"I really don't know and don't care," answered Leonard. "If you will be a god you must take the consequences. Only beware, Otter: lock up your tongue, for this woman will teach you to speak her language, and she may be a spy."
"Yes, Baas, I will see to that. Is not my name Silence, and shall women make me talk—me, who have always hated them? But—the Baas would not like to marry her himself? I am a god, as you say, though it was you who made me one, Baas, not I, and my heart is large; I will give her to you, Baas."
"Certainly not," answered Leonard decidedly. "See if the breakfast is ready. No, I forgot, you are a god, so climb up into the throne and look the part, if you can."
As he spoke, Juanna came from her room, looking a little pale, and they sat down to breakfast. Before they had finished their meal, Soa announced that Olfan was waiting without. Juanna ordered him to be admitted, and presently he entered.
"Is all well, Olfan?" asked Juanna.
"All is well, Queen," he answered. "Nam and three hundred of his following held council at dawn in the house of the priests yonder. There is much stir and talk in the city, but the hearts of the people are light because their ancient gods have come back to us, bringing peace with them."
"Good," said Juanna. Then she began to question him artfully on many things, and by degrees they learnt more of the People of the Mist.
It seemed, as Leonard had already guessed, that they were a very ancient race, having existed for countless generations on the same misty upland plains. They were not, however, altogether isolated, for occasionally they made war with other savage tribes. But they never intermarried with these tribes, all the captives taken in their wars being offered in sacrifice at the religious festivals. The real governing power in the community was the Society of the Priests of the Snake, who held their office by hereditary tenure, outsiders being admitted to their body only under very exceptional circumtances. The council of this society chose the kings, and when they were weary of one of them, they sacrificed him and chose another, either from among his issue or elsewhere. This being the custom, as may be imagined, the relations between church and state were much strained, but hitherto, as Olfan explained with suppressed rage, the church had been supreme.
Indeed, the king for the time being was only its mouthpiece, or executive officer. He led the armies, but the superstitions of the people, and even of the soldiers themselves, prevented him from wielding any real power; and, unless he chanced to die naturally, his end was nearly always the same: to be sacrificed when the seasons were bad or "Jal was angry."
The country was large but sparsely populated, the fighting men numbered not more than four thousand, of whom about half lived in the great city, the rest occupying villages here and there on the mountain slopes. As a rule the people were monogamous, except the priests. It was the custom of sacrifice which kept down the population to its low level, made the power of the priests absolute, and their wealth greater than that of all the other inhabitants of the country put together, for they chose the victims that had offended against Jal or against the mother–goddess, and confiscated their possessions to "the service of the temple." Thus the great herds of half–wild cattle which the travellers had seen on the plains belonged to the priests, and the priests took a fourth of the produce of every man's field and garden—that is, when they did not take it all, and his life with it.
Twice in every year great festivals were held in the temple of Jal, at the beginning of the spring season and in the autumn after the ingathering of the crops. At each of these festivals many victims were offered in sacrifice, some upon the stone and some by being hurled into the boiling pool beneath the statue, there to be consumed by the Snake or swept down the secret course of the underground river. The feast celebrated in the spring was sacred to Jal, and that in the autumn to the mother–goddess. But there was this difference between them—that at the spring ceremony female victims only were sacrificed to Jal to propitiate him and to avert his evil influence, while at the autumn celebration males alone were offered up to the mother–goddess in gratitude for her gifts of plenty. Also criminals were occasionally thrown to the Snake that his hunger might be satisfied. The priests had other rites, Olfan added, and these they would have an opportunity of witnessing if the spring festival, which should be celebrated on the second day from that date, were held according to custom.
"It shall not be celebrated," said Juanna, almost fiercely.
Then Leonard, who had hitherto listened in silence, asked a question through Juanna. "How is it," he said, "that Nam and his fellows, being already in absolute power, were so willing to accept the gods Jal and Aca when they appeared in person, seeing that henceforth they must obey, not rule?"
"For two reasons, lord," Olfan answered; "first, because the gods are gods, and their servants know them; and secondly, because Nam has of late stood in danger of losing his authority. Of all the chief priests that have been told of, Nam is the most cruel and the most greedy. For three years he has doubled the tale of sacrifices, and though the people love these sights of death, they murmur, for none know upon whom the knife shall fall. Therefore he was glad to greet the gods come back, since he thought that they would confirm his power, and set him higher than he sat before. Now he is astonished because they proclaim peace and will have none of the sacrifice of men, for Nam does not love such gentle gods."
"Yet he shall obey them," said Otter, speaking for the first time by the mouth of Juanna, who all this while was acting as interpreter, "or drink his own medicine, for I myself will sacrifice him to myself."
When Juanna had translated the dwarf's bloodthirsty threat, Olfan bowed his head meekly and smiled; clearly the prospect of Nam's removal did not cause him unmixed grief. It was curious to see this stately warrior chief humbling his pride before the misshapen, knob–nosed Kaffir.
"Say, Olfan," asked Leonard, "who cut from the rock the great statue on which we sat last night, and what is that reptile we saw when the woman was thrown into the pool of troubled waters?"
"Ask the Water–dweller of the water–dweller, the Snake of the snake, and the Dwarf of his image," answered Olfan, nodding towards Otter. "How can I, who am but a man, tell of such things, lord? I only know that the statue was fashioned in the far past, when we, who are now but a remnant, were a great people; and as for the Snake, he has always lived there in his holy place. Our grandfather's grandfathers knew him, and since that day he has not changed."
"Interesting fact in natural history," said Leonard; "I wish I could get him home alive to the Zoological Gardens."
Then he asked another question. "Tell me, Olfan, what became of the red stones yesterday, and of him who offended in offering them to the god yonder?"
"The most of them were cast into the pit of waters, lord, there to be hidden for ever. There were three hide sacks full."
"Oh, heavens!" groaned Leonard when Juanna had translated this. "Otter, you have something to answer for!"
"But the choicest," went on Olfan, "were put in a smaller bag, and tied about the neck of the man who had sinned. There were not many, but among them were the largest stones, that until yesterday shone in the eyes of the idol, stones blue and red together. Also, there was that stone, shaped like a human heart, which hitherto has been worn by the high priest on the days of sacrifice, and with it the image of the Dwarf fashioned from a single gem, and that of the Water–dweller cut from the great blue stone, and other smaller ones chosen because of their beauty and also because they have been known for long in the land. For although many of these pebbles are found where the priests dig for them, but few are large and perfect, and the art of shaping them is lost."