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The Prince of India

L >> Lew. Wallace >> The Prince of India



Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL

BY
LEW. WALLACE

VOL. I.




_Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last
Let us behold your faces, let us hear
The words you uttered in those days of fear
Revisit your familiar haunts again
The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain
And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
Once more upon the pavement of the street_
LONGFELLOW




CONTENTS


BOOK I
THE EARTH AND THE SEA ARE ALWAYS GIVING UP THEIR SECRETS

I. THE NAMELESS BAY
II. THE MIDNIGHT LANDING
III. THE HIDDEN TREASURE

BOOK II
THE PRINCE OF INDIA

I. A MESSENGER FROM CIPANGO
II. THE PILGRIM AT EL KATIF
III. THE YELLOW AIR
IV. EL ZARIBAH
V. THE PASSING OF THE CARAVAN
VI. THE PRINCE AND THE EMIR
VII. AT THE KAABA
VIII. THE ARRIVAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE
IX. THE PRINCE AT HOME
X. THE ROSE OF SPRING

BOOK III
THE PRINCESS IRENE

I. MORNING ON THE BOSPHORUS
II. THE PRINCESS IRENE
III. THE HOMERIC PALACE
IV. THE RUSSIAN MONK
V. A VOICE FROM THE CLOISTER
VI. WHAT DO THE STARS SAY?
VII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA MEETS CONSTANTINE
VIII. RACING WITH A STORM
IX. IN THE WHITE CASTLE
X. THE ARABIAN STORY-TELLER
XI. THE TURQUOISE RING
XII. THE RING RETURNS
XIII. MAHOMMED HEARS FROM THE STARS
XIV. DREAMS AND VISIONS
XV. DEPARTURE FROM THE WHITE CASTLE
XVI. AN EMBASSY TO THE PRINCESS IRENE
XVII. THE EMPEROR'S WOOING
XVIII. THE SINGING SHEIK
XIX. TWO TURKISH TALES
XX. MAHOMMED DREAMS

BOOK IV
THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE

I. THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE
II. THE AUDIENCE
III. THE NEW FAITH PROCLAIMED
IV. THE PANNYCHIDES
V. A PLAGUE OF CRIME
VI. A BYZANTINE GENTLEMAN OF THE PERIOD
VII. A BYZANTINE HERETIC
VIII. THE ACADEMY OF EPICURUS
IX. A FISHERMAN'S FETE
X. THE HAMARI




BOOK I

THE EARTH AND THE SEA ARE ALWAYS GIVING UP THEIR SECRETS THE
PRINCE OF INDIA


CHAPTER I.

THE NAMELESS BAY


In the noon of a September day in the year of our dear Lord 1395, a
merchant vessel nodded sleepily upon the gentle swells of warm water
flowing in upon the Syrian coast. A modern seafarer, looking from the
deck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plying the same line of
trade, would regard her curiously, thankful to the calm which held her
while he slaked his wonder, yet more thankful that he was not of her
passage.

She could not have exceeded a hundred tons burthen. At the bow and stern
she was decked, and those quarters were fairly raised. Amidship she was
low and open, and pierced for twenty oars, ten to a side, all swaying
listlessly from the narrow ports in which they were hung. Sometimes they
knocked against each other. One sail, square and of a dingy white,
drooped from a broad yard-arm, which was itself tilted, and now and then
creaked against the yellow mast complainingly, unmindful of the simple
tackle designed to keep it in control. A watchman crouched in the meagre
shade of a fan-like structure overhanging the bow deck. The roofing and
the floor, where exposed, were clean, even bright; in all other parts
subject to the weather and the wash there was only the blackness of
pitch. The steersman sat on a bench at the stern. Occasionally, from
force of habit, he rested a hand upon the rudder-oar to be sure it was
yet in reach. With exception of the two, the lookout and the steersman,
all on board, officers, oarsmen, and sailors, were asleep--such
confidence could a Mediterranean calm inspire in those accustomed to
life on the beautiful sea. As if Neptune never became angry there, and
blowing his conch, and smiting with his trident, splashed the sky with
the yeast of waves! However, in 1395 Neptune had disappeared; like the
great god Pan, he was dead.

The next remarkable thing about the ship was the absence of the signs of
business usual with merchantmen. There were no barrels, boxes, bales, or
packages visible. Nothing indicated a cargo. In her deepest undulations
the water-line was not once submerged. The leather shields of the
oar-ports were high and dry. Possibly she had passengers aboard. Ah,
yes! There under the awning, stretched halfway across the deck dominated
by the steersman, was a group of persons all unlike seamen. Pausing to
note them, we may find the motive of the voyage.

Four men composed the group. One was lying upon a pallet, asleep yet
restless. A black velvet cap had slipped from his head, giving freedom
to thick black hair tinged with white. Starting from the temples, a
beard with scarce a suggestion of gray swept in dark waves upon the neck
and throat, and even invaded the pillow. Between the hair and beard
there was a narrow margin of sallow flesh for features somewhat crowded
by knots of wrinkle. His body was wrapped in a loose woollen gown of
brownish-black. A hand, apparently all bone, rested upon the breast,
clutching a fold of the gown. The feet twitched nervously in the
loosened thongs of old-fashioned sandals. Glancing at the others of the
group, it was plain this sleeper was master and they his slaves. Two of
them were stretched on the bare boards at the lower end of the pallet,
and they were white. The third was a son of Ethiopia of unmixed blood
and gigantic frame. He sat at the left of the couch, cross-legged, and,
like the rest, was in a doze; now and then, however, he raised his head,
and, without fully opening his eyes, shook a fan of peacock feathers
from head to foot over the recumbent figure. The two whites were clad in
gowns of coarse linen belted to their waists; while, saving a cincture
around his loins, the negro was naked.

There is often much personal revelation to be gleaned from the
properties a man carries with him from home. Applying the rule here, by
the pallet there was a walking-stick of unusual length, and severely
hand-worn a little above the middle. In emergency it might have been
used as a weapon. Three bundles loosely wrapped had been cast against a
timber of the ship; presumably they contained the plunder of the slaves
reduced to the minimum allowance of travel. But the most noticeable item
was a leather roll of very ancient appearance, held by a number of broad
straps deeply stamped and secured by buckles of a metal blackened like
neglected silver.

The attention of a close observer would have been attracted to this
parcel, not so much by its antique showing, as by the grip with which
its owner clung to it with his right hand. Even in sleep he held it of
infinite consequence. It could not have contained coin or any bulky
matter. Possibly the man was on some special commission, with his
credentials in the old roll. Ay, who was he?

Thus started, the observer would have bent himself to study of the face;
and immediately something would have suggested that while the stranger
was of this period of the world he did not belong to it. Such were the
magicians of the story-loving Al-Raschid. Or he was of the type
Rabbinical that sat with Caiphas in judgment upon the gentle Nazarene.
Only the centuries could have evolved the apparition. Who was he?

In the course of half an hour the man stirred, raised his head, looked
hurriedly at his attendants, then at the parts of the ship in view, then
at the steersman still dozing by the rudder; then he sat up, and brought
the roll to his lap, whereat the rigor of his expression relaxed. The
parcel was safe! And the conditions about him were as they should be!

He next set about undoing the buckles of his treasure. The long fingers
were expert; but just when the roll was ready to open he lifted his
face, and fixed his eyes upon the section of blue expanse outside the
edge of the awning, and dropped into thought. And straightway it was
settled that he was not a diplomatist or a statesman or a man of
business of any kind. The reflection which occupied him had nothing to
do with intrigues or statecraft; its centre was in his heart as the look
proved. So, in tender moods, a father gazes upon his child, a husband at
the beloved wife, restfully, lovingly.

And that moment the observer, continuing his study, would have forgotten
the parcel, the white slaves, the gigantic negro, the self-willed hair
and beard of pride--the face alone would have held him. The countenance
of the Sphinx has no beauty now; and standing before it, we feel no stir
of the admiration always a certificate that what we are beholding is
charming out of the common lines; yet we are drawn to it irresistibly,
and by a wish vague, foolish--so foolish we would hesitate long before
putting it in words to be heard by our best lover--a wish that the
monster would tell us all about itself. The feeling awakened by the face
of the traveller would have been similar, for it was distinctly
Israelitish, with exaggerated eyes set deeply in cavernous hollows--a
mobile mask, in fact, concealing a life in some way unlike other lives.
Unlike? That was the very attraction. If the man would only speak, what
a tale he could unfold!

But he did not speak. Indeed, he seemed to have regarded speech a
weakness to be fortified against. Putting the pleasant thought aside, he
opened the roll, and with exceeding tenderness of touch brought forth a
sheet of vellum dry to brittleness, and yellow as a faded sycamore leaf.
There were lines upon it as of a geometrical drawing, and an inscription
in strange characters. He bent over the chart, if such it may be called,
eagerly, and read it through; then, with a satisfied expression, he
folded it back into the cover, rebuckled the straps, and placed the
parcel under the pillow. Evidently the business drawing him was
proceeding as he would have had it. Next he woke the negro with a touch.
The black in salute bent his body forward, and raised his hands palm
out, the thumbs at the forehead. Attention singularly intense settled
upon his countenance; he appeared to listen with his soul. It was time
for speech, yet the master merely pointed to one of the sleepers. The
watchful negro caught the idea, and going to the man, aroused him, then
resumed his place and posture by the pallet. The action revealed his
proportions. He looked as if he could have lifted the gates of Gaza, and
borne them easily away; and to the strength there were superadded the
grace, suppleness, and softness of motion of a cat. One could not have
helped thinking the slave might have all the elements to make him a
superior agent in fields of bad as well as good.

The second slave arose, and waited respectfully. It would have been
difficult to determine his nationality. He had the lean face, the high
nose, sallow complexion, and low stature of an Armenian. His countenance
was pleasant and intelligent. In addressing him, the master made signs
with hand and finger; and they appeared sufficient, for the servant
walked away quickly as if on an errand. A short time, and he came back
bringing a companion of the genus sailor, very red-faced, heavily built,
stupid, his rolling gait unrelieved by a suggestion of good manners.
Taking position before the black-gowned personage, his feet wide apart,
the mariner said:

"You sent for me?"

The question was couched in Byzantine Greek.

"Yes," the passenger replied, in the same tongue, though with better
accent. "Where are we?"

"But for this calm we should be at Sidon. The lookout reports the
mountains in view."

The passenger reflected a moment, then asked, "Resorting to the oars,
when can we reach the city?"

"By midnight."

"Very well. Listen now."

The speaker's manner changed; fixing his big eyes upon the sailor's
lesser orbs, he continued:

"A few stadia north of Sidon there is what may be called a bay. It is
about four miles across. Two little rivers empty into it, one on each
side. Near the middle of the bend of the shore there is a well of sweet
water, with flow enough to support a few villagers and their camels. Do
you know the bay?"

The skipper would have become familiar.

"You are well acquainted with this coast," he said.

"Do you know of such a bay?" the passenger repeated.

"I have heard of it."

"Could you find it at night?"

"I believe so."

"That is enough. Take me into the bay, and land me at midnight. I will
not go to the city. Get out all the oars now. At the proper time I will
tell you what further I wish. Remember I am to be set ashore at midnight
at a place which I will show you."

The directions though few were clear. Having given them, the passenger
signed the negro to fan him, and stretched himself upon the pallet; and
thenceforth there was no longer a question who was in control. It became
the more interesting, however, to know the object of the landing at
midnight on the shore of a lonesome unnamed bay.




CHAPTER II

THE MIDNIGHT LANDING


The skipper predicted like a prophet. The ship was in the bay, and it
was midnight or nearly so; for certain stars had climbed into certain
quarters of the sky, and after their fashion were striking the hour.

The passenger was pleased.

"You have done well," he said to the mariner. "Be silent now, and get
close in shore. There are no breakers. Have the small boat ready, and do
not let the anchors go."

The calm still prevailed, and the swells of the sea were scarce
perceptible. Under the gentlest impulse of the oars the little vessel
drifted broadside on until the keel touched the sands. At the same
instant the small boat appeared. The skipper reported to the passenger.
Going to each of the slaves, the latter signed them to descend. The
negro swung himself down like a monkey, and received the baggage, which,
besides the bundles already mentioned, consisted of some tools, notably
a pick, a shovel, and a stout crowbar. An empty water-skin was also sent
down, followed by a basket suggestive of food. Then the passenger, with
a foot over the side of the vessel, gave his final directions.

"You will run now," he said to the skipper, who, to his credit, had thus
far asked no questions, "down to the city, and lie there to-morrow,
and to-morrow night. Attract little notice as possible. It is not
necessary to pass the gate. Put out in time to be here at sunrise. I
will be waiting for you. Day after to-morrow at sunrise--remember."

"But if you should not be here?" asked the sailor, thinking of extreme
probabilities.

"Then wait for me," was the answer.

The passenger, in turn, descended to the boat, and was caught in the
arms of the black, and seated carefully as he had been a child. In brief
time the party was ashore, and the boat returning to the ship; a little
later, the ship withdrew to where the night effectually curtained the
deep.

The stay on the shore was long enough to apportion the baggage amongst
the slaves. The master then led the way. Crossing the road running from
Sidon along the coast to the up-country, they came to the foothills of
the mountain, all without habitation.

Later they came upon signs of ancient life in splendor--broken columns,
and here and there Corinthian capitals in marble discolored and sunk
deeply in sand and mould. The patches of white on them had a ghastly
glimmer in the starlight. They were approaching the site of an old city,
a suburb probably of Palae-Tyre when she was one of the spectacles of
the world, sitting by the sea to rule it regally far and wide.

On further a small stream, one of those emptying into the bay, had
ploughed a ravine for itself across the route the party was pursuing.
Descending to the water, a halt was made to drink, and fill the
water-skin, which the negro took on his shoulder.

On further there was another ancient site strewn with fragments
indicative of a cemetery. Hewn stones were frequent, and mixed with them
were occasional entablatures and vases from which the ages had not yet
entirely worn the fine chiselling. At length an immense uncovered
sarcophagus barred the way. The master stopped by it to study the
heavens; when he found the north star, he gave the signal to his
followers, and moved under the trail of the steadfast beacon.

They came to a rising ground more definitely marked by sarcophagi hewn
from the solid rock, and covered by lids of such weight and solidity
that a number of them had never been disturbed. Doubtless the dead
within were lying as they had been left--but when, and by whom? What
disclosures there will be when at last the end is trumpeted in!

On further, but still connected with the once magnificent funeral site,
they encountered a wall many feet thick, and shortway beyond it, on the
mountain's side, there were two arches of a bridge of which all else had
been broken down; and these two had never spanned anything more
substantial than the air. Strange structure for such a locality!
Obviously the highway which once ran over it had begun in the city the
better to communicate with the cemetery through which the party had just
passed. So much was of easy understanding; but where was the other
terminus? At sight of the arches the master drew a long breath of
relief. They were the friends for whom he had been searching.

Nevertheless, without stopping, he led down into a hollow on all sides
sheltered from view; and there the unloading took place. The tools and
bundles were thrown down by a rock, and preparations made for the
remainder of the night. The pallet was spread for the master. The basket
gave up its contents, and the party refreshed themselves and slept the
sleep of the weary.

The secluded bivouac was kept the next day. Only the master went forth
in the afternoon. Climbing the mountain, he found the line in
continuation of the bridge; a task the two arches serving as a base made
comparatively easy. He stood then upon a bench or terrace cumbered with
rocks, and so broad that few persons casually looking would have
suspected it artificial. Facing fully about from the piers, he walked
forward following the terrace which at places was out of line, and piled
with debris tumbled from the mountain on the right hand side; in a few
minutes that silent guide turned with an easy curve and disappeared in
what had yet the appearance hardly distinguishable of an area wrenched
with enormous labor from a low cliff of solid brown limestone.

The visitor scanned the place again and again; then he said aloud:

"No one has been here since"--

The sentence was left unfinished.

That he could thus identify the spot, and with such certainty pass upon
it in relation to a former period, proved he had been there before.

Rocks, earth, and bushes filled the space. Picking footway through, he
examined the face of the cliff then in front of him, lingering longest
on the heap of breakage forming a bank over the meeting line of area and
hill.

"Yes," he repeated, this time with undisguised satisfaction, "no one has
been here since"--

Again the sentence was unfinished.

He ascended the bank next, and removed some of the stones at the top. A
carved line in low relief on the face of the rock was directly exposed;
seeing it he smiled, and replaced the stones, and descending, went back
to the terrace, and thence to the slaves in bivouac.

From one of the packages he had two iron lamps of old Roman style
brought out, and supplied with oil and wicks; then, as if everything
necessary to his project was done, he took to the pallet. Some goats had
come to the place in his absence, but no living creature else.

After nightfall the master woke the slaves, and made final preparation
for the venture upon which he had come. The tools he gave to one man,
the lamps to another, and the water-skin to the negro. Then he led out
of the hollow, and up the mountain to the terrace visited in the
afternoon; nor did he pause in the area mentioned as the abrupt terminus
of the highway over the skeleton piers. He climbed the bank of stones
covering the foot of the cliff up to the precise spot at which his
reconnoissance had ended.

Directly the slaves were removing the bank at the top; not a difficult
task since they had only to roll the loose stones down a convenient
grade. They worked industriously. At length--in half an hour
probably--an opening into the cliff was discovered. The cavity, small at
first, rapidly enlarged, until it gave assurance of a doorway of immense
proportions. When the enlargement sufficed for his admission, the master
stayed the work, and passed in. The slaves followed. The interior
descent offered a grade corresponding with that of the bank
outside--another bank, in fact, of like composition, but more difficult
to pass on account of the darkness.

With his foot the leading adventurer felt the way down to a floor; and
when his assistants came to him, he took from a pocket in his gown a
small case filled with a chemical powder which he poured at his feet;
then he produced a flint and steel, and struck them together. Some
sparks dropped upon the powder. Instantly a flame arose and filled the
place with a ruddy illumination. Lighting the lamps by the flame, the
party looked around them, the slaves with simple wonder.

They were in a vault--a burial vault of great antiquity. Either it was
an imitation of like chambers in Egypt, or they were imitations of it.
The excavation had been done with chisels. The walls were niched, giving
them an appearance of panelling, and over each of the niches there had
been an inscription in raised letters, now mostly defaced. The floor was
a confusion of fragments knocked from sarcophagi, which, massive as they
were, had been tilted, overturned, uncovered, mutilated, and robbed.
Useless to inquire whose the vandalism. It may have been of Chaldeans of
the time of Almanezor, or of the Greeks who marched with Alexander, or
of Egyptians who were seldom regardful of the dead of the peoples they
overthrew as they were of their own, or of Saracens, thrice conquerors
along the Syrian coast, or of Christians. Few of the Crusaders were like
St. Louis.

But of all this the master took no notice. With him it was right that
the vault should look the wreck it was. Careless of inscriptions,
indifferent to carving, his eyes ran rapidly along the foot of the
northern wall until they came to a sarcophagus of green marble. Thither
he proceeded. He laid his hand upon the half-turned lid, and observing
that the back of the great box--if such it may be termed--was against
the wall, he said again:

"No one has been here since"--

And again the sentence was left unfinished.

Forthwith he became all energy. The negro brought the crowbar, and, by
direction, set it under the edge of the sarcophagus, which he held
raised while the master blocked it at the bottom with a stone chip.
Another bite, and a larger chip was inserted. Good hold being thus had,
a vase was placed for fulcrum; after which, at every downward pressure
of the iron, the ponderous coffin swung round a little to the left.
Slowly and with labor the movement was continued until the space behind
was uncovered.

By this time the lamps had become the dependencies for light. With his
in hand, the master stooped and inspected the exposed wall. Involuntarily
the slaves bent forward and looked, but saw nothing different from the
general surface in that quarter. The master beckoned the negro, and
touching a stone not wider than his three fingers, but reddish in hue,
and looking like mere chinking lodged in an accidental crevice, signed
him to strike it with the end of the bar. Once--twice--the stone refused
to stir; with the third blow it was driven in out of sight, and, being
followed vigorously, was heard to drop on the other side. The wall
thereupon, to the height of the sarcophagus and the width of a broad
door, broke, and appeared about to tumble down.

When the dust cleared away, there was a crevice unseen before, and wide
enough to admit a hand. The reader must remember there were masons in
the old time who amused themselves applying their mathematics to such
puzzles. Here obviously the intention had been to screen an entrance to
an adjoining chamber, and the key to the design had been the sliver of
red granite first displaced.

A little patient use then of hand and bar enabled the workman to take
out the first large block of the combination. That the master numbered
with chalk, and had carefully set aside. A second block was taken out,
numbered, and set aside; finally the screen was demolished, and the way
stood open.




CHAPTER III

THE HIDDEN TREASURE


The slaves looked dubiously at the dusty aperture, which held out no
invitation to them; the master, however, drew his robe closer about him,
and stooping went in, lamp in hand. They then followed.

An ascending passage, low but of ample width, received them. It too had
been chiselled from the solid rock. The wheel marks of the cars used in
the work were still on the floor. The walls were bare but smoothly
dressed. Altogether the interest here lay in expectation of what was to
come; and possibly it was that which made the countenance of the master
look so grave and absorbed. He certainly was not listening to the
discordant echoes roused as he advanced.

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