The valley of eyes unseen
There were two of us open-mouthed now. It was our first inkling that
this hidden race had knowledge of the outer world. Had we known then
how that knowledge was obtained, I make no doubt we should have gaped
more.
'How did your people come here in the first place?' asked Poyning at
length.
'Our forefathers came over the mountains,' replied Kalliboas.
'And are we the first strangers who have ever penetrated into the
valley?'
It seemed to me that Kalliboas was looking very queerly into Poyning's
face when he said this. Also, the old man's manner had grown suddenly
stiff, and he now rose as if ignoring the question or not hearing it at
all.
'Come,' he said. 'It is commanded that to-day you shall witness an
important event in our history. We will depart.'
It was a day of brilliant sunshine. Outside the guest-house we found
the broad streets thickly lined with city folk, who presented a
distinctly imposing effect with their universal white robes and bare
heads. The crowd was plainly excited, yet there was always that air
of grave restraint about them, and though conversation was general it
never rose above a loud hum. We followed Kalliboas to a point where
the buildings fell away on all sides, leaving a big circular space
paved with marble and ornamented in the centre by a statue I took
to represent the Winged Victory. Thus far, but not a step farther,
the crowd came. I saw no cordon barring the way, and heard no order
given: they simply seemed to stop of their own accord, and I could
only suppose it was one of those strange unwritten laws we had heard
about that forbade them to advance. We ourselves passed on into a
neighbourhood where the architecture increased in size and splendour,
and at last came to a halt before the largest, certainly the most
magnificent building we had yet seen. Like all the others, it was pure
white marble, of perfect proportion and design, yet the carving of
its Corinthian capitals and friezes in high relief distinguished it
even in a city of superb architecture. I would say, without fear of
exaggeration, that it was the greatest masterpiece of chisel-work now
extant upon this earth.
A large throng had ranged themselves on the steps before the building,
and from their age and imposing mien I inferred these men to be the
dignitaries of the city; yet even among persons of such obvious
consideration the arrival of Kalliboas created a stir. Our coming was
the signal for the whole body to mount the steps and into the building.
We found ourselves in a large hall filled with soft light from windows
of wonderful carven tracery at the sides, and floored with marble slabs
so broad that for some time I couldn't detect a join. There was a
solemn hush in this chamber, where all remained in perfect stillness.
Never have I felt so lost as then, when we stood, Poyning and I, in the
midst of this levée of giants, many of whom topped me by a head, while
Poyning could hardly have reached to the level of their breasts. There
was a long wait, then, at some sign I couldn't see, the assembly moved
forward with a curious whisper of soft leather sandals over the marble
floor.
We filtered through a cloister of marble pillars into an inner hall,
larger than the first and dimmer. Each man now dropped to his knees,
whereupon we, at a sign from Kalliboas, did likewise; and as everybody
remained kneeling, I was able by leaning to one side to see across the
hall where two thrones, both occupied, faced us. There advanced from
one side an immensely tall figure, whom I shall call the high priest,
though as I have already noted in the case of Kalliboas the term
priest is really a misnomer. The seated forms rose and knelt before
the thrones, still facing us. I caught the gleam of something bright
against one of the dark heads. It was a circlet of gold. The man who
wore it raised both hands and removed this from his head, handing it
to the high priest, who straightway laid it on the brow of the other.
There could be no doubt what we were looking at. It was a ceremony of
abdication.
At this point the scene became wrapped in a curious mistiness, to which
for some moments I couldn't assign a cause. Then I saw it was a very
fine gauze curtain that had swung silently across the building between
us and the two thrones. I was so engrossed in this that I didn't notice
what was happening behind, but when I looked again, one of the figures
had vanished, leaving the throne empty. The high priest now withdrew to
the side of the hall, whence he returned leading by the hand a woman,
tall and queenly, as could be seen even at that distance and in that
twilight, who mounted the vacant throne. The pair stood together, then
knelt, when once again I saw the gleaming circlet of gold removed and
proffered to the high priest, who laid it on the brow of the woman.
Then came across the dead silence a mutter of words solemnly intoned,
which continued for some minutes, after which the kneeling pair resumed
their thrones.
Of that much I have written confidently, but of what followed I cannot
be so sure, though I have striven my hardest to extract a coherent
picture of it from my jumbled recollection. Somewhere in the great hall
arose an elusive, solemn music, like instruments played with muted
strings. Then not only did the scene before us grow clearer by reason
of the lifting of the gauze curtain, but in some mysterious way the
whole place was suffused with brighter light. For perhaps ten seconds
those two magnificent figures were clearly visible to our eyes. I
remained staring, fascinated, until I realised that all the rest of the
assembly had laid their foreheads on the cold marble floor.
I have a confused sense of pacing back towards the doorway and the
brilliant outer sunlight, and of Poyning's dumbfounded look as he
walked beside me in the middle of the crowd. I knew that he, like
myself, had recognised the newly throned prince as the man we had known
as Saunders Philipson, but the other and more startling recognition
he couldn't have made. It was that, I imagine, that caused me to need
Poyning's supporting arm on the way out: things were swimming round me.
In the brief interval of light, before I bowed my head with the rest, I
had looked upon and remembered the countenance of that glorious woman.
And unless I had gone blind or mad, _she was Philipson's mysterious
visitor of Nanking_.
CHAPTER X
THE SECRET OF THE HIDDEN RACE
Kalliboas led us back to our quarters profoundly impressed, but a good
deal more mystified by the double rite we had witnessed. It seemed to
have left him, too, in a frame of mind more solemn than usual, and
when at last we ventured to ask him questions he almost gave me the
impression that he judged the event too sacred to be talked about. He
then told us, briefly, that we had seen the coronation and betrothal of
the new Prince of the state, and at once drew behind that impregnable
barrier of reserve which I couldn't for the life of me bring myself to
assault. And not another word did we get from him. This was unfortunate
for our peace of mind, for when we reached the guest-house Kalliboas
abruptly left us and we saw no more of him for several days.
I sat on the edge of the couch racking my brains for a solution of the
mystery, but the more I pondered, the more bewildered I got. Not till
now had I felt to the full the loss of that great clarifier of the
brain, tobacco: I would have given worlds for a good leaf to compose
my jumbled ideas over. But tobacco there was none. During the last
stages of our ghastly journey across the mountains we were completely
out of it, and the weed seemed to be unknown here in the valley. I
remember reflecting how queer it was that a people plainly so skilled
in the arts of life shouldn't have discovered it, and promising myself
that if opportunity offered I would one day go out into the valley,
where it might be the tobacco plant grew wild and unheeded, and come
back to them like a new Raleigh bringing that one vice of this world
which is a virtue.
On the second day, Kalliboas still being absent, I fell to wondering
what was the reason of it, and why he had been so chary of telling us
anything about the abdication ceremony after we had apparently been
counted fit persons to witness it. To this also I could find no answer
at the time, though after-knowledge made the matter clearer. Kalliboas,
as I now see, was closely occupied elsewhere, and I don't even know
that his desertion of us was intentional.
However these things might be, it seemed my best plan to get ahead
with the language, so that I might dispense as soon as possible with
Poyning's sentence-by-sentence translations. I told Poyning, who told
one of the attendants that I wanted a language professor, and the
request was acceded to without much difficulty.
I now made swift progress indeed. At Edinburgh I had enjoyed some
repute as a Grecian, and though my knowledge had become heavily
overlaid with the many oriental tongues I had studied in the meantime,
I now found it came back to me easily enough. The prime trouble was, of
course, pronunciation, but when we were stumped over this we referred
to Poyning, or, if he was out of the room, resorted to writing. And
thereby hangs an incident which, as it turned out, I was to be most
unpleasantly reminded of later.
When we came down in the snow-slide most of our possessions naturally
went missing, but I had been carrying what I regarded as my most
precious piece of property next to my skin. That article, a hide-bound
notebook, I still possessed. In it were recorded the events of our
journey, and since arriving in the city I had filled several pages
with our more recent experiences. Now, when I needed paper to write
the disputed sentences of Greek, I produced this notebook and used a
blank leaf at the end of it, and I couldn't help noticing that the old
man who was teaching me stared very straight at that volume. At the
time I took this to be caused by the sight of a strange foreign object,
but afterwards I was driven to suspect there was more in it than that,
and that I should have been wiser to call for a slate--which was the
implement used by the folk of the valley on the rare occasions when
they wanted to write.
As day followed day and still Kalliboas didn't appear, we got more
and more tired of this virtual captivity, and at last Poyning told
one of the attendants point blank that we must go out for exercise.
The attendant took us, not to the street, but to a courtyard of the
building, and remained close beside us with a purpose there was no
mistaking. Poyning demanded of the man we should go farther afield,
but he gravely shook his head and replied that it was the order of
Kalliboas we should wait his return here. There was no getting over
this. We knew little enough of the valley, but we had gathered that
Kalliboas figured importantly in it, and I think both of us felt he was
a person whose orders it would be extremely unhealthy to disregard;
so we bowed to the inevitable with the best grace possible, which, to
tell the truth, was an uncommonly bad one. Poyning paced up and down
continually, like a caged wild cat, and seemed to have matters on his
mind that he wouldn't confide even in me. I also spent a deal of time
in the courtyard, from which we could catch glimpses of the populace
without, and hear their subdued talk and see from time to time in the
distant sky the monstrous bird-shapes that were still an unsolved
riddle to us, but for the most part I buried myself in the study of the
language, where, at least, there was satisfaction to be got out of this
harassing delay.
Of Philipson we saw and heard absolutely nothing. I was peevishly