Chapter XVII: The Perils of Cross Currents

Fortunately for himself, Abercromby had a very cheerful temperament, and the presence and society of his friends soon dissipated his gloom. He was reticent as to his experiences in the prison, but it did not seem that he had been treated with any positive cruelty, but rather with neglect.

The warders seldom showed themselves, and he was left to his own melancholy reflections, his chief suffering consisting in the scantiness of the food given to him.

The party sat down to their rather sorry meal and then retired to rest, which he especially needed.

The next day, as it seemed to offer a prospect of fine weather, Radcliffe went with Abercromby for a long walk. They penetrated to the west end of the city, ascending a hill, from whence they enjoyed a fine view over the Lake and its island, with the dome-shaped Temple glittering in the sun. Then they plunged into a forest glade, where they met but very few people, most of whom saluted them with at least a semblance of courtesy; and then they rested in a kind of secluded dell, where they found themselves altogether alone. They had not, however, been there many minutes before they noticed an ominous fading of the light, and soon the rain mist was upon them. Fortunately a few hundreds of yards away stood a low-roofed house in a clearing surrounded by a garden in no very good state of order. They took refuge in an out-building, but they had to retreat into the innermost recess before they could find a rain-proof spot. The wall formed only a thin partition, and they could hear the noise of a rather animated conversation going on within. Not wishing to be surprised as eavesdroppers, they knocked loudly at the wall, and the next moment there was a sudden hush, a sound of footsteps, a door suddenly opened, and two men appeared.

The taller of the two uttered a sharp cry, but instantly held out his heavy hand to welcome them. “Come in, my lords,” he said; “you are just as welcome as if you belonged to this down-trodden world of ours, and may help to lift us up if you are willing.”

He led them into a sort of back kitchen where some food was being prepared, though its perfume was scarcely inviting. There were half a dozen to a dozen persons present, all men, for a wonder.

“Brother Parmenton,” said the tall man, “these new-comers need no introduction. They are two of the terrestrials. Praise the Sun God for hiding his august face awhile, or else they had not come here for shelter.”

“Are the men in your planet masters or slaves?” asked the worthy who was addressed as Parmenton.

“Both,” said Abercromby.

“Do they rule their women folk or do their women folk rule them?”

“That depends upon circumstances,” said Abercromby. “I fancy our world is getting rather like yours.”

“Will you help us to make our world what you imply yours was in days past?”

“What mean you by that?”

“Help us--the people--to be men and not slaves.”

“And what are we to do, and are you going to do for the other people?”

“Fencing with words is not good when men are determined.”

“And still less when the ladies are.”

“True; therefore we intend to practise deeds and not words.”

“We have waited centuries before doing so,” cried Mauro Katakalon, a rough-looking Atalantan who at least enjoyed the luxury of two names.

“Look here, Clarence,” said Abercromby; “what the dickens does all this mean? Are we going to run our necks into a social revolution? If so, I beg leave to back out.”

“My masters,” said Radcliffe earnestly, “the beasts of the field will ride over you until you become true disciples of the God of Heaven. He alone can make any one free.”

A shout of derisive laughter greeted his words. “That is the man who has come here to preach a new religion,” said Medon, a third member of the party. “No use in him, he is one of the palace slaves; talk to the other. The tyrant put him in prison for two months. He will listen to reason.”

“We have, as strangers, nothing to do with your politics, whether social or domestic,” said Abercromby hotly, “and having barely saved our lives we do not mean to place them in peril again. If there is to be a war of sexes, or any other war, on this amiable planet, you must fight your own game. _We_ are not going to be mixed up in it.”

“You do not hesitate to turn our religion upside down,” said Parmenton angrily, “and Mexitli is quite content you should, in order to crush by your help the one venerated leader we have left. When she has done that, _your_ turn will come next.”

“I shall obey my conscience and do my duty,” answered Radcliffe firmly. “My Master Christ shall be the true King of Atalanta.”

“Say that again,” shouted Medon, “and you shall pay dearly for it. Go and preach your wretched religion in Atalanta city, and see how you fare at the hands of every honest citizen.”

“Take my advice,” said Mauro Katakalon, “listen to Melanitis; _she_ sympathises with our wrongs and would redress them if she could. She is nearly as much a woman of your world as if she had come from there. She is dead opposed to our whole social system, and would make every Atalantan equal.”

“She is a Christian,” said Parmenton vehemently, “and equally opposed to us in faith. But I would forgive her even that, for she would let us have a taste of freedom. As for you,” he continued, pointing to Abercromby, “you have been covered with indelible disgrace through having been in prison, and you can only escape it by joining us in founding a new social order. In a very short time Atalanta will be free, and Mexitli hung on a gibbet in front of the Temple at whose worship she has mocked.”

“This talk has lasted long enough,” said Radcliffe sternly. “We are no better than other men; we have not, I think, been accorded the hospitality that was due to us; but, for all that, we take Atalanta as we find it, and utterly renounce all unholy and sanguinary deeds. Allow us to pass, if you please; if not, we shall resort to force. Wherever we go we are watched, and if we were detained, _you_ would answer for it.”

“Let them go,” grumbled Medon, “we are better without them. We shall have a nobler leader than they, and a trained force to support him.”

When they found themselves in the open air Abercromby gave himself a shake, like a dog coming out of the water. Radcliffe remarked: “They all seem to harp upon the change which has come over Melanitis, though I suspect it has been greatly exaggerated by credulous report.”

“Possibly,” said Abercromby. “How long is it since her illness and her extraordinary recovery, the unlucky result of Malchon’s rash prayer?”

“Seven years,” said Radcliffe.

“The years of Venus, I suppose. Just oblige a duffer by telling him how long it takes Venus to rotate round the sun?”

“Two hundred and twenty-four days, I believe.”

Abercromby turned his head very sharply; they had just come in view of the Lake and the Temple. Radcliffe did not notice that his companion had gone white to the lips.

* * * * *

When they reached home they found the Professor and the others in rather a flutter of excitement. “We have had a visitor,” said Carysfort.

“Male or female?” asked Abercromby.

“Male, of course; no other would come unless to shoot us.”

“Who was it?” enquired Radcliffe.

“Lydon.”

“And who the dickens is Lydon?” said Abercromby. “Don’t dole us out our information by instalments.”

“The high priest of the Sun,” answered the Professor. “He came with two attendant priests, clad in gorgeous robes and with full ceremony and state. He remained about an hour, talking over all matters of interesting information.”

“Yes, and more than that,” observed Carysfort. “He told us that there would be a great festival of the Sun on the first regular day of the sunny season, and he hoped we would honour it by our presence. He also told us that the archives of the Temple contained documents of priceless importance, written by those who lived near to the time of the event in which Radcliffe is specially interested. He will show them to Radcliffe if he will pay a visit to the island.”

Radcliffe and Abercromby exchanged significant glances.

“Did he express his views as to any social or domestic matters connected with the well-being of the commonwealth?” enquired Abercromby, who seldom used elegant phraseology except when he was joking.

“I do not think he is at all friendly to much that now goes on,” observed the Professor.

“Then may I suggest that we do not accept his hospitality till after the festival is over?” said Abercromby.

“I would not make a foe of him,” observed the engineer.

Radcliffe went out by himself and took his way to Mayana’s house. He failed to see her, but Minya granted him an interview, and before he was aware of it she had put to him a string of questions the full drift of which he did not quite clearly understand. But he answered her as explicitly as he could, and she then said that he ought on no account to visit the Temple, it would be as much as his life was worth to do so; he must not ask any reasons but be led entirely by her advice, which was given in all good faith.

When he got home he found that Abercromby had been doing his best to persuade the others that Lydon was not to be trusted, despite all the treasures which he might have at disposal to show them. Tom was not altogether of his way of thinking; he was apparently anxious to see the old conjurer’s bag of tricks, as he elegantly expressed it. The Professor and the engineer were not moved so much by literary instincts or general curiosity as by a desire not to provoke any more hostilities.

Abercromby said: “You are all of you as credulous as the Cambridge freshman who was disinclined to subscribe to his college boat, but as he took in whatever we told him, we said one day, ‘Tearle, you ought to be ashamed. The Vice-Chancellor was running along the tow-path in flannels this afternoon, bawling out, “Well rowed, Trinity!”’ that fetched him quite, and he gave us a guinea on the strength of it.”

Radcliffe had come in, and his appearance suggested to Tom a new argument. “Don’t you think that as Mr. Radcliffe wants to be a missionary to these ’ere savages the priests had better take him in hand in their college so as to give him points?”

“My dear Tom,” said Abercromby, when he had finished laughing, “Mr. Radcliffe hardly wants to be coached in paganism.”

“Bless you all!” said Tom, “I’m a fool. I thought they were Christians, just for a minute.”