked.
The wily gaoler waited his opportunity, and sent his own son to deliver the missive for Ralph and to receive the ten golden ducats from Dick Darsall.
And Roger Coombe, chained anew to his hideous black fellow- captive, and secured more firmly than ever in the cruel stocks, languished, writhing in his bonds, in that dark and loathsome cage in the Black Tower!
SEARCH as they might, Ralph, Zobb, Dick Darsall, and his black servitors found not the slightest clue to the missing Roger Coombe's whereabouts. Nor did Ralph catch another glimpse of Anthony Peke—or, if he did, he failed to penetrate the disguise that astute individual wore.
Ralph prepared for possible violence and an attempt on his own person. He moved about, armed himself, and in the company of armed companions. Ralph, like most Englishmen worthy the name, was always at his best in emergency; when his uncle was at hand he was wont to leave things to that dominating individual, but now that Roger had disappeared Ralph woke to tremendous activity.
Many an odd nook and corner of Constantinople did Ralph visit in the company of Darsall or the one-eyed Balthasar, yet he saw to it that preparations for the journey into mid-Asia should not languish.
"Any moment my uncle may arrive," Ralph said to Zobb, who worked feverishly among the baggage. "If Anthony Peke secures the chart he may well free his prisoner."
"Thic Peke fellow won't vind no chart, zonny," Zobb responded, with a chuckle. "'Tis too well hid."
"Anthony is thorough; he will search till he find the belt about my uncle's body. I tell thee, 'Zekiel, Peke is the sort of searcher who would skin a man to get what he wanted."
Zobb chuckled again.
"The Peke fellow can strip Maizter Roger to the bone, but he won't vind no chart."
"How can that be!" cried Ralph. "Do you know aught of the chart?"
"Zort o'veel I do, seein' Maizter Roger gave 'Zekiel Zobb thiccy belt to wear round his middle! Bevore thy uncle went to the bazaar he gave me the precious thing, sayin' that no one ood trust a chart to an old vool like me—leastways, that's what them az didn't know might zay."
Ralph roared with laughter and delight. In the midst of a situation that was tragic enough it was a satisfaction to know that Anthony Peke, even if he had captured Roger, had not found the chart.
"Maizter Roger oodn't give the chart to thee, Ralph," explained Zobb, "vor he wur right zartain that Anthony Peke wur likely to worrit thee zooner or later."
Too soon Ralph proved the truth of these words!
The English youth was down at the quay bidding farewell to Shipmaster Jeremy Tunder, who was forced by the port authorities to pull up anchor and to begone. Cargo had been discharged, and the Susan had been reladen with Turkish products. Captain Tunder would have stayed at Gallipoli, but his orders from Black Velvet were explicit: he was to return to England with all possible speed, reporting the safe arrival of the Coombes at Constantinople, and was to voyage forth again to pick the adventurers up on their return from far Cathay.
Ralph and Zobb saw the last of the outgoing Susan, and were retracing their steps to Dick Darsall's house when a young Turk accosted them. He thrust a missive into Ralph's hands, and seemed in a hurry to be gone.
Ralph unfolded the piece of parchment and read:
"Come aboard the felucca Reyis at Porta Piccola this night. I am there, Roger Coombe."
The English youth eyed the young Turk, and was about to ask a question when the lad ran off.
To Zobb Ralph read the missive. "But I shall not go aboard the Reyis," said Ralph.
Zobb gazed astounded. "Thee oodn't desert thy uncle?" he gasped.
"That message has not come from him," Ralph said. "Some one has forged his signature. I'll explain to thee how I know that when we get to our lodging."
And later the device the Coombes had employed when living in the midst of intrigue beyond the Indies was explained by Ralph. The final full stop before Roger appended his signature was duplicated, thus—". . Roger Coombe."
"The wily Anthony may have copied my uncle's hand, but he has not entrapped me, because of that simple device of the doubled full stop. I am not going aboard the Reyis, but we will visit the Porta Piccola and see if there is aught to learn, Zobb."
At dusk the two Englishmen, disguised in Arab burnous, went to view the felucca Reyis as she rode at anchor at the quay specified. There were lights aboard, and Ralph sent a Kabyle who accompanied him to make inquiries.
The Kabyle, whose nose had been split in the Kasbah at Algiers, and whose life was now spent in the service of the Englishman who had "bought him cheap," stepped up to the felucca's side and hailed the watchman at the gangway.
"What do you want, you ugly image?" the Spanish sailor cried.
"Have you a Frank aboard, brave sir?" the Kabyle asked in the lingua franca of the Mediterranean.
"Yea, the Sieur Anthony—"
There came swift interruption. No less a person than Anthony Peke's own self sprang out on the speaker and thrust him violently aside.
"The adventurer Roger Coombe awaits his nephew's coming," Anthony answered the Kabyle in the jargon he had spoken.
But, hearing Anthony Peke was aboard, Ralph did not accept the Reyis's hospitality. Nor, had he gone, would he have found his uncle. He would have found himself a prisoner!
When under cover of darkness a band of Darsall's servants boarded the felucca they found nought but two old sailors, who said the Frank had but engaged the Reyis for the evening, and was now gone with his following to his house in a fury because an expected visitor had not come. But when asked where that house might be they could not say, as they had not been told.
So Anthony Peke's attempt at abducting Ralph failed.
There was to be a second attempt; it came the following morning.
The complement of mules had not yet been completed to Dick Darsall's satisfaction. He and Ralph were interviewing a seller of sumpter-mules.
Dick was delighted with the sleek, muscular proportions of a certain mule, yet feared the beast was a kicker. The small price the seller demanded made Darsall yet more cautious.
Ralph fell in love with the mule forthwith.
"He is a perfect mule," the Oriental owner told Darsall. "My babe, an infant of tender years, is placed in a basket, and Lambkin rocks the cradle gently with his hoof while my wife sees to the affairs of the household. Let the young master mount the mule, and he will see that Lambkin does not belie his name."
Darsall translated, and Ralph mounted without more ado. And then many things happened!
Furtively the seller thrust a sharp skewer into the mule's flank, and fled while every one's attention was centred on Lambkin.
The gentle mule who "rocks the cradle" proved a fury on four feet, an animated thunderbolt, laying low such as sought to stay it. Lambkin arched his back, and flung hind-legs in air as if he would discard them.
"Thic demon of a mule be turnin' zummersets," declared Zobb as he fled before the bounding fury.
Any ordinary rider would have been thrown, but Ralph was not without skill in the management of horseflesh. He stuck to Lambkin's back like the most clinging of burrs.
Thrice round the courtyard mule and rider careered, passing the gate behind which the Oriental seller of the beast hid, trying to entice Lambkin forth.
"Zure as me name's 'Zekiel Zobb yonder mule be a grasshopper!" Zobb cried, as he made ineffectual efforts to grip the bridle of the excited beast.
But Zobb's fun changed to alarm as the mule bolted through the gateway—to disappear in a nimbus of dust.
"'Twur planned!" he cried. "Thic demon of a mule iz takin' me young maizter straight to Anthony Peke."
"The ill fate that pursues all who meddle in the matter of the Golden Globe," quoth Dick Darsall, "marks down the Coombes to destruction."
'Zekiel Zobb glared at the speaker.
"Zure 'Zekiel Zobb ood knock thy teeth down thy throat, Maizter Darsall, vor tellin' lies, but that he knows thee vor an ol' man and a foolish. It ood take a regiment of soldiers and a vleet of zhips to destroy they Coombes."
And an indignant Zobb ran off through the gateway in pursuit of the disappearing Ralph.
Lambkin did not act exactly as his owner had promised; he did not bring Ralph prisoner to Peke's horsemen. For at a bend in the road four riders rode forth from the shelter of the fish-market to stay the Lambkin's flight, while the owner came running in the rear with honeyed words for the mule's own self.
The poor mule, however, was indignant at the treatment it had been receiving, first at the point of its master's skewer, and since by the persistent rider, whom it could not fling off. Heavy heels drummed in Lambkin's ribs, hard hands jerked reins and pummelled its neck.
Ralph had no wish to stay with the four horsemen, so away down the road went the indignant Lambkin, pursued by the horsemen, who had much ado to keep mule and rider in sight.
The English youth was enjoying the adventure, though quite aware that there was treachery meditated. He was master of the situation, however, and soon Lambkin would realize it.
Right and left pedestrians were scattered. One gay young dandy of a Saracen officer only escaped Lambkin's hooves by diving into the near-by harbour.
Lambkin showed momentary interest in the diver, and, arching its back, sought to send Ralph to join the spluttering Saracen.
But Ralph only drummed his heels the harder into Lambkin's ribs, only tugged the reins so tightly that Lambkin proceeded on two feet along the harbour-side.
The flight continued. A fruiterer's booth was scattered, and beggars pounced on the rolling stock, while the Jewish proprietor called down curses on mule, rider, and thieves alike.
A crowd from the bazaar followed the bolting mule, but scattered screaming as Lambkin, tugged round, booted by its merciless rider, charged straight at them.
The four conspirators, in the wake of the crowd thought that now at length Lambkin could be stayed and its rider captured, as Anthony Peke desired.
But no! Ralph kicked merciless heels into the mule's flank, humped himself into a lump that heavily bumped up and down on Lambkin's back. The terrified steed romped through the four horsemen, who sought to detain it as though they had been wisps of straw. Indeed, one of the riders was unhorsed, and suffered much at the hooves of the other three horses.
By this time Lambkin had learned who was his master. And never again in the hazardous months ahead was Lambkin to dispute Ralph's will.
Great was Dick Darsall's delight at seeing the English youth return unharmed.
"I thought thou wert gone to thy death," Dick Darsall said, in his deepest bass, "and would never see the missive thine uncle has sent thee."
Ralph leapt from his mule.
"Missive? Another forgery?"
Lambkin, quivering in every nerve, stood awaiting his new master's will, while Ralph read:
"Leave for Cathay at once, Ralph. I will follow, Deo volente. . Roger Coombe."
There were two full stops prefacing his uncle's signature. The order must be obeyed!
AT midnight on the selfsame day that Ralph received his uncle's missive the English youth set out from Dick Darsall's house, secretly and disguised.
"Thou dost go to thy death, thou puppet of Black Velvet," wailed Dick Darsall as he put the last finishing touches to Ralph's disguise.
It was as a marabout, or Mussulman Pilgrim, that Ralph was dressed. His skin had been dyed a brown colour, and he was clothed in a long white robe, with a hood that came to a point over his face and hung in folds before his ears, thus effectually concealing his features. Only his hands were visible, and in them he bore a string of praying-beads.
"When thou dost reach the confines of the false worshippers of Buddha," continued Dick Darsall, "—if e'er thou dost get so far alive!—change into the garb of a lama, or Buddhist priest. Thou wilt find the wherewithal for that disguise in the packing of the sixth mule's burden."
The complement of mules was complete in number, but not in quality, if Dick were to be believed.
"Verily, thou rash and impetuous youth, thy whole caravan may founder because of those two faulty mules of thine, but thou wilt not stay awhile and seek better," Dick Darsall scolded.
"Nay, Master Dick Darsall, chide me not," Ralph begged. "I value thine opinion higher than thou thinkest, since I learned that thou art little short of a saint."
"Nay—nay," protested Dick, as Ralph sprang to Lambkin's back. "I buy them cheap."
"God-be-wi'-ye, Dick," said Ralph reverently. He had scoffed at Darsall for making good bargains out of the purchase of broken black men. But he had noted how they all—these broken creatures—loved the gnarled old Englishman. So he questioned the servants who swarmed about Dick's warehouse, and he found it had been a lifelong custom of Dick Darsall's to redeem slaves of the Barbary States, to set them free or give them employment in his warehouse. And there were white men in England who had been redeemed by their countryman and sent home without hope of repayment. Dick Darsall, the dear old hypocrite, always declared it was a mere matter of business, that he "bought them cheap;" and so he established for himself the reputation of being a miser. Without wife or any relation on whom he could spend his considerable wealth earned in merchant ventures, he made it his aim in life to free the miserable victims of the Barbary pirates' cruelty.
"I buy them cheap," shouted Dick after the disappearing Ralph. It was the only indiscretion Dick Darsall committed in that secret departure; and may have made known the going to Anthony Peke.
Certainly Ralph's departure was in keeping with the mystery that enveloped the whole enterprise. At midnight on a moonless night the caravan was ferried across the black waters of the Bosporus.
Upstream the silent navigators poled the craft, that was little better than a floating platform of roped planks. Then, crossing the current, the raft came sweeping down on the farther shore.
"Ralph zonny, thiccy yer box o' timbers ull tumble to pieces," Zobb declared, clinging to a frightened mule. "Lambkin has put his hoof through the planks already, and half the raft iz afloat, zure az me name is 'Zekiel Zobb."
Ralph replied absently. His thoughts were set on the journey ahead. He had studied the chart that Zobb produced from his belt, made a mental picture of it in his mind, and returned it to Zobb. The little mariner was less likely to be suspected of carrying the chart than he—Ralph. And Ralph had conjured Zobb, if Anthony Peke captured the second Coombe, to continue the search for the Golden Globe and take it back to Black Velvet in London Town.
The first part of the journey was through the domains of the Turks in Asia. Uskudar, Chalcedon, Kartali, Nicomedia, Kara Tagh, Sophon, Bithynium, were names that danced in Ralph's brain till it buzzed, and he had much ado to recall which was city, which river, which mountain, and which was lake. Indeed, he had found the chart was a crude scroll that was often misleading and always difficult to decipher, written, as it was, in the crabbed hand of Frater Antonio.
Zobb broke in on Ralph's thoughts.
"Zure we zhall reach the shore zoon if only we can zwim in thiccy tumble of waters. Thic craft be breakin' up and going down."
Ralph peered ahead, detecting slender minarets silhouetted against the midnight sky.
"We shall come safe to land, 'Zekiel, in a bay which Dick Darsall told me of, and to which Balthasar will bring us anon. The factor told me we may mount by steep paths to the crest of the hill overlooking the Hellespont, and take our rest at the menzil-khan, or post-house, on the outskirts of Uskudar. My uncle said it were best not to enter the towns, but if possible to travel by unfrequented paths, that any possible pursuit by Anthony Peke be frustrated."
"The villain will vind us vlown in the mornin', that's zartain," Zobb said, as he patted the neck of the frightened mule.
"Maybe he won't," chuckled Ralph. "For Dick Darsall has collected a duplicate set of mules, a second set of muleteers, and dummy bales, not to mention a Persian with a black box hat like to Mahmoud. Wherefore if Anthony Peke or his agents spy they will believe the expedition has not yet set out."
"But did the clever Dick also purvide a duplicate Zobb?" the little tubby mariner inquired, and before Ralph could reply a sudden jar made the raft tremble in every timber. "Hi! ye black varlets, war be goin' to?" he cried.
However, there was no cause for alarm; the raft had grounded at the desired place of landing. When the dozen mules and Lambkin had been safely conveyed to shore the caravan, passing through a wilderness of reeds, came to precipitous cliffs. Balthasar led the way by scarcely perceptible paths to the heights nigh Uskudar.
Uskudar, with its white mosques and minarets showing faintly in the false dawn, looked like some phantom city, as elusive as the Golden Globe might prove to be. So thought Ralph as he looked down upon it.
But Balthasar would not wait, though Mahmoud, panting after his climb up the cliffs, declared that he, "the untireable," must sit and contemplate the beauties of the sun, which would rise so soon.
The party pushed on till presently the menzil-khan was reached. There, Balthasar said, an hour's rest must be given the mules.
The menzil-khan was a bare shed with a compound, where travellers and their mules were sleeping. A native youth stared at the new arrivals, and, Ralph remembered afterwards, slipped slyly from the scene.
Balthasar and his muleteers tethered the mules; the others flung themselves down for a rest before the arduous journey of the day which was to try their powers to the utmost. But the khan was not a place of cleanliness.
Before ever the hour of rest was completed, Ralph, and Zobb found themselves sitting up facing each, other—scratching themselves.
"I'm glad I woke," Ralph said. "I dreamed thou wert a gnome, 'Zekiel, who had sprung out of the Gold Globe and wert pinching me with tiny fingers. But, hark! Peradventure it was the tumult at the gate which woke us."
Mahmoud's voice, in lordly protestation, was heard. And a minute later the Persian, his box hat narrowly escaping collision with the lintel of the door of the chamber where Ralph rested, appeared.
"Five hunnerd persons want to see white slave," Mahmoud said, pointing at Zobb.
"Don't go miscallin' a honest mariner, ye Parshan reptile," grumbled Zobb. "Thur's none az want to zee old Zobb."
But though the Persian's figures were magnified by his vivid imagination, there certainly was a considerable crowd at the gate of the menzil-khan demanding to see the white slave.
Dick Darsall had declared it was impossible to disguise the little seaman; always men would know him for an English mariner. He must travel as a white slave, the servant of the holy marabout. So the only addition to Zobb's attire was an iron ring about his ankle—the sign of servitude.
Zobb's arrival had been noted. The native youth who saw the caravan's arrival had taken the news to Uskudar, and a crowd of gamins were clamouring to see the white slave.
It was a full hour before the curiosity of the visitors could be satisfied. Unfortunately for Zobb they considered a Christian slave a fair butt for their sport, and Ralph, in his role of Mussulman pilgrim, must fain concur.
Time and again the little mariner danced the sailor's hornpipe to preserve himself from buffets and the prodding of their sticks.
"Zure, zonny, 'Zekiel Zobb ood like to give 'em a taste of Zummerset visties, he ood," said the exasperated sailor, turning to his master.
But Ralph, in his capacity as marabout, could only sit solemnly by, telling his beads, and burying himself in his white robes.
At length, however, Balthasar and Mahmoud dispersed the crowd from the city, and the journey was resumed.
Ralph, in consultation with the leader of the muleteers, had decided to finish the first day's journey on the outskirts of Kartali.
They were in a lonely stretch of country, so Ralph dismounted from Lambkin's back and made Zobb ride.
"As a slave, 'Zekiel, thou must needs go on thy feet when people are about," Ralph said.
"Zure I be that I wur never meant vor a zlave, an' zartain zure thur ull be murder done if they Turkeys do ztir I up wi' a ztick."
"Then, verily, 'Zekiel, we must cut off thy red beard and make thee into a brown fisherman of Pera."
"If thee dost zhave off me beard I zhall catch, a cold."
Ralph's eyes twinkled.
"'Tis the only disguise possible; Dick did declare there was none. Of a truth, we must turn thee into a fisherman of Pera going on pilgrimage to Mecca, and condemned for his sins to a long period of silence. Else the crowds will come at every stopping-place, and so advertise our journey to any who follow."
Zobb looked down from Lambkin's back in woeful case. "Do what 'ee like wi' old 'Zekiel, Maizter Ralph, but don't 'ee ask him to be dumb—'tiz a 'complishment az don't run in our vamily; the Zobbs bain't built thiccy way."
So it was finally settled that Zobb should become a pilgrim out of Pera, and Ralph told him he must be as silent as possible, seeing their lives might depend upon it. And the transformation must take place at midday, when they halted for a siesta in a grove of oaks.
Their midday camp was at a considerable altitude, and they were in sight of the sea on either hand. Below them, on the right hand, beyond the belt of oak-forest, there was cultivated land stretching to the shores of Propontis, groves of fruit-trees, vineyards, and gardens. Beyond, at no great distance, was the little city on the shore.
Balthasar offered to walk to the bazaar and secure requisite disguise for the English mariner.
"Go thou, Balthasar. There is none I can trust so readily to carry out so delicate a mission," said Ralph. "Mahmoud, though trustworthy, would be certain to prate that he was conducting a royal train to the Court of the Great Khan at Pekin. But I should be in bad case were ill to befall thee, the leader of the caravan, Balthasar."
But a box hat at that moment appeared from behind an adjacent oak-bole. And its wearer, approaching, said: "I am Mahmoud. No caravan leader is my equal."
Balthasar scoffed.
"Perchance with the help of the muleteers I have trained the Persian heathen man may guide thee, Master Ralph, for so long as daylight lasts. I go to get dress for white slave to become brown pilgrim."
So Balthasar went to the bazaar, and returned with the disguise—and alarming news!
"I learned," said he to Ralph privately, "that a party of horsemen gallantly mounted galloped along the shore of Propontis, coming from out of Uskudar, where they landed this morn. It was whispered they were in search of two white unbelievers escaping from justice. My informant declared that the leader of the party, though clad like his followers as a Turk, was an Englishman. He said that there rode, chained to the leader's saddle, a Frank in scanty rags, who wore about his forehead a bloody bandage. And this prisoner, when he descended from his horse, walked with a limp."
"What was this second man—this Frank prisoner—like?" cried Ralph, smitten with a sudden fear.
"My informant told me the prisoner had the eyes of an owl," Balthasar replied.
"Grammercy! I believe it must be my uncle—walks with a limp—hoods his eyes. 'Tis a way my uncle has when in perplexity. Didst thou talk of this caravan to thy informant, Balthasar? I believe Anthony Peke is in pursuit, spite of Dick's precautions to prevent our being followed. Are the horsemen like to hear of our journey?"
Balthasar's one eye twinkled.
"They may hear of us. I said there was a mad marabout, an imbecile pilgrim, and a Persian jackass travelling to nowhere seeking nothing—and paying me well for the guiding of them."
And Balthasar bowed low.
Ralph could scarce restrain a laugh, but he quickly grew serious again.
"Are these horsemen still in the town yonder?" he cried.
"Nay, they continued on at top speed to Nicomedia, at the head of the gulf, so said my friend," Balthasar responded. "I told my informant that I trusted they would find there the two white infidels, and that my mad marabout, his imbecile slave, and the Persian jackass, together with myself, might be there to witness the runaways' capture."
But Ralph was too sad to laugh a second time; he pictured his uncle a prisoner, blood upon his brow, led at the saddle of their powerful enemy Anthony Peke.
RALPH COOMBE pondered the situation under the oaks, with a panorama of beauty before his eyes. But his thoughts were too occupied to note the beauty of sea and sky.
He had turned 'Zekiel Zobb into a pilgrim out of Pera bound for Mecca, and Zobb was marching solemnly to and fro, practising his new part of devout Mussulman.
"Zure, zonny, 'Zekiel Zobb be never built for holy pilgrim!" he cried, in despair.
But Ralph did not hear; he was lost in thought. If his uncle was a prisoner in the hands of Peke, as seemed likest, what did the renegade plan to do with Roger Coombe? How much did Peke know? Certainly the villain was aware of the chart, and probably knew of the existence of the Golden Globe, but did Peke comprehend that which was within? Could it be that Anthony Peke had learned of Frater Antonio at the Court of the Spanish King further knowledge than even the Coombes possessed? ... Peke rode armed out of Uskudar. Wherefore it would seem he was unaware of the condition that they who sought the Golden Globe must go unarmed.
"Seeing Peke is ahead, Zobb, 'twere best we tarry," he said.
"Zartain zure, zonny, when Peke vinds we bain't ahead he ull hark back'ard by the inland way, and we ull run vull tilt into each other, mark 'ee."
"Certain it is that Peke learned nothing from those gamins of Uskudar who came to mock thee, 'Zekiel, in the menzil-khan."
Zobb twirled his pilgrim's staff in truculent fashion. "Verily, I ull zeek thy uncle vorthwith!" he cried.
But Ralph feared for the reckless little seaman's ability to outwit so subtle a foe as Anthony Peke.
"Thou must not leave me, 'Zekiel. I am bereft of my uncle, and now thou wouldst place thyself, my best friend, in like danger of capture."
"Nay, zonny, 'Zekiel Zobb would rather die than be made a prisoner."
"Doubtless! But a dead Zobb is little worth to a live Ralph beset by danger on every hand. Thou must stay with us, 'Zekiel, and we will fare forward together."
The faithful, resourceful Balthasar was consulted.
"We must avoid a meeting with Peke at all costs, Master Ralph," the Armenian agreed. "Verily we will make our plans anew. We will avoid the vicinity of Kartali, and, instead, travel by an ancient green way to the caverns of Kayusi. It is many years since I saw these catacombs, where men of old time were buried, but I think we may reach their shelter to-night."
"Are not the caverns used by other travellers?" Ralph asked.
"Nay, Master Ralph, for men say the ghosts of the ancient ones haunt their coffins," Balthasar replied. "There we may rest for a week and never see mortal man."
'Zekiel groaned.
"But what of the ghosties, Balthasar?" he queried.
"Thou must exorcise them with thy pilgrim's staff, 'Zekiel," put in Ralph.
"I ull exercise 'em," retorted Zobb, whirling his stick. "I ull make the ghosties run az they never have run avore, zure as me name be 'Zekiel Zobb."
"Yet before we meet ghosts," Balthasar explained, "we are like to meet robbers."
"Surely these selfsame robbers may molest us!" Ralph exclaimed.
Balthasar hesitated.
"Our going will not be hindered if my face is seen," he said.
"'Tis ugly enough!" said the Persian, in an aside. Mahmoud was very jealous of Balthasar.
Ralph was curious.
"Art known to the robbers, Balthasar? Is it thy custom to lead unwary travellers past their lairs?"
Balthasar faltered.
"One must help one's family."
"Help one's family?" Ralph questioned, completely mystified.
"The leader of the robber band is my brother," explained the Armenian, not without a touch of pride.
Ralph could only stare in amazement at the guide whom Dick Darsall said they might trust like a brother. But when one brother was a robber—
But Balthasar was already using his astrolabe, taking his course by the sun.
Anon the caravan headed north-east. Ralph rode for many miles through forests of beech and oak, a wind from off the sea tempering the heat, and making the journey right pleasant withal.
"See!" cried the leader of the muleteers after two hours of travel. "In yonder valley the road of the ancients striking due east."
"Maybe the great conqueror Alexander made that road," Ralph remarked.
"Mahmoud has used it," said a voice at Ralph's elbow, as if that fact were more noteworthy still.
So the cavalcade came to the grass-grown track that had been made by ancient conquerors. The mules were driven forward at the utmost speed, that the catacombs of Kayusi might be reached ere darkness set in.
Balthasar led, keeping watch for his brigand brother.
Suddenly from out a clump of stunted oaks came a crowd of fierce-looking strangers, threatening Balthasar with muskets and scimitars.
Speaking in the language the robbers understood, "Your leader is my brother," the Armenian explained.
There were loud guffaws of laughter.
"Pah!" said a man in a Saracen helmet. "Thy fat face and podgy carcase have no likeness to our handsome leader."
"The lie is not good enough!" cried a second robber. "Of a certainty thou hast heard how Yacoob and his party of heroes were trapped and slaughtered by the janissaries and dost—"
"My brother Yacoob slaughtered!" cried Balthasar. "That indeed were dire news, though due punishment for the sin of robbery."
There was a growl of anger in the robber ranks. Said he in the Saracen helmet: "We told thee not Yacoob was killed. Can dogs of Turks kill our tiger Yacoob? Nay, though every man of his raiding band were killed or captured, Yacoob himself cut his way out, and though the odds were one to forty, galloped hence, and came here."
"Take me to him," commanded Balthasar, tears starting in his one sound eye. "We love—like the brothers we are!"
The robbers blindfolded Balthasar, and the head of the band gave orders that the caravan they had waylaid should be closely guarded.
As Balthasar was led away he made signs to Ralph that all was well. It was the supposed pilgrim out of Pera who ran up and caused commotion.
"Ye double-dyed varlets, zure az me name be 'Zekiel Zobb, I ull zmite ye hip an' thigh, I ull. Here I bin hustlin' them mules, an' ye come an' ztay them after I got 'em on the go."
"'Tis a Frank!" cried one, staring at Zobb's disguise.
"Interfere not with the holy man," Balthasar called out. "He is most learned and speaks all languages. He is the scribe of the holy marabout."
Ralph had wisely squatted on the ground in his guise of holy man. Enveloped in his white robes, shrouded in his hood, he diligently told his beads.
"Bide quiet, thou—fisherman of Pera," he whispered.
Whereupon 'Zekiel gave a startled look downward at his own disguise, promptly seated himself on the ground, and said his Paternoster backward, as if he considered that a fit occupation for a devout Mussulman.
Mahmoud, having told the brigand who guarded him that he was Mahmoud, slid from his mule's back and commenced to shout orders to right and to left. For had not Balthasar gone away prisoner, and was not the Persian therefore now the leader of the caravan?
Mahmoud, however, failed to impress his gaoler. The man brought his broad hand down on the top of the Persian's black box hat, and Mahmoud's voice was lost in the hat's interior.
Blindfolded, Balthasar had meantime disappeared amid the trees bordering the grass track, and he learned nothing of the way which ended at a sick man's bedside.
The bandage about his head was removed, and—
"Brother Balthasar!" cried the brigand on the bed.
"Brother Yacoob!" cried the delighted leader of Dick Darsall's muleteers.
The two Armenians embraced.
Yacoob dismissed all his attendants, and fell to talking forthwith; it was two years since the brothers had met. The wounded man was rapidly recovering, and was already planning further adventures on highway and byway, as he told Balthasar.
"Verily, dearest brother," said Balthasar, as he fondled the wounded man's hand, "if thou dost continue thy evil occupation, even if thou dost escape the hangman's noose, thou canst not escape the Evil Place hereafter."
"Dearest brother Balthasar, thou hast ever played saint to my rogue. Let us enjoy each other's company, and it may be when I have revenged myself on the janissaries who slew my faithful followers I will hie me to a little hermitage where I will balance up my account for the Hereafter. But now partake of the feast of fruit and honey drink which my servants will bring for thee. Likest thou my palace, Balthasar, dearest brother?"
"It is a right strange place," Balthasar replied as he looked round the apartment lit by wicks floating in vessels of oil, wondering at the ancient frescoes covering the walls, scenes of men struggling with lions, of kings in chariots contending for mastery, and of soldiers fighting with soldiers, Assyrians, it might be, slaying Persians or Medes.
"This was once a king's hunting-lodge—a king of the ancient ones," said Yacoob proudly. "It now lies hidden many cubits deep in the earth of past ages. Here the whole of my brave band can lie hidden from the eyes of the foe. A whole underground city is here, and do we need fresh stables for our horses we dig out another courtyard, where once a king's favourites basked in the sunshine."
"May the good genie defend thy secret retreat, dearest brother Yacoob," said Balthasar, "till thou dost find thy just deserts in the Evil Place."
"Even so, dearest brother Balthasar, if I have not repented in the greying of my hair at the hermitage I spoke of."
Balthasar refreshed himself with the fruit that was brought, and then begged his brother to allow him to return to the caravan and continue his journey.
"Whither goest thou in such haste, dearest brother Balthasar?" Yacoob asked.
"On a kingly mission to far Cathay, dearest brother Yacoob," replied the leader of the caravan.
"Wilt thou not rather stay in the royal city of the ancient ones, dearest brother Balthasar?"
"Dearest brother Yacoob, it rends my heart to leave thee," responded Dick Darsall's headman, weeping from his one sound eye, "but duty must over-ride love of one's kin. To-night we haste on to the catacombs of Kayusi."
Once more the brothers embraced, and once again Balthasar was blindfolded.
Soon the leader was back with his muleteers, and the caravan was on its way.
Overhead the clouds were piling up in ominous fashion.
The caravan pressed forward with all haste.
"We shall be safe in the catacombs of Kayusi," said Balthasar, little guessing at the peril awaiting the party in that underground cemetery.
BALTHASAR knew full well how to get the best work out of his mules. Kartali, the town marked on the chart, was left far to the south. For indeed the chart drawn by Frater Antonio showed the coastal way, and that was the way Balthasar wished to avoid. Yet was he not sure of the distance to the caves of Kayusi, which had been chosen for that night's encampment.
Steeply the path trended upward. To the left rugged hills blocked the sky-line. Very many miles distant the last rays of the dying sun were reflected back from the surface of a great sheet of water.
"Lake Sophon it might be," Balthasar said.
"Or the ocean of the Indies," scornfully muttered his rival Mahmoud. "Or peradventure the black waters of Tartarus," the Persian scoffed. He was still sore, literally and metaphorically, from the impressive hand that had banged down his box hat over his head.
When darkness came Ralph still insisted that the caravan must go on. "Once safe in the shelter of the catacombs we may rest a whole day. And it is well to be travelling now under cover of night, when prying eyes like to those of Peke's may not see us so readily."
Ralph was addressing Balthasar, but Mahmoud tried to attract the English youth's attention.
"I am Mahmoud, and Mahmoud's ears have caught the sound of spies in the thickets on our flank, and mine eyes have seen the muzzle of a musket showing amongst the rocks on our left."
But Mahmoud's boasting had shaken Ralph's faith in the Persian, and he nodded idly in the guide's direction. Yet were Mahmoud's ears and eyes reporting correctly. The steps of the caravan were dogged.
All through the night, with the mutterings of thunder in the air, the journey was continued.
The false dawn was greying the eastern sky when Balthasar uttered a cry of pleasure and relief.
"The caverns of Kayusi are in sight, Master Ralph," he said, indicating a scar on the downward sweep of the precipitous cliffs ahead.
Within an hour of sighting them the caverns had engulfed the whole party, mules and all, so that a man who rode up on a horse, a musket slung across his shoulders, saw never a sign of the travellers he was spying upon.
Ralph inspected his queer quarters with interest. Vast galleries had been cut into the solid rock of the hillside, as torches provided by Yacoob revealed. On shelves on either side were the great stone coffins of the ancient people who had used the caverns as a burying-place. Here and there were pillared recesses where stood stone statues of the wealthy dead before their carven coffins. But in most cases the coffins were filled with many skeletons, as if the corpses of the poorer people had been piled one atop the other, while these wholesale buryings were not covered by the slabs provided for the coffins of the more famous of the ancient ones.*
(* Such were the conditions I myself noticed when inspecting the catacombs of Alexandria. —S.G.)
"We be zafe az an emmet in a haystack," remarked Zobb as he leaned back against a stone altar.
'Zekiel Zobb knew nought of the spy who that moment had ridden up to the cavern's entrance. Nor did Ralph.
"Yea, 'Zekiel," the last-mentioned said, "we may now sleep a day and a half without waking."
They—Ralph, 'Zekiel, and Mahmoud—were lodged in a chapel of the ancient faith. A representation of Sul Minerva was carved in the rock above the altar.
Balthasar was busy stabling the mules, taking the bales from the tired animals' backs, hobbling them, and giving them fodder in the big open space in the inmost heart of the caverns—the scene of curious and horrible heathen rites in the days of long ago.
Soon Ralph, his head on a soft bale, was sound asleep, to wake only when the sun was high in the heavens outside. The storm has passed for the time, but heavy clouds were racing up from the south-west, and as the travellers looked forth from their queer caravanserai they could see the clouds breaking in the distance and blotting out the landscape.
Mules and men alike were weary from their forced marches of the previous day, so Ralph decided not to continue their journey till day-dawn the following morning.
But as the day wore on it was doubtful if a start would be made even then. The delayed storm broke in great fury, sweeping in the direction of Kayusi.
Ralph sat watching at the cavern mouth.
Zobb had gone off to spy out the land and to see if there were any signs of Anthony Peke.
"It is high time 'Zekiel were returned from his scouting," Ralph said to Balthasar.
Mahmoud was preparing an evening meal.
"Even now he comes running and afeard," responded Balthasar, who detected the little mariner racing towards the cavern through sheets of rain.
There were neither shoes upon Zobb's feet nor smiles upon his face as he cried in dire alarm, "They come, zonny!"
"Who?" exclaimed Ralph, though quite certain in his mind who were meant.
"Peke and his soldiers," Zobb replied.
"Have they got Uncle Roger with them?" Ralph asked, and turned to speak to Balthasar.
But the leader of the muleteers was already giving orders for the mules, who were grazing in the scant herbage about the cavern mouth, to be taken to the inmost recesses of the catacombs immediately.
"Zure, zonny, I zeed no Maizter Roger, but I wur afar off. They come quickly."
Already mules and men were disappearing into the darkness of the caverns.
"The Turkish janissaries who accompany Peke will fear to go far into this abode of the dead," Balthasar said hopefully. "They will but cluster at the cavern mouth."
"'Zides," said Zobb, "they won't have no torches wi' 'em. Zo we be safe az a zow in a zty."
Ralph was not so hopeful.
"Trust Peke to detect traces of our presence. What more likely than that the sound of a mule's neigh will betray us?"
"We will ensconce ourselves amongst the rocks, and meet our foe with a flight of stones," declared Balthasar.
"Vor they can't zhoot uz in the dark," said the tubby mariner, girding his pilgrim's skirts about his thighs. "'Zides, they bain't here yet."
At the words, however, there came to the listeners' ears the echoing sounds of horses' hooves.
Then the sound of a shouted command.
"Peke's voice, assuredly," Ralph said. But he determined to ascertain for himself if his foe was on their track.
Cautiously he crept along the beaten path leading to the cave entrance. Certainly it seemed the visitors had as yet done no more than to take shelter at the cavern mouth. He could hear the talk of the Turkish soldiers.
Then suddenly there came an English voice from close at hand.
"I tell thee, Storrs, the young varlet cannot escape us." The man who spoke had come farther into the cave with his comrade. "We have proved the party did not pass along Propontis, therefore the boy Coombe must have brought his caravan by the inland highway. As soon as this impending storm has passed we will leave this unholy shelter, and right early find Ralph Coombe, to take from him the chart which shall lead us to the Golden Globe and that which is within, Storrs my chuck."
To which the man addressed as Storrs replied, "Verily, if the nephew is as great a fool as his uncle, our task is an easy one."
Anthony Peke frowned.
"I doubt somewhat whether the man Roger is as great a ninny as he would have us believe. Howsoever, I have given Jehoikim orders to worm the secret of the journey into Cathay from out Roger Coombe's brain."
Ralph crawled nearer, listening with ear to ground for further information. There came sudden interruption. A Turkish soldier, hugging a bundle of torches, shouted for Anthony Peke.
Balthasar had overlooked the bundle of torches given him by his brother and left at the cavern's mouth.
Peke examined the torches with hands trembling from excitement—the excitement of a hunter coming up with his prey. He spoke briskly to the Turk, commending him and pointing to the trodden path leading to the interior of the cavern.
And then the three newcomers sniffed the air.
Wondering, Ralph followed suit.
Alas! Mahmoud's cooking had betrayed the Coombe company to that of the villain Peke.
Swiftly Ralph crawled back to the rest of his party, and told them the tragic news. Balthasar reminded Ralph of his suggestion to meet the invaders of their sanctuary with a fusillade of stones.
Ralph chuckled.
"I have e'en a better scheme than that, Balthasar. We'll scare the intruders. Let the ten muleteers sit each in his separate coffin, and let each at a given signal exhibit skull or skeleton limb above his coffin's edge. Verily the superstitious Turks will think the dead arise to drive them forth, and we shall score a bloodless victory, as the terms of Bonzo Qua's treaty insist."
Promptly the leader of the muleteers gave his orders, but the ten poor fellows rolled their eyes in terror at the thought, even though prepared to give their lives up for Dick Darsall or his headman.
It was at this moment that Mahmoud stepped into the breach and into a coffin. To his everlasting credit be it noted he did not take advantage of his rival's quandary. Mahmoud set an example which the muleteers followed, for had they not sworn when the good Englishman bought them out of slavery that they would descend to Erebus itself to fetch Dick Darsall out, should the devil take their master thither?
Ralph and the others hid themselves on a shelf of the gallery, where they could see all that transpired without themselves being seen.
In the coffins was heard the rattling of old bones, then a fearsome silence.
Came a clattering of many feet, hoarse shouts, and the flicker of torches; and behind the twenty armed soldiers came the calm and calculating brain of Anthony Peke. Against the twenty armed Turks and two renegade Englishmen Ralph waited unarmed with his unarmed followers. If he could not play on his foes' superstitious fears he was undone, and the project to fetch the Golden Globe from Lamayoorah was smashed at its commencement. Instead of that which is within reaching Sir Black Velvet's hands it would fall into the clutches of Anthony Peke and his master, the Spanish King. Or, to put it into language that Roger Coombe had dared to use, the Golden Globe would come to the Court of the Spanish Charles instead of to Hampton Court and the English King Henry. Tense, and ready for any emergency, Ralph crouched in the shadows.
A low whistle went through the silence, echoing among the coffins. There was a slight stirring on the stone shelves. In a trice Ralph's thoughts of tragedy changed to grins of comedy.
The English youth saw a skull rise shaking above a coffin edge. It was fitfully lit up by a torch held aloft by a Turkish soldier. The Turk nudged his comrade, and pointed. He was struck dumb with horror; he could only lick dry lips.
All eyes turned to the coffins on the shelves above—on the gibbering skulls, whose jaws opened and shut—opened and shut!—opened and shut!!
The soldiers in the rear came crowding up, wondering at the delay. But they froze into statues of terror as they saw the fearful sight of the skulls hovering over the coffins and grinning down upon the intruders.
Anthony Peke's voice was heard speaking over the heads of his mercenaries, demanding why they halted.
One soldier managed to stutter that the dead were come to life. Every Turk of them stood petrified with terror, unable to take his eyes from the skulls, whose jaws worked fearsomely enough in the fingers of Mahmoud and the muleteers.
One only of the muleteers failed in his part. He let drop his skull, and himself slipped back among the bones of his coffin.
The first soldier backed with a shriek of horror as the skull rolled towards him, but his companions, with morbid curiosity, leaned forward over his shoulders to see what trundled down the slope toward them.
On the shelf beside Ralph 'Zekiel lay purple with suppressed laughter, while Balthasar peered anxiously with the responsibility of a stage manager.
Anthony Peke and James Storrs thumped the backs of the shrinking soldiers immediately before them, but the Turks only quivered with fright and kept bewitched eyes on the coffins on the shelves. Verily it was an awesome sight to see a dozen skeletons peeping over the edge of their coffins, and dreadful to hear the bony chorus of fleshless jaws!
The rolling skull had come to a standstill, and grinned from the shadows at the soldiers' faces peering forward to see the horror. But when from the coffin whence the horror had come there was uplifted a skeleton leg, and when Mahmoud could no longer bury his talent in a nameless coffin and flung his skull among the terror-stricken spectators, then indeed was a rout, a fearful headlong flight of panic-stricken men seeking the light.
Anthony Peke, vainly striving to stay the rout, was swept from his feet and trampled on, while to the cavern roof rose a herculean roar of laughter from Zobb, unable to restrain himself one moment longer, seeing Ralph had removed the obstructing hand that kept him silent.
Magnified and echoed in uncanny fashion along galleries and passages, Zobb's laughter only added to the terror of the flight.
The Turkish soldiers dropped muskets and torches, burned each other, stumbled over each other, and vowed the dead had come to life to chase intruders from the catacombs.
Bruised, bleeding, and burned, the routed Turks gathered at the cavern mouth, a sorry spectacle. Some of them stood out in the pelting rain rather than face the horrors of the catacombs.
There were unexpected spectators of the gathering. In a side- cave were men waiting to be revenged on janissaries who had slain their comrades.
Yacoob, knowing Balthasar would refuse robber assistance, had ordered his men to shepherd his brother's caravan secretly till the catacombs of Kayusi had been passed. The land beyond was the preserve of another band of brigands, and Yacoob was most punctilious in matters of professional etiquette.
And now it had come to pass, beyond the brigands' highest hopes, that when they had but come to protect the foolish on their way, lo! Allah had delivered their hated enemies into their hands.
And the revenge cost nothing! There was not an iota of fight left in the Turkish ranks, never a musket in their hands.
The leader of the robber band had but to raise a shout, demanding surrender, and thereafter they had only to convey the cowed crowd of Turkish janissaries to the bedside of Yacoob.
Anthony Peke and James Storrs came forth last of all their party, and quickly realized all was lost.
The brigands hesitated a moment, wondering if the two men were of Balthasar's company, and in that short space of time the two renegades had sprung to horse and gone galloping off in the rain, that quickly shut them out of sight.
SO while the Turkish janissaries were taken to Yacoob's secret palace, there to join the brigand band, and Peke and Storrs escaped to Makar, where they had left Roger Coombe in Jehoikim's custody, Ralph pressed forward on his journey to Lamayoorah as the chart directed.
Following the disaster suffered by Anthony Peke Ralph saw no sign of the renegade or his agents for many a long day. He wondered if Peke had any inkling that his discomfiture was due to the young Englishman he had professed to despise. He was certain, however, that as the caravan passed on through Armenia, which was Balthasar's fatherland, no one was following them.
Balthasar seemed to be acquainted with every other person he met, and left whole droves of spies in his rear with orders to send swift posts if aught suspicious occurred; he was to be informed forthwith if Peke followed or if Roger Coombe sought to rejoin his nephew.
"I fain would have fared farther into Armenia," Ralph said to 'Zekiel Zobb, "to see the Mount of Ararat, where the Ark of Noah rested."
"But zure 'tiz all uzed up for firewood ere this," Zobb said.
Ralph laughed.
"It was not old wood for kindling I wanted, 'Zekiel. If that were my only object for travelling out of my route I certainly wouldn't want to visit the Gate of Iron which Alexander the Great built away north there in the country of the Georgians."
At length, without mishap, the caravan came to the outskirts of Kasibin, an important city shown on Frater Antonio's chart. It was here that Dick Darsall had told the Coombes they must purchase camels for the crossing of the Great Salt Desert of Khorassan.
Mahmoud was now the leader of the party, for he was in his own country, where Balthasar had not travelled. Great was Mahmoud's pride in his fatherland, wonderful the stories the Persian told. He showed Ralph the great sun-temple and the towers of silence, as he had promised on that first day when Ralph met him at Sant Sophia.
Seeing that Mahmoud had led the caravan through groves of date-palms, by river-banks where were fish to be caught in plenty, through districts where game was plentiful, and mutton and rice cost little, every one, down to the meanest muleteer, was satisfied, and Balthasar in manly fashion took second place without demur.
"I am Mahmoud," said the Persian, coming up to Ralph as they came to the city gates. "I will take thee to see my king. He very nice man."
But Ralph shook his head.
"I thank thee for thy promised introduction to thy friend the king, but it is best we continue to travel secretly, Mahmoud." And Ralph pulled his marabout's cloak more closely about him.
Zobb followed his master's example, but chattered loudly at the strange sights to be seen at the entering of the gates.
Ralph nudged his companion's elbow, and whispered: "Pray, 'Zekiel, hold thy tongue. There is one who watches us keenly." And, pulling his cowl about his face, Ralph fell to fingering his rosary.
The Arab youth whose alert eyes had settled on the incoming caravan appeared to note every feature of their disguise, counted every mule and muleteer, and took especial note of the disguised Zobb. When he caught Ralph's gaze fastened upon him he hastily decamped.
"Anthony Peke finds thee again, Master Ralph," Balthasar said.
"Zay rather, Maizter Balthasar, that Maizter Roger be a'going to join us again," cried 'Zekiel gleefully, then quickly put a finger to his tongue as Ralph frowned upon him.
"Thou must play the dumb pilgrim whilst in Kasibin, Zobb," said Ralph sternly.
Mahmoud led the way to a khan where the mules might be stabled, and where there was likewise accommodation for the human members of the caravan.
Kasibin was the centre of trading for mid-Asia at this time. Came merchants from Tartary and the Indies, from the Persian Gulf and the Arabian Sea, from the Western Turks and the Eastern Tartars; it was the meeting-place of many nations. Also in this city of palaces the Persian King had his chief Court.
After man and beast had taken refreshment Ralph went forth to attend to the purchase of the camels necessary for the next stage of their journey. Both Mahmoud and Balthasar were with him. Zobb was left to take care of the muleteers, with strict orders to remain dumb. The inhabitants of Kasibin were none too friendly to Franks, and it would doubtless have gone hard with Ralph and Zobb were their disguises penetrated by the men of Kasibin.
To Ralph's alarm there came that selfsame Arab that had watched their entry at the city gates, and he pressed close to the trio.
The Arab bent to latch his sandal right in Ralph's path. "Raff Coom, yea?" he queried, looking swiftly into the English youth's face.
"What dost thou want, son?" asked Ralph, in Turkish—the one sentence he had learned.
The Arab, rising, answered in English. "Un-kell Ro-jer say go Khorassan road to-night. He come after."
And before Ralph could question him further the Arab had disappeared amid the crowd that thronged the bazaar.
"Why does not my uncle come in person, 'Zekiel?" Ralph asked in the seclusion of the khan.
"Zure, zonny, he knows thou wouldst throw thine arms about him, zo great would be thy joy at meetin' him again. An' thur's no knowing but what 'Zekiel Zobb ood dance a hornpipe. He'm careful, be Maizter Roger. Maybe he be prisoned in thiccy town. Thur's no knowin'."
But Ralph had fears that Anthony Peke was on their track again; and, deciding to do as the Arab bade, took precautions.
Up to the last moment of departure the anxious youth hoped for a message from his uncle.
"Why does he not write, Mahmoud?" he queried.
The Persian had made desperate efforts to find some trace of the Arab or of Roger Coombe, without success. "Mastaire Coombe he not put on paper Englise words—very bad. But he come, I tink, to-night."
Ralph had divided the caravan into two parties. He and Mahmoud were to go first with two of the camels and half of the muleteers and mules, while 'Zekiel and Balthasar were to follow with a like equipment.
"If we fall into a trap, 'Zekiel, thou and Balthasar must avoid it, and, departing from Kasibin another way, seek the hidden city of Lamayoorah with the chart about thy body."
"But, zonny, thinkest thy old Zobb ull desert thy corpse?" Zobb queried tearfully.
"There is little danger to my life or to Uncle Roger's till Peke has got the chart, 'Zekiel," declared Ralph. "But once the secret of the way is known to Peke he will not scruple to put us Coombes out of the way."
"The zecret zhall not come out, zonny," said Zobb, tightly hugging his paunch.
Though Ralph did not know it, he set out on Lambkin's back under the beady eyes of the Arab watching from an upper storey.
Mahmoud rode one camel while the other bore stores and waterskins.
Zobb and Balthasar were to follow with the rest of the caravan at daybreak, a meeting-place being decided upon by Mahmoud.
The first stage of the journey was along a pleasant road over an extensive plain. There was no moon, but it was a night of stars.
Along the highway at intervals were gardens and estates defended by mud walls and night-watchmen. Groves of date-palms and gardens of luscious fruit, pomegranates, pears, quinces, peaches, and pumpkins were frequent. All were guarded, for the Karaunas, or Tartar half-breeds, were active robbers in this part of Persia.
At that time of night there were few travellers on the road. A post on fleet camel, a country cart drawn by hump-backed cattle, cantering horses whose riders had muskets slung across their backs—every one Ralph scrutinized in the hope of finding his uncle in disguise. And he was equally prepared to sight the harsh features of Anthony Peke.
At a lonely part of the road a posse of horsemen rode forth, and Ralph's heart beat fast as he sat solemnly on Lambkin telling his beads. Was this Peke's band?
But the Karaunas, casting envious eyes on Ralph's baggage, desisted from plundering the holy marabout. They rode sadly away, bowing reverently to the holy man they took Ralph to be.
The robbers looked for other victims. For did they not know that he who robs a marabout will suffer eternally? They thought the holy man was proceeding to the mosque that stood on a hillock a mile farther on the road.
Soon the little building came in sight, a Mussulman roadside chapel. Ralph's eyes were fixed on the hillock, for he thought he saw a camel and rider swiftly seek its shelter. As Ralph and Mahmoud approached the camel came from behind the mosque—towards them.
The camel knelt, the rider dismounted.
Surely that lean figure could only be Roger Coombe! Yet the man was dressed as a Mussulman trader.
The rider limped towards Ralph, flinging back the hood that nigh shrouded his features. The face was half concealed by a bandage.
"Ralph, lad!" he cried.
A moment later Ralph was in his uncle's arms!
GREAT was the delight of uncle and nephew at their reunion. Yet was Ralph so fatigued by the anxieties of the day that his uncle would neither tell nor hear tidings till after Ralph had slept. So on the following morning, while they waited for Zobb and his party to arrive, Ralph recounted all his adventures since Roger's disappearance in Constantinople.
How the merchant adventurer laughed as his nephew told of the discomfiture of Anthony Peke in the catacombs of Kayusi!
"Ye did right well to achieve so peaceful a victory, thou, Mahmoud, and the skeletons. Little wonder 'Zekiel exploded with laughter!"
"If I mistake not here comes the little mariner!" Ralph exclaimed, as a cantering white donkey came in sight, on its back a rotund little person garbed as a pilgrim. "Zobb and Balaam!"
"Is Balaam the donkey?" queried Roger, laughing.
"Yea, Balthasar and I bought the brave little beast in the bazaar at Khorassan yesterday. We thought it fit steed for a pilgrim out of Pera. 'Zekiel was delighted, and when the donkey neighed and nuzzled in his robe he dubbed her Balaam on the spot. I asked Zobb why he so named her. 'Coz zhe talks,' says he. 'But thou hast muddled the story of Balaam and the ass,' says I, chaffing him. 'Zhe's Balaam,' says he, set upon it. 'Then thou must needs be the ass,' says I. 'Maybe,' says he, solemn enough, 'but I do tal 'ee zhe's Balaam.' So do not forget, Uncle, that the approaching donkey is Balaam."
Strangers, had there been any present, would have seen a tubby little pilgrim tumble from his mount to encircle the waist of a staid Turkish trader and engage in a rollicking Frankish dance on the sward of the palm-grove.
Having duly celebrated the welcome meeting, Ralph and 'Zekiel begged Roger Coombe to tell his strange story.
"Ye will recall how I went to the bazaar with Dick Darsall, seeking goatskin water-bags," began Roger, leaning his scarred and aching back, the fruits of his ill-treatment in the Black Tower, against a palm-stem. "Doubtless Dick has told ye how there came a messenger saying that thou, Ralph, desired my instant return. I hesitated, not knowing the young Turk who brought the message, and learning he was unbeknown to my companion."
"Verily he was that emissary of Peke who brought me a false message," interrupted Ralph, "the young Turk who tried to lure me aboard the Reyis."
"Mayhap, but unfortunately I was less wary than thou, Ralph. I was wholly deceived by the messenger using that private sign of ours, the clicking together of finger and thumb. How our foes learned of it I cannot guess, unless that arch-spy Anthony Peke became aware of it. He is verily versed in espionage, seeing he plays spy for Spain and spy for England at one and the same time, if Black Velvet may be believed. However, I made the rash mistake of following my unknown messenger. Swiftly he led me by narrow alleys and back-streets, saying that he would the sooner reach Dick Darsall's house. But instead of leading me thither, the villain brought me to a dark doorway where an ambuscade was laid for my undoing. Too late I saw that I had been fooled. A scimitar hilt laid me low, and even now my wound is not healed of that blow which laid me senseless."
Ralph and 'Zekiel cast compassionate glances at Roger Coombe's bound head, then bade him continue his sad tale of treachery.
"When I came to myself I was a prisoner in the foulest gaol out of hell, whose horrors I care not to recount to ye," Roger continued, shuddering at the memory of his days of misery in the Black Tower; and he went on to describe how Anthony Peke had sought to wring the secret of the Golden Globe from him.
"Zure, but the villain zhall zuffer vor his wickedness to my brave maizter," asserted Zobb, looking very different from the devout pilgrim he was supposed to be.
"Hard to deceive is that Spanish spy of knavish tricks," continued Roger Coombe, "and so provided with pelf that he can bribe Suliman the Magnificent his own self. But I proved to the villain that my death could not avail, and he set himself to capture thee, Ralph. All thy movements were watched, and he knew right soon when the caravan set out for Asia."
"But he lost our trail at Uskudar, Uncle Roger," Ralph said gleefully.
"Verily he did, seeing I was a drag upon his movements, for I was weak and ill from my captivity when he took me out of the Black Tower. Yet he insisted that I should be taken with him, clad in nought but my prison rags and chained to his saddle-bow, lest I escape."
"Balthasar learned of thy sad plight, Uncle Roger," said Ralph.
"However, I was glad that my weakness should delay the pursuit, for, remember, I thought you were ahead of us, Ralph," continued Roger Coombe. "Moreover, my wound broke out afresh, and at length, seeing he did not come up with thy party, Ralph, Peke set it down to my hampering their progress. So, tiring of delay, he left me, fettered as I was, in charge of a creature of his at Makar. Peke continued along the shores of Propontis, not knowing thou hadst travelled by the inland way, Ralph, while I fell to studying the Jew Jehoikim, who was my gaoler. I found that Jehoikim was well acquainted with Dick Darsall, and thereafter my escape was assured. Gold was the talisman which would open the way of escape. Also I feigned to confide in Jehoikim, revealing the supposed route I would take to Lamayoorah. With this latter information the Jew planned to appease Peke when the renegade found I had fled. Jehoikim's cupidity would have sent him adventuring had he been a younger man, but, doubtless, he has contented himself with the gold that my missive to Dick Darsall procured. It is my confident hope that ere this Anthony Peke has gone on a wild-goose chase for the Golden Globe on the robber- infested plains of East Tartary. Jehoikim freed me from my chains, connived at my escape, and made of it yet another source of gain. A young Arab servant of the Jew awaited me and changed my miserable rags for the disguise of a Mussulman merchant, and with the merchandise provided, in the company of the young Arab partner of Jehoikim, I have traded my way to Kasibin.... Only this last eve the Arab, who acquainted thee, Ralph, with my plans, returned to Makar with the profits we had made.... It was a wise enough arrangement, for remember, Ralph, I had no money with me, having been stripped of everything I possessed in that fearful prison.... I hope Jehoikim invented no scapegoat to account for my escape, but certain I am that the Jew himself will not suffer, and that his coffers are the fuller for my advent and my departure.... In Kasibin I waited secretly, for I knew not but that Peke might be on my track, and indeed the men of Kasibin are none too friendly to Franks, and might have imprisoned me if they had learned I travelled in disguise.... So here we meet again, my fellow-adventurers, and together we will face the Khorassan desert, which the chart tells us we fain must cross."
There were pleasant days of travelling ahead, but all too soon came the first sight of the Great Salt Desert, which proved so different from the flat land of sand Ralph had pictured.
At the last village ere the caravan entered on the hazardous passing of the wastes ahead four sturdy natives joined the caravan as guides. These men too knew more concerning the camels than was known by the muleteers out of Constantinople.
Soon the caravan came to great dunes of sand, oft three hundred feet in height, crossing each other at an angle, so that they formed a gigantic sort of spiders' web, in which the Coombes' caravan might well be likened to a fly.
The dunes had to be traversed with great care; sometimes a mule would go slipping, with its rider, down the leeward side of the mound, where the blown sand had been deposited from the sky, and from the sand-pit below the man and beast found it very difficult to clamber.
Indeed, the villagers had declared the mules were an encumbrance for a desert crossing. But neither Ralph would sell Lambkin nor would Zobb be parted from Balaam, and, seeing the villagers were anxious to hire more camels to the party, Roger did not consent to leave more than a third of the mules behind.
There were hard, flinty tracts, where the wind had blown the sand from off the ground, and over these parts of the desert the mules could travel better than the camels, who have no horny substance to their hooves, if hooves they may be termed. For these wind-swept spaces, as smooth as if washed by the waves of the sea, the native guides swathed the camel's feet with cloths.
There were treacherous marshy tracks to be circumvented, lest mule and rider sink for ever beneath the black bog. There were unhealthy hollows to be avoided, lest disease seize man and beast, wastes where miasma and malaria lay in wait for the unwary. Water lay in these depressions, but it was salt and stale and poisonous.
Bravely Lambkin bore Ralph across the sand wastes. The mule learned to tolerate the long-legged, lanky, hairy, humped creature on which Roger rode, and would briskly trot beside the camel. But nothing could induce Balaam to have aught to do with these strange new animals.
"My donkey do zay that these humped gowks be unnatural," Zobb asserted. "An' Balaam zays az how Noah ought never to have let 'em come into the Ark. Humps iz only vor old women, not vor upztandin' creatures in the prime o' life."
"But," argued Ralph, "these strange animals would never travel so far without water, save for their humps. Perhaps thou wilt like the camels better when they come to the end of the desert journey. Then their humps will be half as big, Balthasar says, and they will be sore and sad till their humps grow bigger again. The more hump the camel has the happier it is."
"We ull zee how the gowks come through," Zobb said.
And no later than the next day started the testing-time of the desert steeds.
A great wind suddenly swept down on the caravan. The air grew dark with the débris of the desert hurled into space.
Mahmoud declared there was nought for it but to camp there and then. All sense of direction was lost, and the guides, flinging themselves on their knees, called on Allah in unison. The camels, slumping down with their backs to the blast, grunted continuously, while the mules neighed with terror as the sand piled higher and higher about them.
Three tents raised by Darsall's muleteers flew into ribbons, and a couple of mules broke from their tether and bolted—never to be seen again.
It was during this fearful storm of thirty hours that 'Zekiel allowed that camels might have their advantages.
"Balaam do talk too much," shouted Zobb in Ralph's ear, as they both leaned back against the wind, while the little mariner patted the neck of his terrified donkey, to prevent its bolting. "Inztead o' just zwearin' at the wind like them camels, Balaam do znap at it az if 'twur good to eat. I do verily believe if zhe do zwallow much more zhe ull never be able to get up again vor weightiness."
But even 'Zekiel Zobb's witticisms died out after twelve hours' constant bombardment by the sand.
Wild-eyed, gasping, worn with lack of sleep, the Englishmen feared to lie prone, lest they should be buried alive in the sand and débris—only to be revealed as skeletons in the distant years! Such indeed did the Khorassan guides tell the Englishmen would be their fate if they dared to drop to sleep.
Mahmoud, ashamed at his country's treatment of its visitors, buried his face in his box hat, only to have his headgear whirled out of his grasp and sent trundling into darkness. The Persian, nevertheless, kept himself from sinking to that sleep from which there would be no awakening by repeating in endless procession the words, "I am Mahmoud."
Roger and Ralph found themselves following the example of the Khorassan guides. The desert men chanted dolefully, while the Englishmen crooned the songs of childhood to keep themselves awake. The chanting and crooning became mere croakings from dry throats, but at least it gave proof of life.
When in a minute's lull in the incessant bombardment Ralph missed his uncle's voice he felt round in the darkness—to find nought but driven sand.
"Uncle Roger!" he shrieked, amid the whistling of the wind, the droning of the Khorassans, and the squeals of the mules. "Uncle Roger!"
But there came no answering hail from his uncle, only a crawling 'Zekiel dragging a terrified Balaam.
"What's amiss!" screamed Zobb in his young master's ear.
It was Balaam who solved the mystery. She sniffed at a mound of sand round which her master had dragged her, and, scenting camel, uttered squeals of disgust, and, tugging the reins from her master's hands, rolled rapidly away. But not rapidly enough if she was to escape, for Zobb grabbed Balaam's tail, and deftly avoiding his donkey's hooves, pacified the unhappy animal.
Ralph's attention, however, had been called to the mound of sand which covered both camel and Roger Coombe.
Had not Ralph clawed frantically with bare hands at the sand which was building a tomb upon his uncle's body, Roger Coombe would have slept to his death.
By the time the sandstorm had died down the human beings were little superior to the beasts they owned. The men were nigh imbecile for lack of sleep and nourishment. There had been no time to prepare food; they could only cling to life with both hands. Much of their clothing had been torn from their backs, and what little remained upon their scratched and bruised bodies was in ribbons.
Mahmoud and the Khorassan guides bowed devoutedly to the sun, which presently appeared, looking like a mere lamp in the haze.
"I wonder not now that men worship the sun," Roger Coombe said, as he watched them. "Maybe they bow to the Maker of the sun, Ralph. 'Tis an example to us to thank God He hath brought us through alive."
And there on the desert sand the two Coombes, joined by Zobb, knelt to give thanks for their deliverance.
Following which act all three fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion.
It was a quiet and beautiful evening when the Englishmen came back to consciousness. They could scarce credit what Balthasar told them—that they had each drunk a cupful of water he had given them; neither of the three had any memory of having drunken.
One of the muleteers was found dead, a bruise on his forehead publishing the fact that he had been kicked by a mule that had escaped at the height of the storm.
Much of the baggage had been scattered to the void. The muleteers, however, were able to recover some of the goods, whose presence was denoted by big heaps of sand.
Mahmoud, to his huge delight, sighted his box hat in a clump of cactus, and for days afterwards was pulling spines from various portions of his person. But he had his hat! Balthasar was nearly blind, his sound eye being swollen badly from the bite of some insect. The camels were none the worse for the experience, but, in addition to the mules which had bolted, scarcely one of the remainder had escaped without bruised knees or other injury. Neither Roger nor Ralph had suffered from direct hurt, but they were utterly exhausted, and scarcely able to drag themselves on to their beasts of burden.
In sorry plight the caravan came to the oasis where the empty goatskins could be replenished, and all could satisfy their thirst to the full, though discretion was necessary, not to drink too much at first, the Khorassans told them.
Not long after the edge of the desert was reached, and before long the Coombes came to a clear-flowing river, which made of the desert-land only a dreadful memory.
Before the travellers, showing up in blue outline against the evening sky, lay the pleasant land and distant mountains of Balkh.
Thither the chart directed the Englishmen to go.
WERE it a journal of travel which is being here writ much might be told of the land of the Persians, not only of desert journeys, but of pleasant rides over fertile plains, where grew fruit and corn and vines.
For many weeks the Coombes travelled onward as the chart directed, while Anthony Peke, misled by the false information gleaned by Jehoikim, lost himself and his party in the land of the Eastern Tartars.
"Soon we shall reach the pleasant land of Balkh, where we will rest a month," declared Roger Coombe to his nephew.
"It seems centuries since we left the capital city of Suliman the Magnificent," said Ralph as he rode beside Roger. "Soon I must lay aside the disguise of one holy man for that of another, as Dick Darsall counselled."
"Yea, Ralph, we are leaving the lands where Mohammed's religion holds sway for those countries where the law of Buddha is followed. 'Zekiel also must change his attire. It is scarcely fitting that a pilgrim out of Pera should seek Mecca in Ladaki, that western province of Cathay whither we are bound."
It was many months since the caravan had set out from Constantinople, and the season of refreshment in the pleasant highland of Balkh was necessary to the health of the company, and for the final preparations to meet the perils ahead. The little force that was to penetrate into Western Cathay could retain only the hardiest of the mules and muleteers; the weakliest men and mules were to await the return of the Coombes at Balkh. The camels had been sold as soon as the desert was passed. Fresh stores were purchased from the kindly folk of Balkh. So one night Ralph and 'Zekiel were converted from Mussulmans to Buddhists, and no local people saw the marabout change to a lama, the pilgrim out of Pera become a beaming monk of Cathay.
"One thing is certain, 'Zekiel. Folks are likest to ask thee to clown it rather than to act priest," said Roger, laughing aloud as he put the final touches to Zobb's disguise. "Be careful to cultivate a more serious expression, more fitting thy profession, 'Zekiel. See how thy young master is practising his part!"
Ralph was seated opposite a mirror, studying his own face, drooping the corners of his mouth, solemnly rolling his eyes and putting on more brown stain where his skin had worn white. Anon he rose, paced solemnly to and fro, testing the sway of his robe, and noting the fold flung over his shoulder.
"Zure az me name be 'Zekiel Zobb, I'll try an' forget it. I ull be Lama Roundface inztead. But of a truth, Maizter Roger, these zame zkirts be main meddlesome, an' how I be going to walk up mountains wi' 'em cluttering up me legs, blamed if I do know!"
Thereupon Roger Coombe showed his servant how the robe might be tucked between his thighs and changed into a useful pair of short hose.
Mahmoud was showing signs of great fatigue, but nevertheless, he begged to be allowed to join the expedition into Cathay.
"Thou art Mahmoud," declared Roger, with due solemnity. "Who else is there to whom we can entrust our base camp, our place of refuge to which we can return from the terrors of the mountains and the snows?"
"There is no one," declared Mahmoud, staring hard at Balthasar. "Therefore Mahmoud will guard your haven. He alone can do it."
So it was that Roger and Ralph Coombe, Ezekiel Zobb and Balthazar, with six muleteers, set out for Bascia, taking with them Lambkin, Balaam, and eight mules, and leaving Mahmoud in charge of the refuge camp, with the rest of the caravan.
Tier upon tier rose the mountains in the northern sky, peak after peak flamed gold with the coming of the morn. No stranger saw the Coombes set out, following the bank of a river which descended to a fertile plain, all violet and indigo till the sun lit it up as it had already lighted the mountains.
"When we see Mahmoud again, Uncle Roger, we shall bear with us the Golden Globe," Ralph said.
"It may be so, Ralph," allowed Roger. "With our shield or on it, as the old Spartans used to say."
The merchant adventurer, inured as he was to hazard and peril, realized how tremendous was the task before them: to penetrate a land ringed by mountains, to discover a hidden city where Englishmen never yet had trod, to enter unarmed a monk community where men might disappear and no one dare to question why, to take away from that lamasery a treasure of incalculable value, which was to be given to them at the whim of an ancient stranger who might be dead, and who, if living, might repudiate the promise made to Frater Antonio.
"We are mad and besotted to come on such a rabbit-brained fool's errand, Ralph!" Roger cried.
"The madness is in the Coombe blood, Uncle Roger. Was not my father known as Cathay Coombe, and did not this thy brother die during his last Cathay voyage? Spite of what thou sayest, Uncle, tell me, is there another spot on this planet where thou wouldst rather be than here on the threshold of adventure, seeking an unknown land?"
"There is no other!" exclaimed Roger Coombe, his eyes aflame. "Englishmen have that in their blood that drives them forth to find new lands, that makes them adventurers ever. Life is given us to venture with, and we can know that whenever the end comes the God of all good adventures will welcome His sons Home.... But see! Yonder is a castle which may well have been built by the Great Alexander his own self."
The "castle" however, proved to be nought but a fantastic jumble of rocks, standing at the head of a defile penetrating into the heart of the hills.
For three days the adventurers alternately rode and walked through that gloomy defile, ever trending upward.
"Are we to spend the rest of our lives in climbing, Uncle?" Ralph panted, as he dragged a patient Lambkin after him.
'Zekiel merely grunted, all his energies centred on hauling Balaam round a rock that the donkey objected to pass.
"Never shall we pierce these mountains," wailed Balthasar, as the whole caravan came to a stop, and every one frowned up at the stupendous heights that now shut in every horizon. "See! 'tis the prison of dead souls." And he pointed to a bat which fluttered from out a cave and was gone as quickly as it came.
"Nay, Balthasar, these must be the bad-lands of Badakstan," corrected Roger, laughing. "Rather than dead souls we are likest to meet live robbers."
"Zartain zure, 'Zekiel Zobb ood rather vight wi' wild men than tame ghosts," said the little sailor of Watchet as he fended off a bat that flew in his face.
It was just at that moment that there came an intimation that the caravan was about to be attacked.
A stone hurtled through the air and struck Lambkin's flank. The mule reared. Ralph was almost flung from his saddle.
Every one was watchful—waiting.
The animals were all a-quiver. Balaam neighed in terror.
Roger Coombe was the calmest. But even he held his hands above his head to show he was unarmed. "Travelling amongst primitive peoples, it is always safest to go unarmed," he had said more than once. "The sight of weapons but provokes others to display weapons in rivalry, and that is the beginning of war, which brings misery to most."
But Roger's philosophy would seem to be faulty, for a great stone struck his upraised arm.
"It came from yonder cave!" Balthasar cried, pointing to a circle of black in the grey cliff-side to their left.
"Show no fear," said Roger calmly. "File steadily past the cave."
This time it seemed as if Roger's philosophy were sound.
All the mules and muleteers passed the cave mouth without further hostile demonstration. There was no movement or sound perceptible. Roger Coombe would have doubted Balthasar's power of observation but for the evident fear shown by the mules, who snorted in terror as they filed past.
Every one had gone by the eerie hole in the mountain when Ralph, seated on a quivering Lambkin, looked back.
It was fortunate that he did! He ducked just in time to avoid a great stone that hurtled over his head.
Lambkin sprang forward.
Whereupon came strange sounds from the cave's interior, hoarse chatterings that sounded scarcely human.
The mules were frantic with fear, and promised to stampede. Balthasar was ubiquitous, coaxing and pacifying the frightened beasts into something like order. The muleteers seemed scarcely less terrified than their steeds.
Roger and Ralph brought up the rear.
There came a fusillade of stones, which fell short. But still no sign of the foe. The noise from within the cave increased; and suddenly the mouth of the cave seemed to move bodily.
Into the light moved a chattering, gesticulating mass of savage apes!
Ralph could not resist a shriek of laughter at the uncouth sight. But it was too much for Lambkin's nerves; the mule took the bit between his teeth, and moved swiftly away from the unclean beasts.
"Singly we need not fear them, Ralph, but in battalions they may overwhelm us all and annihilate the caravan!" cried Roger. "Ride as hard as thou canst, and I will follow. Unless we can outdistance the brutes we are undone."
The rest of the caravan were out of sight by this time, but suddenly Balthasar came spurring back towards them.
"The bridge ahead is broken down," he cried, "and we cannot ford the raging torrent of the river."
At the same time the road in the Coombes' rear swarmed with a horde of savage apes, which came leaping and screaming towards the Englishmen.
THE apes advanced, picking up great stones as they came.
"Ride carefully!" cried Roger Coombe. "If a rider is unhorsed the foul brood would smother him ere he could regain his feet."
Roger's mule, however, did not allow its rider to carry out his policy of care. It could no longer endure the proximity of the unclean creatures.
In spite of Roger's efforts it bolted after its fellows held up by the broken bridge. Balthasar's mule followed its companion, and the Armenian, it must be confessed, showed no inclination to hold back his mount.
Lambkin, it will be remembered, had cantered swiftly past both Roger and Balthasar, but now these two riders passed Lambkin.
Ralph was left to face the horrid crew alone—alone save for Lambkin, who pawed the ground and snorted with the rage that overwhelmed its fear.
The apes advanced in one solid mass, vengeful, relentless, and muttering. Ralph could not repress a shudder as he noticed the missiles they carried in their hairy fists. If one only of those stones should strike him his fate was sealed. Should he flee after his uncle? Or should he guard the rear, and give Roger time to solve the difficulty of the broken bridge?
Lambkin answered the questions. With a sudden bound the angry animal sprang towards the clustering apes. Fearing the thundering hooves that pounded the rocky path, the apes dropped their missiles and turned about, to scramble for safety towards the cave's interior.
But Lambkin was among them before they could move far, kicking, pirouetting on hind-legs, plunging with forefeet on soft brown bodies and horrid, hairy faces. Long, lean arms shot out, clutching at Ralph's legs. One powerful ape clambered to Lambkin's hindquarters. A hairy arm encircled the startled English youth's neck.
Ralph desperately dug an elbow into his assailant.
The hairy arm relaxed its strangling hold, and its owner fell back among its screaming, scrambling companions.
Lambkin recalled all the tricks of his youth, and did most things short of standing on his head. His hooves brained more than one of the hairy brutes, which sought to pull the brave beast to earth.
The horrid monsters, howling with rage and terror, swarmed back into the darkness out of which they had come, leaving six or seven of their number dead or wounded on the track. Then did Ralph dig his heels in Lambkin's flanks, jerked the reins, and urged his mount to catch up with the rest of the caravan.
At the bridge-head Roger was seeking to allay the terror of the mules, who stood trembling at the river's verge, fearful of the danger in their rear yet not daring to face the raging torrent in front.
There was little bridge remaining; the centre portion had been swept away.
"There has been a thunderstorm in the mountains," Balthasar declared, "therefore is the river fuller than it is wont to be. A spate has swept the bridge downstream."
"What dost thou propose to do, Balthasar?" Roger asked.
"Build a raft from the fragments of the bridge," promptly replied the Armenian, "and ferry our baggage across."
Balthasar thereupon busied himself tethering the mules, directing the muleteers to make their beasts lie down, securing their bridles with stout stones.
"What if the apes follow us, Balthasar?" Ralph questioned as he rode up.
"They won't," replied Balthasar, but amended his answer as a hairy scout came hopping into view. "Build a sangar across the path to shield us and our steeds."
The next hour was a pandemonium of activity for the Coombes and their caravan. The muleteers chattered excitedly as they collected stones to build a loose wall across the track to defend it against frontal attack, the mules neighed in terror, the torrent roared amid the rocks, and the apes, growling and grumbling, gathered in force, but feared the four-legged foe whose hooves had thudded in such tragic fashion among them.
Anon the apes collected in small groups, and seemed to confer. As if they decided on a plan of campaign, Ralph saw some of their number clamber to the cliffs on each side of the sangar. Those on the road poured a volley of stones upon the sangar itself.
"The foe in front don't affect us overmuch," Ralph declared, "but if the brutes fling their stones on us from above we are in hard case."
The two muleteers assisting in the defence of the sangar anxiously watched the climbers.
At the bridge-head Roger and Balthasar were striving to make a raft without tools and with very little material. That which they finally built was little better than a collection of loose logs lightly bound together with strips of hide.
Lambkin was roughly tethered with the rest of the mules, out of range of the apes' missiles. But the mule wanted to join its master in the defile. Lambkin was highly incensed at the inhospitable conduct of the apes. With a wrench, a heave, a roll, and a spring the valiant mule found its feet and rose free from encumbrance.
Then, with a look at Balthasar that seemed to say, "Leave the affair to me," Lambkin cantered back to its young master.
As the apes saw their enemy approach they chattered loudly. Those who had climbed the cliffs and were about to attack on the flank decided to return and confer with their companions as to how best to combat this reinforcement.
Lambkin, as if sensing the fear he had inspired, trotted up to the wall of the four-foot sangar stretched across the track, and confidently surveyed the ape army.
The apes shrunk back, many of them having tasted the hardness of Lambkin's hooves. A shudder went through the hairy host as a stone, nuzzled by the mule from the sangar top, fell with a crash on the track.
A second stone crashed to the path.
"Prithee, brave Lambkin," Ralph said, stepping up to his mule, "make not a breach in our defences."
Ralph afterwards asserted that Lambkin enticed him to the saddle; in any case the English youth leapt to Lambkin's back the better to see what the apes were about. Whereupon the mule, withdrawing from the wall a space, suddenly leapt over it. The apes fled pell-mell, disappeared into the depth of the cave as though they had never existed. And that was the last the Coombes saw of the ape army, which might have overwhelmed them but for the valiant Lambkin.
At the bridge-head the raft-builders had almost accomplished their task, and reckoned to cross the river before dusk. To do that, however, they found that the river, rather than the raft, came to their assistance.
Even as Roger and Balthasar worked the turbulent torrent was growing quieter and diminishing. Rapidly the river drained off into the lowlands; the cloudburst in the mountains had done its worst, and the stream dwindled till it resumed its narrow bed.
"Verily, 'tis a heartless business to put a bridge here to delude poor travellers," said Roger Coombe, as he watched the mules wade fetlock deep, to the opposite bank.
But Balthasar made reply.
"A bridge may not be needed now, Master Roger, but there are times in the year when the snows are melting in the mountains, and then neither man nor beast can ford the river."
That night the caravan camped in a pass where four walls were all that was left of an ancient camp. At midday they sighted the distant city of Bascia, whither the chart directed the Coombes to go.
A torrential storm of rain sent them to some sort of shelter in that unpleasant town. For the night they hired quarters in the chapa khannah, a primitive sort of inn consisting of one large hall.
A surrounding wall, in which there were alcoves, supported a leaky roof. Erected in the centre of the inn was a platform of brick, some six feet in height. Animals slept on the bare ground, human beings tried to sleep on the brick platform.
The Coombes found fifty or more travellers in furs and filthy clothing huddled in the bedroom, their figures fitfully seen by the light of the butter-lamps hanging in the alcoves. It was difficult to find even sitting room without treading on a traveller.
Balthasar and his muleteers promptly cleared a space for the animals, and then spent the rest of the night defending the space against other headmen of wild and weird appearance, Tartars and Cathayans and fierce men of the hills.
Roger and Ralph fell into an uneasy sleep of sheer exhaustion; Lambkin, Balaam, and the eight mules sank to blissful slumber on the filthy floor.
When Ralph came to consciousness in the early morn Balthasar was still arguing his rights with the savage headmen, and the English youth wondered if the discussion had continued all night.
Said Roger as the caravan set out in morning sunshine: "Verily, 'twere better to be washed by the rains of heaven than be fouled by the filth of a mid-Asian khannah. As soon as we reach river or lake, Ralph, let us all, men and beasts, wash ourselves."
To which proposal Ralph heartily agreed, though the water in which he dipped anon was cold enough to make him cry out.
Fortunately the days ahead were fine and sunny, and the caravan came to the lovely land of Kesmur, where were many beautiful streams and plentiful supplies of food. The Kesmuris ate no meat, being faithful Buddhists, but there was much cooked rice and many strange dishes. One half of the inhabitants lived in monasteries, and the other half appeared to provide food for their lamas.
Ralph and 'Zekiel, bearing their begging-bowls, were bound to accept the offerings of the faithful, in keeping with their disguise.
"It scarcely seems just, Uncle Roger," Ralph remarked, "to take the food they bring us. Look at that old dame."
An ancient dame had tottered out of her hut with a dish of boiled rice flavoured with pepper-leaves and ginger. 'Zekiel accepted the offering with a pious expression on his rubicund face, proceeding to gulp a mouthful on the spot, for he was very hungry.
"Me inzides be afire!" he shouted as the food went down, and he went purple with the pepper spicing.
The old lady bowed contritely; she feared the good monk who spoke such strange Cathayan must be displeased with her dish. She tottered back to her hut and came forth with another platter.
"I vear to eat more, zonny," said Zobb as Ralph came up to caution him to be silent. "Last dish wur vlavoured wi' vire, maybe thic one comin' may be zpiced wi' earth or water."
"Thou must not refuse her offering, 'Zekiel," Ralph responded sternly, but turned aside to hide a smile; he smelt what was coming.
This time the dish was flavoured with fish paste, both ancient and odorous. Ralph moved to a distance for fear the good dame should offer him that which it was impious to refuse. 'Zekiel, by dint of pinching his nostrils while he ate, caused the second dish to disappear, telling Ralph afterward that the taste thereof was vastly superior to the smell. And, after that, to please the old soul, he bolted the first course in minute instalments. Ralph was greatly relieved when Roger gave orders for the caravan to hasten onward; he feared whether he might be required to placate the pious by swallowing unsavoury dishes.
Seven days were the Coombes traversing the kindly land of Kesmur. For two whole days they drifted on a great raft down the broad bosom of a beautiful river. Silver and lilac were the waters smoothly gliding between emerald banks, where grey-green willows drooped.
Long was the memory of those two days to remain in their minds. Nought but hardship and privation lay in the journey ahead.
The raft came to where the river ceased to be a gentle, beautiful thing. It changed to a rude, rock-strewn torrent.
Ralph looked from the kindly river he was leaving up to the stern, snow-capped mountains towering high in the eastern sky. Somewhere there lay the pass of Chong-an, which would lead to the Cup of the Crags, as the chart called the valley out of which ran the Way of Darkness into the hidden city of Lamayoorah itself.
"THE way grows steeper and still steeper," said Roger Coombe, as he stood by a swaying bridge of twisted vegetable fibre that hung over a torrent three hundred feet below. The human beings crossed by the rotting bridge one by one, while the animals had to take their chance in the waters below.
Lambkin bravely led the way, and was swept off its feet, but found a landing-place a short distance below, where two of the muleteers were already in waiting. Balaam and the other mules followed. All reached the other side save one, who was swept away by the current to the rapids round the next bend.
For three days since leaving the Kesmuri river they had been climbing; and Roger now announced there was more to come.
"Verily, Uncle, it is to High Asia we go," Ralph remarked. "We clamber to the very roof of the world."
'Zekiel Zobb was mopping his brow.
"Zure I be runnin' to gravy. But I zware if I wur to ztop ztill I zhould freeze to a nicicle."
It certainly was cold, and the travellers looked forward to making purchases of warmer clothing in the bazaar of Baltal, whither they were bound.
Balthasar came to report that the animals were across the torrent—all save one—and the caravan could shortly proceed.
It was soon after this that the adventurers made their first acquaintance with some very strange creatures.
"Look, Master Roger!" cried the leader of the caravan, pointing to some pack-animals approaching. "Yonder are the steeds of the jinns."
Now, the jinns, according to Balthasar, were beings inhabiting these lonely passes of Higher Asia. They were partly human, partly celestial, and mainly infernal in origin—in which circumstances these "steeds of the jinns" must needs be curious creatures.
The herdsman driving the strange beasts was a native of the district, but could speak Kesmuri.
Balthasar, at Roger's instigation, asked the name of the creatures, which bore some resemblance to a pony, but more to the shaggy cattle of the mountain country.
"They are tzos,"* the herdsman said. "Only these low- built animals can face the rigours of the mountain-passes. Thy mules will founder in the snow, hamper thy journeying, and die of cold."
(* Commonly known nowadays as yaks.)
Such was Balthasar's translation of the stranger's words, and within a very short time the Coombes were to learn how true was the prophecy.
The chart led the seekers through a region of whispering pines and solemn firs to an altitude where masses of snow filled all hollows and crowned all summits. With the coming of the snow came also the silver-birch trees and foaming torrents from the mountains above. Up to the great gorge of Gagangir, which a turbulent river had carved out of the limestone cliffs, the travellers trailed wearily, giving their mules a rest.
At Sonamargko they camped beside the small serai, but, recalling the lesson learned at Bascia, they did not venture inside the travellers' resting-place. Only the severest storm would have driven the Coombes into the vermin-infested serai. They were content to remain in the tents that now made their nightly shelter.
At Baltal there lay before the adventurers the main gate into Western Cathay, the Chong-an Pass, where Dick Darsall had been thrust back and tortured by the emissaries of the Great Khan.
Round and about the Baltal there was gathering a great concourse of people.
"Learn what this may mean, Balthasar," directed Roger, wondering what the great gathering might portend.
"These are Hindoo pilgrims who have come from far south" was the news that Balthasar brought back to the Coombes' camp beside the foaming river. "They seek to gain merit by making the pilgrimage to Amarnath. 'Tis right fortunate for us."
"How so?" Roger asked.
"Because many of the pilgrims are wealthy and desire mules," Balthasar replied. "Many men want mules, few want tzos. We shall do good business."
On the following morning Roger and Ralph, conducted by the Armenian, went to the bazaar, leaving 'Zekiel to guard the camp. With the Englishmen went the mules. They were to be sold, and tzos bought in their place.
Zobb, however, would not part with his donkey, Balaam, nor would Ralph consent to sell Lambkin.
There was much competition among the Hindoo buyers; there were no other mules on the market. The Coombes were astounded at the price given for the mules.
"Verily, thou wilt be able, Master Roger, to buy a great herd of tzos from the Guzars," Balthasar declared.
The Guzars were the nomadic shepherd tribe who traded in the strange mountain pack-animals, and they would gladly have given a hundred tzos for the price the mules had fetched. But Roger was content with eight of the beasts, and gave so good a price for them that the Guzar chief insisted on the purchaser accepting a Guzar youth as part of the price.
Roger hesitated.
"It's too much like buying a slave," he whispered to Ralph.
The Guzar chief grew suspicious.
"Of a truth," he said to Balthasar, who was acting the part of buyer, "thy master is the first Mussulman merchant I have known to hesitate over a gift. Is he demented?"
"Nay," replied Balthasar, "'tis that wicked young lama who turns the merchant's thoughts to religion and so spoils a brave trader." And Balthasar pointed to the disguised Ralph, who had no idea what the Armenian was saying about him. "But I will accept the slave if my master will not have him."
Roger Coombe, however, knew he must act up to his disguise, so accepted the present of the Guzar youth, and gave the chief a return present in the shape of a bronze bell from Benares.
Yussuf, the Guzar youth, came willingly, and proved of great help in the days ahead; he alone of all the caravan was versed in the ways of the strange tzos.
When the Coombes and Balthasar returned to camp with the tzos 'Zekiel held up his hands in horror. He had a great dislike for the black, big-barrelled creatures, with their long horns and bushy tails.
In the afternoon there was a second visit to the bazaar necessary.
"Zartain zure I had better come wi' thee, Ralph," said Zobb to his young master. "Or ye ull be bringin' back zome more walkin' nightmares like them tzos."
But Roger bade 'Zekiel strictly guard the camp while the three—himself, Ralph, and Balthazar—went to the bazaar. "The muleteers and Yussuf will attend to the tzos, but I want thee to be on thy guard lest emissaries of the Great Khan nose us out. His spies may send tidings to the Pass of Chong-an, and we shall be stopped, as Dick Darsall was stopped. And, remember, there is ever a relentless Anthony Peke on our trail. It is likely that ere this he has learned that I duped him, and, deserting the false route, seeks the real one."
Many were the purchases to be made in the bazaar. There were heavy fur coats to be bought, leather helmets with ear-flaps to prevent frost-bite, furred buskins that reached to the thighs, woollen gauntlets that came to the elbows, besides the ordinary requisites of a party about to journey into the unknown.
"It is fitting that we should be well provisioned for our travels," Roger said, "seeing there may be none to purchase from until we enter Lamayoorah itself. Also we must not forget to take handsome presents to the Bonzo Qua, who, we hope, will give to us that wonderful Golden Globe we have come so far to find."
"And forget not, Uncle Roger, that which is within," added the romantic Ralph. "We want that also."
"Verily we do, seeing Sir Black Velvet desires that exceedingly," Roger agreed.
They had come to a great concourse of people on the outskirts of the bazaar. The half-naked pilgrims were chanting a hideous refrain in honour of the goddess Kali.
"Hara! Hari! Hara! Hari!" rose the tedious chorus, till Ralph grew sick of the dismal sound. In fact, he grew somewhat muddled and careless.
Came a nudge at his elbow.
"Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" said a voice in his ear.
"Er—what sayest?" Ralph queried, in English. He turned, to see a Buddhist monk beside him; then realized his fatal mistake. "Hum—Er—Padme Manee Om!" he responded, having been told of this universal text from the Buddhist Scriptures, but getting it muddled in his brain as he responded.
Whereupon a ghost of a smile flickered on the lama's bland face—if lama he was. He ducked, and lo! when Ralph looked for him the lama was gone.
"Verily, Uncle Roger," whispered Ralph, "I was speaking with a monk and he disappeared like the bursting of a bubble."
"Hush! Watchful eyes and ears are about us," cautioned Roger Coombe, and fell to examining the graven images from Ind in a trader's booth.
"Hara! Hari! Hara! Hari!" boomed the fanatical chant from out a crowd of saffron-robed pilgrims parading on the confines of the bazaar.
"Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" chanted Ralph, determined not to betray himself again, and counting his beads as a true lama should.
To his uncle and Balthasar he left the purchases. And soon there was a string of porter-boys bearing big baskets on their heads. These baskets were crammed with the goods that Roger had bought, and these were presently brought back to the camp. When Ralph saw a sly lama whisper to one of these coolie boys his fears were not lessened, nor was he satisfied with the explanation given by the boy to Balthasar that the lama was giving his blessing.
Both Roger and Ralph were certain they were being spied upon. But by whom?
"We will start in the earliest dawn to-morrow," Roger decreed. "Then may we pass from Baltal unperceived."
"'Tis best so for reasons of travelling," declared Balthasar. "For as the sun rises to the sky the snow melts on the pass, and there is no journey so wearisome as that of plodding through soft, deep snow that is slowly thawing."
It was therefore still dark when the caravan set out to cross the Chong-an. Over the frozen track the Coombes mounted higher and still higher.
"We go forward one step to fall back two," declared Ralph, with a laugh. "If we persevere we shall presently find ourselves again in Baltal, Uncle Roger."
"Yea," agreed Roger. And he clawed at his nephew's fur coat as its wearer slipped, and started to slide downhill. "Yet let not thy descent exceed two feet at one time."
Balthasar came up to Roger.
"I think there are people ahead of us on the pass."
"Maybe," agreed Roger. "For most of the merchants who are aware of the rigours of the Chong-an will be afoot early to take advantage of the firmer foothold of the early morn. But thou dost well to be wary, Balthasar; on this day's journey hangs the fate of the whole adventure. I pray we may not be turned back, as was Dick Darsall."
"Those ahead are not merchants," said Balthasar. "They are those who watch and wait."
"We go on," said Roger tersely, and wondered if it might be the Chikan who had tortured Darsall that waited at the frontier outpost of Ladaki, at the next turn in the Pass.
Had that smiling lama in the bazaar at Baltal been an agent of Anthony Peke?
And then, as the caravan went climbing upward, came the glory of dawn, lighting peak after peak with rosy light, while the pass itself still lay in the darkness of night.
"Day cometh!" cried Roger.
"And so do the foe," echoed Balthasar. "They are there."
"Who are they?" Ralph asked.
"The liers-in-wait," Balthasar said solemnly. "They will turn us back from seeking the treasure."
"IT is useless to flee, worse to resist, best to go forward," said Roger Coombe stoutly.
And the merchant adventurer led the way to that selfsame spot where Dick Darsall had been turned back by the emissaries of the Great Khan.
A single monk showed himself. He stood with leather ear-flaps projecting from his head, like some gnome of the mountains, red robe reaching to the snow of the track, arms calmly folded on his breast.
He spake words in an unknown tongue; they sounded not unfriendly, and might have been words of welcome. Slowly he unfolded his arms, and raised them above his head, as if in benediction, all the while keeping his great luminous eyes bent upon the Englishmen.
While the Coombes hesitated to take the next step 'Zekiel Zobb leapt from his donkey's back and decided to return the compliment of his fellow-lama. He too slowly raised his hands, as if to bless. Whereupon there came from out the seclusion of the pass more monks—more and more and more, till they formed a living wall across the track.
Roger Coombe, dismounting from his tzo, advanced without sign of fear, nodding pleasantly at the austere faces fronting him. Ralph, handing over Lambkin to the care of Balthasar, supported his uncle on the right hand, 'Zekiel on the left.
The trio of Englishmen, disguised, be it remembered as Mussulman trader and Buddhist lamas, advanced till they were forced to come to a standstill by the living wall of lamas opposing them.
There was no shrinking in that unarmed army; unblinking eyes in round, Mongolian faces stared at the Englishmen who could go no farther unless they resorted to physical violence. Zobb, indeed, did jostle a small lama, who merely smiled, and was supported bodily by the solid mass of monks on each side of and behind him.
The leader monk's great luminous eyes fixed themselves on the little mariner. Zobb fell back as if he had been dragged by an invisible hand.
Then the leader lama spoke.
A young monk stepped out of the ranks of red-robed lamas.
"Englishmen," he said, and the words were English, spoken with but the slightest trace of accent, "the Bonzo Qua expects you."
The Coombes were dumbfounded, though delighted to learn they were not in the hands of the Great Khan or of their rival, Anthony Peke. Their coming was expected! And by him whom they had journeyed so far to find. Yet how had he learned they were on the way? Was Peke ahead of them again?
"Three may come," the English-speaking lama said. "The others may not pass."
"I need all my servants." said Roger Coombe stoutly. "Also my tzos bear gifts for the Bonzo Qua."
The English-interpreting lama turned to his leader. The leader spoke to the ranked monks.
Without warning a whole swarm of red-robed lamas swept swiftly past the astonished Englishmen, surrounded the baggage tzos, and quickly took the bales from off the animals' backs.
Balthasar forcibly protested.
The lama-leader stalked solemnly up to the Armenian, and stared into his eyes, without uttering one word.
Balthasar's flow of words dried up, and ceased altogether. A frightened look came into his usually placid face. He turned and walked away—back down the pass.
With one scared look at the red-robed leader the muleteers and the Guzar youth, Yussuf, followed the Armenian. And what was still more strange to the watching Englishmen was that the tzos, and even Lambkin and Balaam, followed the deserters.
"Black magic!" breathed 'Zekiel, looking at the solid wall of flesh before him, then back at Balthasar, as though he would have followed the headman of the caravan.
"Ye will come to the Bonzo," came the interpreter's voice, breaking the eerie silence.
"Who told the Bonzo we were on our way, interpreter?" asked Roger.
"He saw thy caravan in the mirror, Englishman chief," the interpreter replied.
"Which is no answer at all to me," said Roger to Ralph.
But no further questions could be asked at that moment. The leader of the lamas and the interpreter turned toward the wall of lamas, beckoning the Englishmen to follow.
A lane opened in the ranks. The leader and his interpreter passed through without deigning to turn to see if the Coombes and Zobb followed. Roger Coombe followed the lamas' lead, Ralph and 'Zekiel went after Roger. The living wall closed in behind them.
Down the Pass of Chong-an, back to Baltal, went Balthasar, Yussuf, the muleteers, and all the animals.
Henceforth the three Englishmen were alone in the land of the Western Cathayans, that forbidden land where foreigners might not come.
The leader and the interpreter of the band of lamas went on upward through long ravines of snow where the wind whistled and howled without cessation. The Englishmen could do naught but follow. Behind them came that silent band of red-robed monks, cutting off their retreat.
After tramping till their legs ached and their temples thumped, at length the three Englishmen reached the summit of the pass. There they would have rested, but the leader lama strode steadily onward.
So the Coombes and Zobb walked on and on, like men that walk in their sleep. The lamas, natives of that exceptional altitude, did not seem to tire.
The lama throng came to where a stream, born of the snows above, foamed downward from out a side-valley between banks of snow, and at the spot where they stood flowed beneath a bridge of snow sixty feet in depth. Without realizing the fact, the strangers crossed the stream by the snow-bridge, and there left the main track for the side-valley. In that windswept place a halt was called, and a meal of rice was eaten.
What was Ralph's surprise when there was given him a portion of baked mutton! Three portions had been brought by the lamas ready cooked, and these were warmed up for the Englishmen over a fire of bortsia twigs. Certain of the lamas attended to the feeding of the party, just as others acted as bearers for the goods that had been taken from the tzos's backs.
It was a desolate place to which the travellers came that night. A low wall of crumbling stone enclosing a square of beaten earth, with queer conical topes at the angles, was the only shelter from the snowy blast. There was no roof, and as Ralph lay and tried to sleep he did not wonder that Balthasar believed in the jinns that he said haunted these regions.
A feeble fire flickered in the enclosure, and about it lay the huddled figures of the lamas in their red robes. No sort of watch was kept; there was no thought in the lama mind that their guests would seek to escape.
"Zure az me name be 'Zekiel Zobb," came a voice in Ralph's ear, "I have had enough of this mummery. Look at them corpses lyin' thur. By day they bain't much better, walkin' zilent az the ztars. I be going back to Balaam."
"I'm going forward, 'Zekiel, to Lamayoorah and the Golden Globe."
Zobb looked wistfully down the pass, shuddered at the hooded figures grouped about the fire, then cast compassionate glances at Ralph.
"An' I be comin' to help thee carry back thiccy Golden Globe," he asserted.
In three minutes Zobb's snores were rising to the skies, causing more than one monk to sit up and stare uneasily about him. For though the Western Cathayans claimed to be Buddhist, the Coombes soon learned that their Buddhism was but a thin veneer over the devil worship which was their heritage before ever the Buddhist missionaries from India visited them.
On the following morning the sombre march was resumed, and such travellers as they met prostrated themselves, and remained with foreheads touching the snow till the red-robed throng had passed.
Through long ravines, by roaring rivers, on narrow ledges of rock oft cut in the cliff, over rotting timbers above sheer precipices, they went, above them great mountains with their mantles of snow.
That night they slept at a Cathayan fort whose twenty defenders vacated the fort for their monkish guests.
Deep into the monk land of Ladaki they penetrated the following day. There the country was more civilized. Everywhere were strange walls that seemed to serve no purpose. When questioned the interpreter said under his breath, "The holy walls scare away the devils."
Looking closer, the Coombes found the walls covered with Buddhist inscriptions.
At noon there was a halt, when rice was again handed out to the lamas and mutton served to the Englishmen. About them were avenues of ruined chortens, as the interpreter called them, pyramidal structures with a shelf round them at a man's height.
From one of these shelves Ralph took a curious mud object, like a pastryman's pie.
"Baked mud-pie?" he asked the interpreter.
"Nay, it is a holy lama," replied the interpreter, bowing reverently to the baked mud that Ralph almost allowed to drop from his hands.
The English youth promptly put the mud 'lama' back in its niche, and later learned that all holy lamas in that part of the world were burned at their death, and their ashes were then collected and made into these revered mud objects.
"I think we near the hidden city," said Roger to Ralph as the evening came. "I should like to look at our chart, but it is safest in the belt about 'Zekiel's body."
"Dost think, Uncle, this place where we walk is the Cup of the Crags shown on Frater Antonio's chart?"
In every direction, look where they would, the Coombes could see nought but mountain walls with jagged summits.
"Yea, 'tis like to be the place thou namest, Ralph. And if it be so we must soon come to the Passage of Darkness which passeth betwixt the Two Red Buddhas."
When night fell no halt was called, as hitherto had been the custom. The tireless leader went on with the interpreter, who carried a torch to light the path.
Two lamas, one bearing a torch, took their place on either side of Roger Coombe, two more escorted Ralph, and yet another two ranged themselves alongside Zobb, who showed disapproval by digging his elbows in their red-robed ribs.
Behind came a solid mass of monks, bearing torches, and for the first time using their voices in the solemn Buddhist invocation: "Omne Manee Padme Hoom!"
It was a fearsome journey in the darkness by a tortuous, rocky way, and even Zobb was glad of his conductors' help. They hauled his tubby body over great boulders, pressed him close to cliff walls on seven-inch ledges, where precipices opened at his feet, and bundled him across rifts in the rocks where he could not have stretched.
It was a very nightmare of a journey in that Cup of the Crags, with that monotonous chant, "Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" for ever dinning in the Englishmen's ears. It was such a place as Balthasar would have sworn was haunted by jinns.
Indeed, Zobb cried out in huge delight, "Gadzooks! I've caught a jinn!" but he failed to hold the vampire bat, whose foul body he had grabbed.
The path narrowed till it ended in what seemed a solid wall of cliff.
The leader and the interpreter appeared to melt into the rock.
"Black magic, I do tal 'ee!" cried 'Zekiel.
"Follow, Englishmen," came the interpreter's voice, though he himself was invisible.
Roger detected a slit of light in the darkness ahead. And his two guides squeezed him between two red slabs of upstanding rock carved in the semblance of monks.
In, past the Two Red Buddhas, the Englishmen went. They stood in a vast cavern.
The lama leader took a wooden staff that lay upon the ground. With it he struck a stalactite as stout as a man's thigh.
A musical note boomed away into the dark space overhead.
"Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" the lamas chanted in unison.
Like the distant chirping of small birds from out the vast vault overhead came an answering: "Omne Manee Padme Hoom!"
The portals of the hidden city of Lamayoorah had been reached.
"IF thic be the gate to the Golden Globe, zonny, zure az me name be 'Zekiel Zobb, I ood rather go home wi'out the bauble," the little mariner said to Ralph.
The Englishmen were staring upward into the dome of darkness within the cavern whither they had been brought.
"Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" rose the chant of the monks from the floor of the cavern.
"Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" came the response from out the vault overhead.
There was a shouted order from the leader. Every lama raised his torch high in air.
The Englishmen strained their eyes to see as much as they might of that unknown Passage of Darkness, which started by the Two Red Buddhas and ended—where?
The leader of the lamas beckoned to Roger Coombe, then pointed to a stone stairway, slanting upward into the darkness, cut into the sides of the cavern. Without doubting that the disguised Englishman would follow, the leader led the way up the steep steps.
Roger, preceded by the interpreter, followed; and there followed Roger a lama with a torch.
"Come, Ralph Coombe," said the interpreter.
The English youth came next, and he in his turn was followed by a torch-bearer.
There was no command for 'Zekiel to essay the stairway, but whatever the little sailor might say, he had no intention of deserting his masters; no Golden Globe could compensate him for the terrors of the way into the city of black magic, but no terror, be it ever so big, could fright him from Ralph's side.
"If thee vind a demon clawin' thee, Maizter Ralph, just thee zing out for thy old Zobb!" he cried as he trod the first of the steps up which his masters had led.
There was no protection, no rail to prevent the climber of the steps falling to the ground below, nor were the steps broad enough to permit two to go abreast. Close to the cavern wall pressed the Englishmen, the uncertain light of the flickering torches their only source of guidance.
It was a weird procession that wound its way upward; like some gigantic caterpillar suspended in blackness, it seemed to Ralph.
"Verily this city of Lamayoorah lies hidden on a mountain- top," quoth Roger over the head of the torch-bearer betwixt him and his nephew.
But Ralph did not answer, only lurched sideways to the void.
"Dost grow dizzy, Ralph?" cried Roger, in sudden alarm. "We rest awhile!" he shouted to the interpreter, who was steadily following the lama leader, and seated himself on a stone step—which action must needs bring the procession to a halt.
The leader turned, noted that Ralph was supported by one of the lamas, and shouted an order in Cathayan. The procession of monks sank to sitting posture on its heels, as was the habit of the lamas of Cathay.
The three Englishmen were in sorry plight, but the Cathayan lamas, hardy men lost in contemplation, did not notice how nigh to collapse their captives were. Ralph's world seemed to circle about him like a teetotum. Zobb, never apt at retaining the sandals on his feet, had lost his footgear in the Cup of the Crags, and had been walking for some time leaving footprints of blood in his rear. Roger Coombe had long since come to the end of his physical strength, and it was only his indomitable will that kept his body erect.
The halt, however, reinforced their failing energies, though all too soon the interpreter shouted at the direction of the lama leader, "We go on."
"G'on! ... G'on!! ... G'on!!! ... G'on!!!!" The ghostly echo encircled the dome overhead till the ear no longer recorded the uncanny sound.
So the procession wound in single file up stone steps which seemed interminable to the Englishmen. The lamas, however, showed signs of neither fatigue nor fear, pressing onward toward that distant chant of "Omne Manee Padme Hoom!" from out the vault of blackness overhead.
"See, Uncle, the singers are in sight!" Ralph cried, pointing upward to a shelf of rock far overhead, where were figures that seemed no bigger than ants.
"I see that which looks like the Milky Way of the heavens," Roger replied, straining his eyes upward. Yet, as he climbed onward by the winding path, he added, "The constellation shows separate stars." And anon, "I perceive 'tis an assembly of lamas bearing torches."
But 'Zekiel's verdict was more crude: "'Tiz another crowd of apes, zonny."
Certainly the choir of Cathayan monks, fitfully revealed by the smoking torches, their large mouths forming circles as they sang, with the flaps of their hoods standing out from their round heads, like enormous ears, looked something less than human.
"Who is the gorgeous creature in the midst?" Ralph asked his uncle over the shoulder of his torch-bearer.
But it was the interpreter who replied.
"The Bonzo Qua awaits his guests."
And so the Coombes first met that marvellous man who was more than mortal—the ancient lama who had promised Frater Antonio that the Golden Globe should be theirs who came from the white man's country unarmed to fetch it.
Qua was reclining in a golden palankeen, midst rare trappings, clothed in a robe of gilt, with a towering tiara of gold and jewels upon his head. The figure was shrunken, chin nigh touching his knees. His face, like yellowed parchment, was seamed and lined. But set in that parchment-like face were wonderful eyes, in which there gleamed the wisdom of the ages—brilliant eyes, which were wide open and bright as any youth's. And above the eyes was a dome of forehead so high as to be almost grotesque.
"Welcome!" said the Bonza Qua in excellent English as his first visitor, clad as a Mussulman trader, was conducted to his palankeen. "Welcome, Roger Coombe."
Roger stared before he answered the salutation. The ancient penetrated his disguise! Welcomed him as an old acquaintance!
"Welcome, Cathay Coombe," said Qua, as Ralph, in his guise of Buddhist lama, took his uncle's place.
Ralph bowed, somewhat relieved to find that the Bonzo was not all-knowing, sometimes made mistakes.
"Cathay Coombe, holy monk, was my father's name," the English youth said.
The Bonzo Qua fixed his eyes on Ralph.
"Pardon me, Ralph Coombe. It seems but yesterday thy father sailed our Asian seas."
Ralph, astounded at the old monk's knowledge and at the eyes which seemed to read one's mind, retired, to allow the bow-legged mariner out of Watchet, now disguised as Buddhist monk, to take his place.
"Faithful slave of the Coombes, I permit thee to enter the holy city of Lamayoorah, that thou mayst wait upon thy masters," the Bonzo said, and turned to his attendants, giving an order in the Cathayan language.
Whereupon a line of lama torch-bearers preceded the palankeen, which swayed after them, borne on the shoulders of a dozen men. Behind the palankeen a triple row of lamas formed.
"Ye will follow, Englishmen," the interpreter said.
Seeing that the Coombes and 'Zekiel were packed between two groups of lamas, they could do naught but follow.
Sandalled feet went slop-slopping across the sanded floor, and all the lamas took up the Buddhist invocation: "Omne Manee Padme Hoom!"
"The temple of the hobgoblins, I should call this," said Ralph, and indicated alcoves where stood horrible figures lit by the flaming torches of the Cathayans, who looked no better than goblins themselves.
Frightful faces grinned from out of the shadows; faces with sharp teeth and red, glittering eyes that Ralph learned later were huge rubies; faces with scowling features and eyes of gleaming green—and these, Ralph heard, were emeralds; faces with huge, pointed ears and lantern jaws; faces showing every mark of crime, cruelty, and sin; while the bodies were deformed beyond description.
"Certes! The Cathayans are demonists at heart, Ralph," Roger said, turning his eyes from the evil idols. "These lamas practise the black arts, an I mistake not."
One by one the red-robed monks passed through an oblong portal of light lying ahead, and soon uncle, nephew, and sailorman could look forth upon a wonderful panorama.
The Englishmen were standing on a platform of mountain surrounded on three sides by higher mountains covered in snow. Below the platform on which they stood the cliffs dropped sheer to a rock-strewn valley, where a river foamed. The platform, Roger computed, must be a quarter of a mile in width, while on either side, from cliff to cliff, it must stretch for a full half-mile. In the distance the river seemed to pass through the mountain; there was no visible outlet.
"'Tis indeed a hidden city!" declared Roger Coombe.
In the mountain at their back there were countless galleries and flights of steps.
"These lamas do live inzide the mountain, zartain zure," said Zobb, who was more interested in men than in scenery.
"Thou art right!" Roger replied.
On the open platform were no dwellings, no building besides stone altars and huge idols. But a hundred doorways faced the platform, each of which, Ralph found, could be barred by stout stone doors. A very network of passages penetrated the mountain's vitals.
"Come to my palace, ye Coombes," came the quavering voice of Qua, breaking in on their survey of the mysterious monk city.
Whereupon the palankeen was borne toward the cliff-dwellings through an avenue of chortens. And the Englishmen followed, gazing with interest at the strange sights about them.
"Few of those who see us, Ralph," remarked Roger, "think of us as white men, like Frater Antonio. Doubtless they take us for emissaries from a distant monastery in another part of mid-Asia, while I am thy Mussulman guide."
"Or maybe, Uncle, they think us messengers from the Great Khan," suggested Ralph. "One thing I know—that deadly dull chant of theirs will echo in my brain till—"
"Till thou hearest again the traffic on London Bridge, zonny," interpolated 'Zekiel Zobb.
"What thinkest thou, Uncle, of the Bonzo Qua?"
They were conversing in whispers.
"When I look in those luminous eyes of his," said the merchant adventurer, "I who have travelled farther than most men, feel but a babe in knowledge. He is superhuman, that ancient man; I pray he may be well disposed toward us, Ralph."
"The Bonzo smiled kindly enough on me," Ralph said.
"But there are many evil faces amongst these monks, as must needs be when men worship demons, nephew. We shall not go hence without a sore fight with the devil's followers."
The words had been whispered, but the interpreter, who was several paces ahead, came back to their side.
"Especially," said he, "will the fight be sore with the arch- demon Zwang."
BONZO QUA asked few questions of the Coombes; he seemed omniscient. The Englishmen were astounded at his powers in the realm of thought.
"These Eastern magicians are aware of natural laws at which we of the West scarcely guess," declared Roger Coombe. "Qua is doubtless pure in his search for knowledge, but there are others in Lamayoorah who dabble in evil, and if ever I saw an evil face I saw one when I caught sight of Zwang."
"How didst know it was Zwang thou sawest, Uncle?"
"Because, Ralph, the interpreter pointed him out to me. The dabbler in the black arts was standing between two idols of repulsive appearance. Believe me or not, Ralph—I can scarce credit it myself—but, though it was in broad daylight, not one hour ago, Zwang vanished before my eyes. I stepped towards him, a sudden fog came before my eyes, and, when I compressed my lids to clear my vision, lo! when I looked again in that second Zwang had completely disappeared. I thought it may be my fancy, but the interpreter had first seen him, and, as far as I could gather, was well aware that the magician could make himself invisible."
"I sit with the Bonzo again this eve," said Ralph. "I will question him concerning this wonder."
Bonzo Qua smiled when Ralph raised this query.
"Tis a small wonder that of which thou speakest. The Venetian traveller witnessed such an one in this selfsame monastery of Lamayoorah, and Messer Marco Polo wrote of it in his book."
Bonzo Qua occupied a series of apartments cut out of the living rock of the mountain. Grey carpets out of Persia and the Indies completely covered the ground, even as tapestries of Cathay covered the walls. Carpets and tapestries would seem to have been specially woven, for all bore the Buddhist invocation Omne Manee Padme Hoom. Solid gold idols of Buddha occupied niches in the sandstone walls, and butter-lamps hung from a ceiling which was coloured with a luminous red paint.
The aged abbot of the monastery had taken a strange liking to Ralph, and in the English youth's company grew less like a god, became more human. When Ralph, at his uncle's instigation, hinted at a possible date for their departure, Qua adroitly changed the subject.
"I would thou shouldst remain in Lamayoorah for all time," said Qua, as he lay on a golden couch with grey trappings at the door of his principal chamber, looking out over the valley to the snow mountains beyond. "I could depart from this body if I knew thou wouldst rule in my stead, Ralph Coombe."
Ralph could not repress a laugh.
"Pardon me, reverend sir, but I cannot imagine myself abbot of this holy monastery."
"Yet thou art fitted for the honour when thou hast purged thyself of the flesh," responded Qua, his great luminous eyes looking at the long streamers of rosy light beyond the mountains where the sun set. "Mine eyes have looked into thy soul, O young Englishman, and I see an untarnished jewel, as yet uncut, but one which when polished is fitted for the holy life."
Ralph blushed beneath his yellow stain.
"I pray, talk not so," he pleaded. "Call me not good; there is none good save One, and any good thou seest is but a reflection from Him.... Certes! I could not live the life of reflection as thou dost, O Bonzo Qua. We English find holiness in action as thou dost find it in contemplation. We English cloak our deepest desires with a mantle of indifference. Whereas ye holy ones of the East despise the desires for action and—But I cannot say all I mean.... What age art thou, O Qua, and hast thou ever come to England?"
The Bonzo smiled sadly.
"Ye English cannot endure to look within your own soul.... I was born in the lamasery and have never left this valley," said the ancient Qua. "I saw no Englishman until I saw the face of thy uncle, though I talked with the Venetian, Marco Polo, of whom I told thee."
"That cannot be," cried Ralph, "for he lived in the days of Kublai Khan, two hundred years and more ago!"
Qua smiled gently. His large eyes sparkled.
"Those who possess the Golden Globe possess the secret of life."
Ralph sat erect.
"Then that which is within is—"
"The Elixir of Life," said the Bonzo solemnly. "So wonder not, doubting Englishman, that I have lived in Kublai Khan's days, nor that I hesitate to give to the West the secret so long guarded by the holy ones of the East."
Ralph stared astounded at the ancient lama, wondering if what he claimed was but the fantasy of a dotard. Yet, if the Golden Globe held the secret of the immortals, it was no wonder that a diseased King Henry of England and an ambitious King Charles of Spain desired it beyond all else!
"Thou didst ask whether I had visited thy England," continued the Bonzo. "And thou dost ask that question because I speak thy tongue so readily. From the Phoenicians and from later travellers to thy tin coasts I have purchased manuscripts from thy monasteries of England, from Malmesbury and from Glastonbury. Also our magicians have made wax tablets."
"Wax tablets? I do not understand thee, O Bonzo."
The ancient man pointed back into the room, where stood a square chest. From out the chest protruded a handle.
"Turn that handle," Qua directed.
Wondering, half afraid, Ralph gingerly did as told. Whereupon there came the clicking of springs, it might be the revolving of a wheel. Then a squeaking voice, as if from far away piped:
"When Tom came home from labour,
And Cis from milking rose,
Merrily went the tabor,
And merrily went their toes."
Ralph dropped the handle with a shudder.
"'Tis one of the old songs of my country," he breathed. "Verily, this is black magic, that a voice be imprisoned in a wooden chest!"
"Turn the handle again," ordered Qua, "and thou shalt hear the voice of one of thy poets recorded on our cylinders of wax."
The English youth was mortally afraid, but was fascinated by the mystery of it all. He turned again the handle of the magical box.
"A voice loud in that light to Lucifer cried:
'Princes of the palace prest undo the gates,
For here cometh with crown the King of all glory!'"
Ralph could stand no more. He dropped the handle, and returned to sit at the feet of the wonder-working Qua.
"So they who drink from the Golden Globe live for ever?" the English youth queried, deliberately turning his mind away from the wonder-chest which imprisoned voices.
"Nay, I said not that they live for ever," exclaimed the lama. "The elixir within will not for ever preserve the body; it is an elixir that for ever keeps the mind from decay. And always the mind can keep the body from decay longer than the seventy years that we Cathayans are wont to live.... But the body decays somewhat, and one tires of it, and I, Qua, would fain leave this body for another, unless I attain at length to the blessedness of Nirvana. It may be that if I tear my last desire from out my soul and give thee the Golden Globe I may pass to Nirvana."
"There is a king in my island home of the West who much fears death," Ralph said. "I much wish we could depart with the Golden Globe thou hast promised, to take it to our king."
There was a silence that to Ralph seemed interminable. At length Qua spoke.
"Ralph Coombe, thou shalt see the Golden Globe this night, and to-morrow ye Englishmen shall set out for your West land." The Bonzo grew fierce—defiant. "No longer shall my will be thwarted by the insolent Zwang!" he cried.
"Who is this Zwang?" Ralph asked.
"He who seeks to follow me as Bonzo of this lamasery. I trusted him. He distorted the mirror of his soul so that I could not read it, he wrested from me my secret knowledge, and he intercepts the waves that should reach my ear alone."
"I do not understand," said Ralph. "Thy words are strange."
"I cannot hope to explain, but this I will tell thee, seeing it concerns an Englishman, one named Anthony Peke."
"Anthony Peke!" cried Ralph. "Tell me of him. He is our deadliest enemy. He too seeks the Golden Globe."
"Seeks it with arms," added the ancient lama, his eyes fierce with rage. "And therefore he shall never have it, though Zwang admit him by the Way of Darkness.... And now, Ralph Coombe, get thee hence. Prepare thy uncle for the journey of to-morrow."
With this startling news Ralph ran to the apartments which the Englishmen were occupying.
"We leave Lamayoorah to-morrow," he whispered in Zobb's ear.
Ezekiel Zobb's jolly face was overclouded, and he sat at the door of the apartment, bearing a stout pilgrim's staff in his clenched fist.
"We leave, zayest thou? Dead or alive?" he asked mournfully. "Zwang would zend uz vorth az corpzes."
"Zwang! Zwang! I tire of this Zwang," cried Ralph angrily. "What dost thou know, 'Zekiel, of this Zwang?"
"Thiz much!" retorted Zobb, and pulled out a dagger from the robe of his disguise. "The red-robed varmint came hither az zoon az I zat down and Maizter Roger had gone to zleep. I never knew then who he wur, an' we got vriendly like. He talked the gibberish of thiccy red-robed monkeys, and I kept noddin' me head. Then he gives me thic knife here, points to wur thy uncle zlept, an' draws his dirty vinger across his throat, zo! That raised my anger! I zeed wot the dirty varmint wur after—he wanted me to murder Roger Coombe. I jumped up to zling the villain in yonder pool, but zomehow me eyes got mizty. An' when I looked round, lo! Zwang wur gone. I ran and thought I zaw him disappear into a zort of chapel. I wur vollowin' when a couple of monks wi' curved zwords zprang in me path. 'Zwang!' cries one, az if he wur namin' the devil. 'Zwang!' cries t'other, az if I wur a vool to chaze zo holy a lama. 'The very varmint I'm after,' zays I.... But my dagger wurn't vair odds against their two zcimitars, zo I coom home, lest thur be more Zwangs on thy uncle's track."
Zobb would have continued, but a feeble voice came from off the couch within the chamber.
"Ralph! Ralph! Come to me quickly."
Ralph ran to his uncle.
Roger Coombe was looking strangely ill, in spite of his brown stain; his eyes were bloodshot.
"I am ill; I think it was the rice I ate at midday. Has it not caused thee discomfort?"
"I ate it not," laughed Ralph. "I ate all the dried fruits, but I was never fond of rice, and it is under my couch untouched, an I mistake not."
"An' I didn't like the look o' mine, nor the look o' the monkey who brought it, zo I tipped it in the—ztreet," Zobb said.
"Where Zwang would see it!" exclaimed Ralph, a sudden suspicion crossing his mind. "Zwang, thinking uncle has not eaten of it, thinks to compass his death by enticing thee to murder, 'Zekiel."
Ralph ran to find the rice he had concealed under the couch. He passed swiftly to the door with the untouched food.
"See, 'Zekiel, thy rice also lies neglected, even by the famished pariah dogs!" he cried, looking forth.
Which was passing strange, seeing there were many pariah dogs in Lamayoorah. No monk nor true Buddhist would take the life of any animal, so there were hordes of the ownerless, hungry dogs on the prowl for food.
Ralph had no sooner deposited his platter at the doorway than a lank cur leapt to eat.
The starving pariah gulped a mouthful of the cooked rice, sniffed suspiciously at the remainder, ejected the mouthful, and fled, howling dismally.
"The rice is undoubtedly poisoned," declared Ralph, stepping hastily to Roger Coombe's side. "And my uncle has eaten of it."
Roger Coombe had slumped back on his couch, unconscious.
"If Maizter Roger do die," said the furious henchman, "zure az me name be 'Zekiel Zobb, Zwang zhall die too."
"Uncle Roger, wake, I pray thee!" cried a distraught Ralph. "Anthony Peke comes, and I cannot face him alone."
"YE three Englishmen will come to the temple of the Jade Buddha," came the voice of the interpreter from the threshold of the Coombes' lodging on the platform of Lamayoorah City. "Say never a word to any one. I will fetch ye at midnight."
And the Cathayan was gone as swiftly as he had come.
"Our visit is to be a secret one," commented Ralph, as he sat by the couch of Roger Coombe, who had somewhat recovered from the effects of the poisoned rice. "Needs must our going forth on the morrow with the Golden Globe be secret also, lest Zwang circumvent us."
The merchant adventurer was not his usual daring self.
"We may go," he said listlessly, "or we may not go."
Yet before night came Roger Coombe had collected his scattered senses. Bravely he bore himself before his nephew, though he doubted whether his strength would endure. The brunt of the venture must rest on Ralph's shoulders.
During the last minutes of that day came the Cathayan to guide the Englishmen to the secret meeting in the temple of the Jade Buddha. Not one word would he speak, tapping twice upon their door. When they had opened to him he greeted them with a finger held to his shut lips.
The four sallied forth into a night of pitch darkness. Clouds obscured the stars, and a moaning wind came sweeping down off the snow slopes of the surrounding mountains.
Ezekiel Zobb, with his wounded feet fast bound in cloth, followed, his own blithe self again.
"We be leavin' thic hidden city vor once an' all," he had told Ralph. "Thiz eve there did come to me ears the zound o' breakin' waves, zure zign we shall come to the zea zoon."
The interpreter led the way through an avenue of chortens to a highly decorated doorway in the cliff.
A giant lama in red robe stood silently on guard, almost as statuesque as the Buddha in red brick on the opposite side of the portal.
Though the founder of the Buddhist religion was represented at the entrance, within the temple the gods of the primitive cult of the Cathayans were everywhere manifest. Horrible images of grinning demons and grotesque hobgoblins hemmed in the visitors on every side, the whole pantheon lit by torches set in sconces on the walls.
Through an aisle of these monstrosities could be seen the great image of the green and white Jade Buddha, apparently carved from one enormous block of jade, but possibly composed of separate pieces cunningly interlocked. Yet, though the features that looked down out of the curling torch-smoke were benign, the base of the Jade Buddha was encircled by a green marble serpent, whose upstretched head reached to the Buddha's middle.
"The snake looks alive," whispered Ralph, in wonderment.
Green light flashed from the emerald eyes of the serpent, giving a startling semblance of life, seeming to show resentment at the intrusion of the strangers.
With bated breath the Englishmen passed along the aisle of monsters to the foot of the figure of Buddha, where the tail of the serpent trailed.
With bated breath the Englishmen passed
to the foot of the figure of Buddha.
"Ye are well come, white men," came a quavering voice through the stillness.
"It is Qua," whispered Ralph, and added, to cheer his uncle, "And the Bonzo will give to us the Golden Globe."
The pope of the monastic city was seated on a stone altar, and high above him reared the flattened head of the serpent, green and glistering. He appeared to be alone and unattended save for the interpreter.
"At length I have torn from my heart my lust for the Golden Globe," said the ancient man. "And now is my way open to the blessedness of Nirvana. Now shall ye see that which prophets and captains and kings have long desired to see—the Golden Globe!"
He had spoken in English; now he raised his voice to a thin scream, using Cathayan words. Whereupon a jade door swung back above the upreared head of the serpent, and from out the bosom of the Buddha stepped a lama clad in golden vestments.
The resplendent priest stood on the snake's head.
"Look! The Golden Globe!" Ralph cried, pointing.
In the hands of the lama, borne on a silver salver, was a sphere of gold as big as a man's head.
"The Golden Globe and that which is within!" cried the seated Qua, without as much as raising his eyes to see if his order had been obeyed.
There before the eyes of the Coombes and Zobb shone the treasure they had come so far to find.
Again the Bonzo's voice shrilled through the temple, speaking words the Englishmen could not follow.
Came a strange sound, and one that alarmed Ralph mightily. Why he knew not. It was but the slamming of a door.
"Who comes?" he cried, clutching his uncle's arm.
But Roger Coombe had much ado to retain his senses. He was leaning against a hideous idol whose protruding tongue touched the Englishman's turban. He was still ill, and only his iron determination kept him on his feet.
Zobb, however, was all alive, eyes bulging as he stared at the serpent-head platform whereon the lama of the Golden Globe stood.
"Zhall I grab the geegaw, Maizter Ralph?" queried the little sailorman. "I can climb to thic."
But even as 'Zekiel Zobb spoke the lama moved from the serpent's head—came gliding down the green coils of the curling marble serpent, the Golden Globe on its silver salver borne before him.
The Bonzo had shown no sign of fear at being alone with three Englishmen who could have killed him and seized his treasure—that is, unless he was secure in his magical powers. Certain is it that Qua could read men's souls as other men read manuscripts.
Suddenly, however, a great fear came into the Bonzo's features; he looked through the Coombes—beyond them—to that quarter whence had come the sound of a clanging door.
"Zwang!" he shrilled.
Came the sound of hurrying feet.
It was indeed Zwang!
As they looked on the face of the lama who sought to supplant Qua the Englishmen shuddered; there was hatred, murder, lust for power, in that evil monk's face.
Zwang was a muscular man in the prime of life. He shook clenched fist in the face of Qua and shouted forth words that the Englishmen could not understand.
Yet there came one word that amazed them.
"Peke" came the word in the midst of the Cathayan tirade, and again, "Anthony Peke!"
Ralph and Roger stared into the shadows behind the cursing Zwang. Each saw that he was covered by a pistol. And the pistols were in the hands of Anthony Peke and James Storrs!
"We intrude," mocked Peke in mincing accents. Then sternly, "I claim the Golden Globe for the King of Spain."
"And I claim it for England's King," retorted Ralph stoutly, seeing his uncle swaying uncertainly on his feet.
Peke laughed in derision, and Storrs joined in.
"My silly lad, thou art a dead man in two minutes," Peke jeered.
Zwang had ceased to shout; he gazed in triumph at the guns he had brought to save the Golden Globe from alien hands. Zwang's plans were deeper than the renegade Peke imagined. He had learned by magical methods, if Qua were correct, and in any case through the spies that encircled Lamayoorah around, that Peke was on his way to capture the Golden Globe. Zwang was not averse to save the Globe from out of the Coombes' hands by the weapons that were forbidden by his religion, so determined to use Peke. And afterwards—well, the Golden Globe should never leave the city of Lamayoorah!
It was Qua's voice that suddenly demanded silence. Qua rose from off the altar, the body of him weak, but a superhuman strength of will keeping him erect.
"Ye come and desecrate the Temple of the Jade Buddha with your weapons of war!" he cried in English. "I tell thee, Peke, the Golden Globe shall never be thine."
Anthony Peke laughed, but his laugh died out in a stupefied titter. He grew silent, rigid, his eyes staring at the outstretched fingers of Qua.
"Black magic!" murmured Zobb, licking dry lips.
"Weapons grow powerless in the presence of the Buddha, the bringer of peace!" cried Qua, emotion lending force to his old voice. "See about the Buddha the ugly gods of war and strife that he has tamed by his teaching. Ye men of war, ye too are tamed—helpless under my hands."
The Bonzo's words were true ones. Anthony Peke and James Storrs lowered their pistols as if they were naughty boys chidden by a tutor.
The lama Zwang was also watching Qua's fingertips.
Fascinated in spite of themselves, the Coombes stared at Qua. Zobb's hands worked convulsively, but he made no other movement.
Bonzo Qua was master of the situation. He gave an order in Cathayan. The gilt-clad lama put his fingers to a ring at the top of the Golden Globe. Thrice he twisted it.
Then he lifted the upper half from the lower.
A crystal flask of ancient workmanship was revealed.
Bonzo Qua lifted forth the flask.
"That which is within," he said, in English. "The Elixir of Life!"
Anthony Peke stretched forth a hand, struggled as though chains held him, but came not one step nearer.
Qua seemed lost in contemplation. He gazed longingly at the flask, then down at his own wasted figure.
Slowly the Bonzo moved his hand, and lifted forth a stopper from the flask.
All watched him—bewitched.
Qua let the stopper drop to the ground, then slowly turned the flask upside-down.
A green phosphorescent fluid spread over the floor, smoked in the cold night air.
Qua's glance fell on Zwang.
The Cathayan villain fell to his knees, and, crawling, came to the spilt fluid, which he lapped like very dog.
Anthony Peke, like one awaking from a nightmare, cried in a strangled voice: "The manuscript! Give me but the manuscript, ancient one, and I will give thee the wealth of the world."
For answer Qua flung the flask at Peke's feet, where it splintered to a thousand fragments.
Then the ancient fingers hovered over the Golden Globe, and from the lower half drew forth a manuscript yellowed by age.
Slowly Qua paced towards a torch flaming in its sconce.
"See, Anthony Peke, the recipe for the Elixir of Life consumes into forgetfulness," Qua said, as he held the yellow parchment in the flame.
Ralph would have run forward, but he found his limbs were powerless. He could think, but he could not move, the magical powers of Qua held him—and the others—prisoner. When the manuscript had flickered out in ash Qua returned to his seat at the foot of the Jade Buddha, making a sign to the lama bearing the Golden Globe. The top half of the sphere was replaced upon the lower; thrice the lama turned the ring atop.
All save Zwang, who lapped the dirty fluid on the floor, stood watching, powerless to move.
Bonzo Qua, now at the consummation of a life incredibly long, still dominated every one in the temple.
But suddenly, as the Golden Globe on its silver salver was placed on the altar at Qua's feet, the ancient Bonzo visibly shrank, his head sank on his chest, his knees shook.
Ralph found he could move. The spell was broken. He ran forward to assist the ancient one. Peke and Storrs tottered toward each other, smitten with a great fear.
"Our quest has failed!" cried Peke, glaring at Zwang, who had licked the last drops from the floor.
"Let us escape!" cried a fearful Storrs.
Terror of the unknown glittered in the fierce black eyes of the renegade Peke.
"We will escape while we may," he said, as he snatched at his pistol lying on the pavement.
Meantime Ralph's arms were about the dying Qua, supporting him.
"I go to the Great Peace," said the devout old Buddhist.
"Let me carry thee to thy bed, reverend sir," Ralph pleaded.
"Nay, young brother, let me die here in the shadow of Him Who pointed out the way to Nirvana.... And thou, Ralph Coombe, go hence with the Globe of Gold and that which is within."
"That which is within is spilt and burned," said Roger Coombe listlessly. He stood behind his nephew.
The ancient eyes of Bonzo Qua smiled for the last time as they looked up into the English youth's face. "Go forth—with it—and that which—is—within," he said, and turned to make a sign to the lama who bore the Golden Globe.
The torches flamed low in their sconces. All but one suddenly flickered out.
There was darkness in the temple, and the clanging of a door in a distant corner. Anthony Peke and James Storrs had gone out into the night.
"Come," said the interpreter in Ralph's ear. "The light has gone out of the shrine, and the spirit of Bonzo Qua with it."
"The Golden Globe?" Roger Coombe managed to query.
"Is in thy servant's keeping," the interpreter replied. Zobb found a leather bag containing a round object as big as a man's head thrust into his hands. "Guard it with thy life," the interpreter had said, "and follow."
Ralph felt an arm linked in his. Roger Coombe too felt the touch of a guide. There was utter darkness; the last torch was dead.
So a single file of men crossed the temple of the Jade Buddha. Only once did the procession stop, and then the interpreter had almost stumbled over a lama lapping like a dog at the dusty floor.
So Zwang was left grovelling over his spilt triumph, alone with the dead body of the Bonzo whom he would never supplant; while the Golden Globe and that which is within went on its way to the succour of England's King.
HOW the Coombes accomplished their escape from the city of Lamayoorah Ralph, and still less Roger, could never recount. In sheer darkness they were conducted by a secret way out of the temple of the Jade Buddha to the cavern in the heart of the mountains. There six faithful Cathayans, at Qua's command, were in waiting for the fugitives.
Ezekiel Zobb had but one thought—the safety of the Golden Globe that had been entrusted to his care, and which he carried in the leather bag given him by the interpreter.
It was in the afternoon of the following day that the interpreter brought the Englishmen to the rectangular turn in the pass where first the red lamas had been met.
"Here, O white men, we leave ye," said the interpreter sadly. "The way lies safe before ye to yonder town, where your friends are expecting ye. Take the Golden Globe to your king. And forget not to think kindly of Bonzo Qua, who now rests in Nirvana."
Before the Englishmen could make reply, the red-robed lamas had disappeared in as sudden a manner as they had appeared at that very spot some weeks before.
"God be wi' ye!" shouted Roger Coombe after them, and the wind carried a confused murmur to the departing Cathayans.
Ere nightfall Baltal was sighted, and Ralph, who had put his hand to his right eye in tubular shape, shutting his left eye and focusing upon a distant figure silhouetted against snow, cried, "I see the faithful Balthasar and my brave Lambkin!"
"Welcome, my masters!" cried the leader of the caravan, riding up on Lambkin. "A strange lama spoke to me in the bazaar, and told me I should find ye here."
Lambkin pranced round like any puppy, and would not be quieted till Ralph was astride his back.
"Lambkin allowed no one to ride him till this afternoon," Balthasar explained. "But then he almost asked me to mount him, as if he knew I came to meet thee, Ralph."
"Balaam ood have asked thee plain enuff," Zobb said, "if thee hadst only lizzuned."
That night there was great rejoicing in the camp beside the roaring river of Baltal. Yussuf alone was absent; he had grown homesick and returned to his own people.
"Verily I feared the jinns beyond the Chong-an would have eaten ye all," Balthasar declared. "Yet, hearing ye were on your way, I left orders to be ready for an immediate departure to Balkh on the morrow. There, if he has not grown frightened and run off, the lubberly Mahmoud awaits us."
It was three weeks before the Coombes reached their base at Balkh. They did not do so without adventure and hazards enough. Through the ravine of the apes they passed without mishap, but a band of Tartar robbers came on them one night, and would have stolen much more than they did but for the fat 'lama' who sat astride Balaam, sucking at a pumpkin and cuddling another circular shape in a leather bag. It was well that the robbers did not examine the second 'pumpkin,' or they would have found the Golden Globe.
So the treasure reached Balkh in safety.
"Doubtless," allowed Roger Coombe, "it were better for all our healths that we should stay some weeks in the pleasant land of Balkh, but there is no rest for Roger Coombe till the Golden Globe be safe in the care of Sir Black Velvet."
"But we saw the Globe emptied of its precious contents, Uncle," protested Ralph sadly. "Though I could not take one step owing to the power of Qua, I peered within. And the Golden Globe was empty."
"Yet remember the words of Black Velvet," urged Roger. "'Bring back the Golden Globe,' he said, 'and that which is within will be within.'"
"Let us inspect the Golden Globe this selfsame night," Ralph proposed.
So while strict watch was kept by Balthasar, and the rest of the camp slept, the Coombes and Zobb took the sphere of gold from the leather bag which encased it.
All three feasted their eyes on the treasure, which, Bonzo Qua had told Ralph, had come down through the ages out of the hands of the conqueror Alexander the Great his own self.
"Let me see if I can open the Golden Globe as readily as the lama did," said Ralph.
It opened readily on twisting the ring atop.
Ralph lifted off the upper portion.
Within nought met their eyes but dulled metal.
"Gutted," said Zobb tersely.
"That which is within is within," Ralph said sourly, rotating his fist within the empty lower half. He opened his hand, and, lo! his fingers felt an uneven surface—scratches—or—?
He peered closely.
"That which is within is within!" he cried in triumph.
Three pairs of eyes peered intently at the inner surface of the Golden Globe. There were characters cut in the metal.
"It reads like Greek to me," Roger said. "Yet now I know what Black Velvet meant. 'That which is within' is recorded in writing that may not be erased—the recipe for the Elixir of Life."
"He had learned from Frater Antonio that which we knew not," Ralph added. "Whilst we had learned what Anthony Peke had not discovered—that the seekers of the Golden Globe must come unarmed."
"Our knowledge but makes it more imperative that we should journey homeward without an instant's delay," Roger Coombe declared.
"To-morrow it is we shall depart," said a voice from the doorway. "I am Mahmoud."
The Persian's box hat showed at the hut entry. Mahmoud had dodged even the watchful Balthasar.
Roger Coombe laughed right boisterously.
"See to it, good Mahmoud, that all be ready for an early flitting at daybreak."
"I am gone, good master," said the energetic Persian.
The merchant adventurer grew serious again. "A king's life depends on our speedy travelling," he said.
"Yet what if the scholars cannot read the inscription?" queried Ralph. "And what if the ingredients of the elixir be not procurable in England!"
"Zartain zure I do know of those who ull journey to the end o' the earth to fetch what the zcholars do ax vor," declared Zobb, as he bundled the Golden Globe again into its leather bag.
Spite of Mahmoud's and Balthasar's superhuman efforts, however, it was midday before the fully equipped caravan set out on its journey to Constantinople. Of their adventures on the way thither we may not tell here. Enough to say that, at long length, they came to the City of the Sultan, where, at Pera, nigh the fish-market, each was warmly embraced by the delighted Dick Darsall.
"Never again did I expect to see ye," declared the quaint old factor. "The Jew Jehoikim came with the promissory note from Makar, Roger, so I knew thou hadst got that far. But I counted on the Golden Globe luring ye all to death in the mountains of mid- Asia. Only yesterweek I told Captain Jeremy Tunder to get back to England, saying ye could never return."
"Has he gone?" cried Roger and Ralph Coombe in one breath.
"Yea," responded Dick Darsall, with a twinkle in his eyes as he kept his hearers in suspense. "Master Jeremy has gone—as far as Gallipoli. Black Velvet had ordered him to await ye there for a year and a day."
"Then the Susan can take us back to England?" asked the exultant Roger Coombe.
"At sight of thee, Roger, I sent a swift messenger by boat to Jeremy Tunder," responded Dick Darsall, "and doubtless by the time ye have had necessary sleep and refreshment the Susan will be waiting at the port to enship ye." Dick drew near to Roger's ear. "Hast brought the Golden Globe?" he whispered.
"Thinkest, Dick Darsall, I should return without it!" exclaimed the adventurer, with a touch of indignation in his tones.
"I was fool to ask the question," allowed the factor. "If thou didst set out to fetch the Tower of Babel, Roger, thou wouldst not rest till thou hadst loaded up the last brick and shipped it aboard the boat bound for England."
IT was four months before the Susan came to the quay at
Blackwall.
News of their arrival was signalled from the sea, and Black Velvet was awaiting them with impatience.
"Thou hast the Golden Globe, Roger Coombe?" he cried, as he softly came aboard.
Roger beckoned to Ezekiel Zobb. Neither day nor night had the faithful little sailorman been parted from the leather bag that contained the gift of Bonzo Qua. Now, for the first time since the Golden Globe had been inspected at Balkh, the bag left 'Zekiel's keeping.
The man of the Star Chamber swiftly twisted open the golden sphere, scanned the characters inscribed on the inner surface, and was satisfied.
"All is well," said the man in black. "My king shall drink of the Elixir of Life, and shall live to rule the world, without interference of Pope or other potentate.... The Spanish Charles would have given half his kingdom for 'that which is within.'"
"Yet did his agent, Anthony Peke, refuse to take the Golden Globe when it was within his grasp," Roger declared. He told how Peke and Storrs, thinking the secret of the elixir for ever lost, had gone out into the night—a night of oblivion out of which there is no record of the renegades emerging.
Black Velvet chuckled softly. He felt that his triumph was complete. The eighth Henry would become the greatest monarch the world had known.
Yet even as the Tudor agent smiled in triumph came the clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the quay.
"Sir Black Velvet! Sir Black Velvet!" came an insistent voice. "Sir Black Velvet!"
"What is it? What is it?" cried Sir Black Velvet, hugging the Golden Globe tightly to his heart.
"The King is dead!" cried the messenger of the Star Chamber. "Long live the King!"
"Which king?" cried Black Velvet.
"His Majesty King Edward the Sixth," responded the herald.
Whereat from the crowd gathered on the quay came a shout: "The tyrant Henry is dead! God bless our boy-king Edward!"
The servant of King Henry the Eighth swayed, and for a second it seemed as if he would have fallen.
With a great effort Black Velvet pulled himself together, and stepped across the deck of the Susan. Leaning on the bulwarks, he looked down on the rising river flooding swiftly over nigh-bottomless mud. The Coombes stood speechless, conning the stricken man, ready to succour him if he fell.
"If my King be dead," he said suddenly, "there is no use for the secret so much desired. No common man shall drink of the Elixir of Life."
And so saying, the faithful servitor of the eighth Henry flung the Golden Globe far out into the tide, wherein it instantly sank. And there, for all this chronicler knows to the contrary, it lies to this day.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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