Twala greeted us with much apparent cordiality, though I saw him fix his one eye viciously on Umbopa.
“Welcome, white men from the Stars,” he said; “this is another sight from that which your eyes gazed on by the light of last night’s moon, but it is not so good a sight. Girls are pleasant, and were it not for such as these,” and he pointed round him, “we should none of us be here this day; but men are better. Kisses and the tender words of women are sweet, but the sound of the clashing of the spears of warriors, and the smell of men’s blood, are sweeter far! Would ye have wives from among our people, white men? If so, choose the fairest here, and ye shall have them, as many as ye will,” and he paused for an answer.
As the prospect did not seem to be without attractions for Good, who, like most sailors, is of a susceptible nature—being elderly and wise, foreseeing the endless complications that anything of the sort would involve, for women bring trouble so surely as the night follows the day, I put in a hasty answer—
“Thanks to thee, O king, but we white men wed only with white women like ourselves. Your maidens are fair, but they are not for us!”
The king laughed. “It is well. In our land there is a proverb which runs, ‘Women’s eyes are always bright, whatever the colour,’ and another that says, ‘Love her who is present, for be sure she who is absent is false to thee;’ but perhaps these things are not so in the Stars. In a land where men are white all things are possible. So be it, white men; the girls will not go begging! Welcome again; and welcome, too, thou black one; if Gagool here had won her way, thou wouldst have been stiff and cold by now. It is lucky for thee that thou too camest from the Stars; ha! ha!”
“I can kill thee before thou killest me, O king,” was Ignosi’s calm answer, “and thou shalt be stiff before my limbs cease to bend.”
Twala started. “Thou speakest boldly, boy,” he replied angrily; “presume not too far.”
“He may well be bold in whose lips are truth. The truth is a sharp spear which flies home and misses not. It is a message from ‘the Stars,’ O king.”
Twala scowled, and his one eye gleamed fiercely, but he said nothing more.
“Let the dance begin,” he cried, and then the flower-crowned girls sprang forward in companies, singing a sweet song and waving the delicate palms and white lilies. On they danced, looking faint and spiritual in the soft, sad light of the risen moon; now whirling round and round, now meeting in mimic warfare, swaying, eddying here and there, coming forward, falling back in an ordered confusion delightful to witness. At last they paused, and a beautiful young woman sprang out of the ranks and began to pirouette in front of us with a grace and vigour which would have put most ballet girls to shame. At length she retired exhausted, and another took her place, then another and another, but none of them, either in grace, skill, or personal attractions, came up to the first.
When the chosen girls had all danced, the king lifted his hand.
“Which deem ye the fairest, white men?” he asked.
“The first,” said I unthinkingly. Next second I regretted it, for I remembered that Infadoos had told us that the fairest woman must be offered up as a sacrifice.
“Then is my mind as your minds, and my eyes as your eyes. She is the fairest! and a sorry thing it is for her, for she must die!”
“Ay, must die!” piped out Gagool, casting a glance of her quick eyes in the direction of the poor girl, who, as yet ignorant of the awful fate in store for her, was standing some ten yards off in front of a company of maidens, engaged in nervously picking a flower from her wreath to pieces, petal by petal.
“Why, O king?” said I, restraining my indignation with difficulty; “the girl has danced well, and pleased us; she is fair too; it would be hard to reward her with death.”
Twala laughed as he answered—
“It is our custom, and the figures who sit in stone yonder,” and he pointed towards the three distant peaks, “must have their due. Did I fail to put the fairest girl to death today, misfortune would fall upon me and my house. Thus runs the prophecy of my people: ‘If the king offer not a sacrifice of a fair girl, on the day of the dance of maidens, to the Old Ones who sit and watch on the mountains, then shall he fall, and his house.’ Look ye, white men, my brother who reigned before me offered not the sacrifice, because of the tears of the woman, and he fell, and his house, and I reign in his stead. It is finished; she must die!” Then turning to the guards—“Bring her hither; Scragga, make sharp thy spear.”
Two of the men stepped forward, and as they advanced, the girl, for the first time realising her impending fate, screamed aloud and turned to fly. But the strong hands caught her fast, and brought her, struggling and weeping, before us.
“What is thy name, girl?” piped Gagool. “What! wilt
