“It was nobly done, Gefasto,” said Torndali. “The troops worship you. They would like a king who led them in battle as you might lead them.”
“And let them have their wine as of old,” interjected Makahago.
“We would all rally around a king who permitted us the innocent pleasure of our wine,” said Gofoloso: “what say you, Vestako?”
The Chief of the Royal Dome, the king’s major domo, who had remained silent throughout the arraignment of his master, shook his head.
“It is not wise to speak treason now,” he said.
The three looked sharply at him and glanced quickly at one another.
“Who has spoken treason, Vestako?” demanded Gofoloso.
“You have all come too close to it for safety,” said the oily Vestako. He spoke in a much louder voice than the others had spoken, as though, far from being fearful of being overheard, he rather hoped that he would be. “Elkomoelhago has been good to us. He has heaped honors and riches upon us. We are very powerful. He is a wise ruler. Who are we to question the wisdom of his acts?”
The others looked uneasily about. Gofoloso laughed nervously. “You were ever slow to appreciate a joke, my good Vestako,” he said. “Could you not see that we were hoaxing you?”
“I could not,” replied Vestako; “but the king has a fine sense of humor. I will repeat the joke to him and if he laughs then I shall laugh, too, for I shall know that it was indeed a joke. But I wonder upon whom it will be!”
“Oh, Vestako, do not repeat what we have said—not to the king. He might not understand. We are good friends and it was said only among friends.” Gofoloso was evidently perturbed in spirit—he spoke rapidly. “By the way, my good Vestako, I just happened to recall that the other day you admired one of my slaves. I have intended giving him to you. If you will accept him he is yours.”
“I admire a hundred of your slaves,” said Vestako, softly.
“They are yours, Vestako,” said Gofoloso. “Come with me now and select them. It is a pleasure to make my friend so trifling a present.”
Vestako looked steadily at the other four. They shifted uneasily in momentary silence, which was broken by Throwaldo, Chief of Agriculture. “If Vestako would accept a hundred of my poor slaves I should be overwhelmed with delight,” he said.
“I hope they will be slaves of the white tunic,” said Vestako.
“They will,” said Throwaldo.
“I cannot be outdone in generosity,” said Torndali; “you must accept a hundred slaves from me.”
“And from me!” cried Makahago, Chief of Buildings.
“If you will send them to my head slave at my quarters before the Sun enters the Warriors’ Corridor I shall be overwhelmed with gratitude,” said Vestako, rubbing his palms and smiling unctuously. Then he looked quickly and meaningly at Gefasto, Chief of Warriors of Veltopismakus.
“Best can I show my friendship for the noble Vestako,” said Gefasto, unsmiling, “by assuring him that I shall, if possible, prevent my warriors from slipping a dagger between his ribs. Should aught of harm befall me, however, I fear that I cannot be responsible for the acts of these men, who, I am told, love me.” For a moment longer he stood looking straight into the eyes of Vestako, then he turned upon his heel and strode from the room.
Of the six men who composed the Royal Council, Gefasto and Gofoloso were the most fearless, though even they flattered the vain and arrogant Elkomoelhago, whose despotic powers rendered him a most dangerous enemy. Custom and inherent loyalty to the royal family, in addition to that most potent of human instrumentalities—self-interest, held them to the service of their king, but so long had they been plotting against him, and so rife was discontent throughout the city, that each now felt that he might become bolder, with impunity.
Torndali, Makahago and Throwaldo, having been chosen by the king for their supposed pliability and having, unlike Gefasto and Gofoloso, justified his expectations, counted for little one way or another. Like the majority of the Veltopismakusian nobles under the reign of Elkomoelhago they had become corrupt, and self-interest guided their every act and thought. Gefasto did not trust them, for he knew that they could be bought even while professing their virtue, and Gefasto had taken to the study of men since his success with the warriors of his city—a success that was fully as much a surprise to him as to others—and his knowledge of the mounting restlessness of the people had implanted in the fertile soil of a virile brain the idea that Veltopismakus was ripe for a new dynasty.
Vestako he knew for a self-acknowledged and shameless bribe-taker. He did not believe that there was an honest hair in the man’s head, but he had been surprised at the veiled threat of exposure he had used to mulct his fellows.
“Low indeed have fallen the fortunes of Veltopismakus,” he said to Gofoloso as the two walked along the Warriors’ Corridor after quitting the council chamber of the king.
“As exemplified by—?” queried the Chief of Chiefs.
“By Vestako’s infamy. He cares neither for king nor for people. For slaves or gold he would betray either, and Vestako is typical of the majority of us. No longer is friendship sacred, for even from Throwaldo he exacted the toll of his silence, and Throwaldo has ever been accounted his best friend.”
“What has brought us to such a pass, Gafasto,” asked Gofoloso, thoughtfully. “Some attribute it to one cause and some to another, and though there should be no man in Veltopismakus better able than myself to answer my own question, I confess that I am at a loss. There are many theories, but I doubt me the right one has yet been expounded.”
“If one should ask me, Gofoloso, and
