Chapter XIII: The First Ordeal

Four days later, at nine o’clock by their earthly time, the men from Karamandra were bidden to follow their escort of guards. Their hands were fastened by a light chain which afforded some facilities for movement, and they were led in single file between a double row of armed men to the terrace upon which they had so rashly alighted. At the south end stood a splendid building approached by a noble portico. Into this they entered, and passing along a magnificent vestibule, the door of a pillared hall was thrown open and they found themselves led up the centre of a vast dome-shaped building with tiers of seats on either side, one rising above the other, and filled to overflowing with a countless sea of human faces, the expressions of most being set and stern in their hostility. On the central dais were two semicircular rows of elegant and carved seats evidently for the highest in rank, while in front were three thrones with gorgeous canopies, the central occupied by a most majestic-looking old man and those on either side by his daughters Melanitis and Mexitli.

They were both extremely beautiful with the pale tint that so characterised the daughters of Atalanta, but there was a difference between them, especially in manner and bearing. The elder, the Queen designate, was much more humble than her sister--we might almost say timid and ill at ease. The younger was haughty, overbearing, and dominating, and yet with a sullen expression as though she had not the power to do all she wished. She fixed a supercilious glance at the terrestrial party, looking from one to the other, but taking not the least notice of one more than the other.

But Melanitis had no sooner looked on the faces of Abercromby and Radcliffe, who stood the nearest to her, than she uttered a faint cry as though stricken, her features became rigid, and she clutched at the arms of her throne for support.

The King turned to her and said, “Child of my heart, what aileth thee?”

“Only a solar faintness, my lord,” she replied. The King ordered one of the fan-bearers to minister to her.

The incident passed with little notice. Radcliffe did not see it, for his eyes were fixed upon the King, who was a grand specimen of dignified old age. Abercromby saw it, and a puzzled grin (not very wise under the circumstances) overspread his countenance.

“King of Atalanta, pride and ornament of thine ancient house,” said the deep voice of a white-robed official of the palace, “and you, princesses, pillars of the kingdom, fairest jewels set in the midst of the motherland, you see these strangers who have, by an unparalleled daring, crossed the myriad depths of space and thrust themselves in the midst of us. Their machine is controlled by a power we do not possess and whose secrets they alone know. But they themselves are weak and helpless as others, and it is for you to declare whether it best accords with the well-being of Atalanta that they live or die. Let justice and mercy each have their rightful place, yet by all means remember that this is an event that may leave lasting traces upon us, and as we act now so may we be compelled to act hereafter. For the first time since He came who passed from us on His way to Karamandra, no being, whether mortal or immortal, has ever visited us who did not previously belong to us. We have lived under the silence of the stars, and as each generation has gone to the Mansions of the Blest or to the Realm of the Endless Shadow they have walked in the wisdom of their fathers. But now it may be that some fuller opportunity may be granted to us, if we act wisely and well.”

The King leaned forward, and addressing Carmichael said, “Are you from Karamandra and also your companions?”

“We are,” said the Professor.

“Did the king of your world send you on a mission to us?”

“There is no king of Karamandra; our world is peopled on both sides of its surface with nations, races, and tribes in varying degrees of culture and resources, but independent, though some are linked together by bonds and alliances.”

“How many people live in your world?”

“About twelve hundred millions.”

An exclamation of horror echoed round the hall.

“How long have they dwelt upon its surface?”

“We have different theories on the subject,” said Carmichael, with a sly look at Radcliffe.

“If your world has many kings, which of them sent you?”

“None; we came of our own selves.”

There was a murmur of amazement.

“Who, then, discovered the secret of how to journey from one world to another?”

“I did, and also my companion here,” pointing to Carysfort.

“When did you discover it?”

“Many months ago.”

“Will you tell it to us?”

“That depends upon how you treat us.”

Mexitli started to her feet. “Let the insolent barbarian say no more, for the land cannot endure his words. His own Sovereign would cast him out; much more shall not the sacred Majesty of Atalanta?” Then, pointing at Radcliffe, she said, “If my father wills I will question _him_, for he it is who saved the life of my cousin Mayana from the murderous intent of these men.”

The King nodded acquiescence. The woman’s questions were less academic.

“Why did you come here?”

“My companions had no other object than to benefit their fellows by increasing their own knowledge. They made choice of this planet because less was known about it than of those worlds that lie in an orbit exterior to our own. Being of the same size with our own world, my leader naturally hoped to find those upon its surface with whom he could hold intelligent converse, and both receive and impart useful knowledge.”

“We require no teaching from outer space,” answered Mexitli, “though there are some in this hall disloyal enough to think so.”

“The God of Heaven does not give even to every Atalantan equal gifts with every other, and yet there may be little things in which the highest may receive a helping hand from the lowest. I know the misery and unrest of my own world, and yet the God of Heaven has cared for it. Most gladly will I explain these things in public or in private if I may be suffered to do so.”

“You would be better advised first to look out for your own personal safety, that is the present consideration. You and yours do not seem to understand that you have committed more than one atrocious crime since you invaded our borders. Then, too, the demeanour of your companions has been most insolent, as though they expected to be welcomed with honours in a land which neither knew of them nor desired them. As for you individually, I might perhaps advise the King my father to show you a measure of favour, but the time has not come yet. You have leave to satisfy my curiosity on one point. How did the God of Heaven show His care for Karamandra?”

“By sending His only Son, the Prince of Heaven, to save them by turning their hearts back again to Himself.”

A violent movement of surprise pervaded the hall; strange to say, Melanitis did not show the agitation displayed by the rest, but remained outwardly calm.

“I thought so,” answered the King. “Our best traditions led us to think it would be as you say.”

“Good gracious! we are going to have a battle-royal about religion,” muttered Carysfort to the Professor.

“And how did your world act towards Him when He came to them?” asked Mexitli.

Radcliffe stood speechless for a moment, his voice choked; a tear trickled down his face.

“I should not wonder if they killed Him,” interposed Melanitis.

Exclamations of horror and astonishment broke from all sides.

Mexitli shrugged her shoulders with a look of disgust. She signed to Radcliffe to proceed and said imperiously, “Speak the truth--is this horrible thing true?”

“It is true,” answered Radcliffe in a whisper that sent a thrill through every heart in the hall. “I would have died in His stead had I been there, and yet I do not know: one who professed to love Him said as much and then basely deserted Him; so might I.”

“How is it that your world exists after doing this?”

“God is Love,” replied Radcliffe.

There was a moment’s tense silence, then the princess said, “Did _anything_ happen?”

“Yes; the offer of pardon was sent all over the world, for God forgave the world, for the death of the Prince made full amends for all the wrong that men had done. The divine justice was satisfied. He who had been slain came into that world for the very purpose that He might lay down His life for it. He came as man in lowly guise, enduring all the sorrows of our life, and those who slew Him did not know what they were doing. That is why forgiveness was possible for them. _Now_ the Prince has re-entered upon His heavenly and immortal life, but He will come again and take possession of His rightful inheritance, our own world.”

“How long ago did these things happen?” asked the King.

“Nearly twenty centuries by our reckoning.”

“And have your people, the human race, returned to the divine allegiance?”

“Many have done so out of each generation, but many have not.”

“_You_ have done so, I suppose? Your speech, methinks, implies it.”

“I have,” said Radcliffe.

“I am too shocked and horrified to pursue this talk much further,” interrupted Mexitli. “It is evident that _our_ world is guiltless, while as for yours,”--and she finished the sentence with a gesture--“such people can be only plague-spots amongst us. Still, you have told me the truth. Is it to be conceived after this, that even _you_ came here to teach us?”

“God made use of the very men who had helped to slay His Son to go out and in many cases successfully to carry the story of peace all over the world. It may be that He will give even to me a work to do here.”

“Your life has first to be decided upon, and next your liberty,” was the cold reply. “We shall have to deliberate over these amazing things. You can now sit upon yonder seat. Of course you have been severely tried. I would confer with the man who stood next to you. Come forward, fellow, and answer my questions. What brought _you_ here--science or religion?” The words were pronounced with a fine contempt.

“Neither,” said Abercromby; “something as good as either, possibly better--to help my brother who has just spoken to bear his life sorrow.”

“The sins of his people, I suppose.”

“That, doubtless, but also another. He loved a woman on his own world, and made her his wife. They were estranged, and before the quarrel could be made up she was killed by an accident in a river; he was not with her at the time. _I_ persuaded him into coming with us, as the best chance of saving his reason.”

“Did he love her so much?”

“I know not how love prevails in _this_ planet, but if all there exists of it were put together it would about equal the love he had to her.”

“You are not required to pry into such matters. Are you his relation?”

“No, I am his friend. That is a stronger bond in most cases.”

Mexitli bit her lip in evident vexation. The King betrayed a faint smile.

Melanitis sat perfectly rigid, her face deadly white, her hands tightly clasped, her eyes fixed upon Radcliffe, who kept his face bent upon the ground. Mexitli darted a swift glance at her sister, her expression as she did so was inscrutable. At last she said to Abercromby, “Let us leave this matter. Do the people in your own world know of the secret by which you have come to ours?”

“I decline to answer your question,” answered Abercromby.

“This is absolute defiance, and will only bring you all into worse trouble. You _must_ have intelligence to comprehend how greatly this matter will concern us.”

“When you tell us what you are proposing to do to us, we may perhaps give you the information; till then I am silent until my leader bids me to speak.”

“I will make you speak,” said Mexitli.

“Who are barbarians _now_?” retorted Abercromby.

“Let me entreat you to use moderation and courtesy, Frank,” said Radcliffe, putting a warning hand upon his arm. “Lady of Atalanta, I ask and beg of you this grace, that you will give us time to consider what the answer shall be.”

“No one knows of our secret,” interposed Carmichael. “We are wholly at your mercy.”

“Is this true?” asked the princess of Radcliffe.

“Yes,” replied Radcliffe.

“Then it shall be considered in your favour, only I shall remember that one of you at least spoke insolently to my face, in the central seat of authority in our motherland.”

“My decided vote is given for their lives,” said Melanitis.

“If you wanted to spare them you could have scarcely spoken a more ill-advised thing,” her sister answered. “By this act of public utterance you force me to speak myself, and I decide for the death of all of them and the immediate destruction of their machine, with this one exception, that, according to the clemency of our laws, I would allow Radcliffe a year’s respite under certain proper restrictions. But as our voices are thus divided, it is for the King, my father, to speak.”

“People of Atalanta,” said Malchon, “we have heard to-day such things as would tax the wisdom of the wisest amongst us to decide, whether those who have stood on trial before us ought or ought not to die. Only on one point is the way made plain. The man called Radcliffe can be respited for a year, that we may confer with him about many things and test and prove him. As to the rest, I dislike the thought of putting them to death, if it can be avoided with safety. I propose that they be kept in durance for a short number of days, and be fully told the charges of ill-doing which have been brought against them. They can carefully ponder their reply to these charges, and make it publicly in our presence. Also they must give us a brief account of all their movements since they reached our world. I bid them good speed till the day of final examination comes, and if they behave in a suitable manner, I hold out a reasonable prospect for their safety.”

With these words the assembly rose up, and the men from earth were led back to their courtyard prison.