“I can understand that, at least.” Matt nodded. “Gold that was apt to draw retribution, no, that was stupid—but a handful of gems wasn't going to slow him down any, and could last him the rest of his life.” He fairly beamed at her. “I'm very glad to find out he came by them honestly.”
“Did you think my Anthony a thief?” Balkis asked, her anger returning. “Never! He is the soul of honesty and loyalty! Never would I question him! Save, of course, in the matter of that one flaw: greed.”
“I'm glad to learn it hasn't undermined his honesty,” Matt said. “It has broken the integrity of many good men before now, Balkis.” He gave her a sly smile. “The boy just might be worthy of you, after all.”
“I should think he is!” Balkis said indignantly, then turned shy. “But Lord Wizard—do you think I am worthy of him?”
“Definitely!” Matt said. “You don't know what a gem you are, cottage girl!”
She frowned at him. “I am a princess now, sir.”
“Yes, and doing a very good job of it, too,” Matt agreed, “and if you can, so can Anthony”
The next morning, they woke to find the pilgrims all astir, milling about in the yard of the hostel. They went out to join their friends, Anthony asking, “What is the cause of your excitement, good Sikta?”
“Today we go to the palace!” the matron exclaimed. “Will it not be wondrous, Anthony—to see the grand home of Prester John himself?”
“It will indeed!” Anthony's eyes were shining. “Will it not be a delight, Balkis?”
“It will indeed, Anthony,” she said faintly.
CHAPTER 30
They came out of a boulevard into a great open plaza and saw the palace rising above a high wall. Directly before them was a huge portal closed by two massive, pale gates with the sheen of polished stone, inlaid with geometric patterns in a translucent yellowish material. The pilgrims milled about, discussing the sight with one another in tones of excitement. Then a trumpet blew and they fell silent, all eyes turning toward the gateway.
Drums began to beat and soldiers filed out of the palace. They formed into four ranks and marched toward the pilgrims, shifting their weapons from side to side at the calls of a sergeant. The pilgrims murmured in awe, for such drill was unknown anywhere else in the world. It made a brave spectacle indeed.
The soldiers marched up to them, stamped to a halt, then opened an aisle in their center, down which came a man who strutted with self-importance. He wore a brocaded gown and hat embroidered in gold. As he came, the sergeant bawled orders again, and the soldiers wheeled to the sides, files lining end-to-end until they formed a broad avenue down which the pilgrims could march.
Balkis hid a smile. She had never seen this display before but could tell it was calculated to awe and entertain the pilgrims—and, without their realizing it, to contain them in case any wished to make trouble. She thought she detected Matthew's hand in this.
The courtier came to a halt in front of the band and gave them a condescending smile. “Good morning, good pilgrims! I am Hajik, and I shall guide you through such of the palace as the public may see! If you have questions, I shall answer as many as I may.”
The pilgrims murmured to one another, but none asked any questions, though each had a dozen clogging his throat.
“The square in which you stand,” said Hajik, “is where our glorious emperor witnesses the judicial contests of trial by combat: It is paved with onyx in order that the courage of the fighters may be increased by the virtue of the stone.”
Balkis shuddered. “Horrid custom!”
“It is indeed,” Anthony agreed, low-voiced. “We must find a better way to decide which is the worthier case.”
Balkis looked up at him in surprise; he spoke with the sound of a man who had pondered the issue. She had not expected Anthony to have given any thought to such matters.
“These great gates before you are made of sardonyx inlaid with the horn of the serpent called ‘cerastes,’ so that no one may enter with poison.”
The pilgrims murmured, suitably impressed.
“So if any of you come with poison about you,” the courtier said with a twinkle in his eye, “you were best to leave it on the ground!”
The pilgrims gazed at him in shock. Then one or two realized that he spoke in jest and managed a weak laugh. Hearing them, the rest of the company joined in, halfheartedly but relieved.
“Come in, then, come in!” Hajik stepped to the side, spreading an arm toward the sardonyx gates. “The emperor invites you!”
He stepped aside and the pilgrims surged forward with cries of delight and awe, scarcely noticing that the soldiers closed in to their sides and their rear, shepherding them and making sure none went running off to investigate on his or her own.
Exclaiming to one another, the pilgrims came through the twelve-foot-high portal and saw vast lawns stretching away to the distant castle.
“How awe-inspiring, how huge!” one of the pilgrims exclaimed.
“It is indeed,” said another, “but why should the emperor need veritable fields within his walls? Why, you could drill an army in here!”
“He probably does, neighbor,” a third man said. “He probably does.”
Anthony looked the question at Balkis. Eyes twinkling, she nodded.
“If the city were invaded,” said another thoughtful pilgrim, “he could house half his people here, in tents and such.”
“All his people, actually,” Balkis confided to Anthony.
He grinned down at her, then turned away to regard the palace itself. Soldiers herded straying pilgrims onto the flags of the broad paved apron before the palace. Gradually all of them came there to stare at the graceful building.
“The emperor's palace is patterned after the heavenly mansion St. Thomas constructed for the Hindu King Gundafor,” Hajik explained. “The king appointed the apostle to build him an earthly palace, but St. Thomas gave the money to the poor instead. When the king indicted him for it, St. Thomas replied that he had used the gold to build the king a palace in Heaven. Soon after, King Gundafor fell into a deathlike sleep and was transported to Heaven, where he gazed upon a palace much like this, only grander and even more magnificent. An angel told him it was the castle St. Thomas had built for him by his charity to the poor, then sent the king back to the world of the living, to be baptized as an example to all his people.”
The people murmured, marveling at the tale and the palace both. The building was three hundred feet long and a hundred deep, with a huge central dome and four smaller domes at the corners, all bulbous and pointed—but the central doorway was a Roman arch flanked by Corinthian columns. The window opening onto the central balcony, right above the main door, was a smaller version of its arch, with railings of ivory. The windows were Moorish arches with balconies enclosed by elaborately carved railings. The roof, however, was completely black.
“Good sir, why is there so dark a roof on a palace so light and colorful?” Sikta asked, frowning.
Hajik puffed himself up with the pride of knowledge. “It is made of a precious wood called ebony, good woman, and it has the virtue of taking and holding a spell that will make it immune to fire.”
“You mean it cannot burn?” a pilgrim asked, wide-eyed.
“Not once Prester John enchanted it, no,” Hajik said. “The gates of the palace itself are likewise of ebony so that no enemy may burn them down to enter.” He turned and pointed at the eastern end of the roof. “Notice the gables at either end! Above each are two golden apples—see how they shine! But set in each of them are two carbuncles; as the gold shines by day, so the carbuncles shine by night.”