by Frank Aubrey
CHAPTER XXXI.
'THE SON OF APALANO!'
On leaving the amphitheatre, Monella and his followers formed a longand imposing procession. Only a few had been left behind to guard theprisoners. These last were immured in cells pointed out by Fernina,who was well acquainted with the interior arrangements of Coryon'sretreat. For within the rocks was an almost endless series of passagesand galleries opening, at the further end, on to an extensive hangingterrace on the very face of the great precipice that formed one end ofRoraima's perpendicular sides. Even those of Coryon's followers whohad gone over secretly to Monella, were only partially acquainted withthe interior of this fastness; hence Fernina's assistance was found ofgreat use by Sanaima and those who remained with him.
It can scarcely be said that the procession, as it left the greatgates of the amphitheatre, exhibited, at first, many signs of havingjust been engaged in a victorious and successful expedition. Thosewho formed it were, for the most part, silent and preoccupied; forthe scenes they had witnessed--and that, as they knew, were still inprogress--were of too horrible a character to be readily dismissedfrom the mind. But, as they proceeded on their way, they met and werejoined by fresh bands of red-coated sympathisers; and these, not havingthe same reasons for repressing their elation at the result of theday's proceedings, broke out into cheering as they passed the groups ofpeople who were now coming out to meet them. For messengers had goneon in advance to tell the news, and the crowds who had been waitingso anxiously in the city, soon learned that Coryon's downfall was anaccomplished fact. They had already heard the good tidings of therescue of the princess and her lover and friends, and were only waitingfor this last crowning announcement; when it came, they became almostdelirious with joy, and soon poured out to meet the victors and givethem an enthusiastic welcome.
Thus the procession that started so quietly--almost in sadness, as itseemed--from the dismal amphitheatre, became at last, as it enteredthe city, a veritable triumphal pageant, meeting on all sides, andreturning, cheers and shouts of joy and exultation. And when Monella,with Templemore, Colenna, and others came into view in the centre ofthe long array, every head was uncovered and every knee bent. Then,when he had passed, the excited crowds rose and shouted again louderthan ever. And well might they do so; for they--and only they--knew thefull meaning of the horrors from which they had that day been delivered.
By the time they had neared the king's palace, the crowd had grown sodense that it was with some difficulty that space was cleared for thepassage of the principal persons into the building. At the entrance,under the great archway, Leonard, looking pale and anxious, awaitedthem. Running forward to meet Monella, he said,
"I have heard the news and congratulate you all. But I am in soredistress about the princess. We had much ado to bring her here, and Ifear she is very ill. Let me entreat you to go and see her at once,and then let me know what you think about her."
"Certainly will I, my son," replied Monella kindly, and hurried away;while Leonard turned and greeted Templemore and the others withhim. Then they all entered the palace and went up one of the greatstaircases and on to a terrace overlooking the open space where thecrowd was assembled, and there awaited Monella's return.
Presently he came to them.
"The princess is weak and much depressed," he said, "and will requirecare for awhile; but I see no cause for anxiety. Naturally, the poorchild is terribly upset. She grieves, too, about the condition of theking her father, and wishes to help nurse him, but this she has notstrength for at present. Patience, my son. Be patient and of goodheart." He looked with pity and concern at Leonard's haggard facewith its hollow, dark-ringed eyes and its worn-out look. "You havesuffered--cruelly--I can see," he added, placing his hand gently on theyoung man's shoulder. "You have been sorely tried."
"Ah!" returned Leonard with a heavy sigh. "You cannot imagine what Ihave been through! My thoughts still dwell upon the horror of it; myeyes still see the sights I gazed upon! I feel as though I shall neverbe my old self again. And Ulama! Though I do not yet know how much shesaw or knew, I sadly believe she shares my feelings."
"You are both worn out--exhausted, my son. Wait but a space--while Ispeak to the crowd and dismiss them--and then I will give you a cordialand refreshment; after that you must lie down and have a long sleep."
"I fear even to sleep," said Leonard, shaking his head sadly. "I dreadthe thought of sleep, for I know but too well what my dreams will be."
"Nay, my son, have no fear. I will promise you dreamless, restfulsleep," Monella answered, and moved away to the front of the terrace.
At the sight of his commanding form and upraised hand the shouts andnoise and all the subdued roar that till now had been continuous werehushed. Then, as with one accord, all uncovered and fell upon theirknees. He spoke a few brief words and then dismissed them, pointing outthat his friends were in need of rest and quiet.
The crowd, in respectful obedience, quietly dispersed, and Monella,motioning Elwood and Templemore to follow him, led them into hisprivate apartments and there mixed and administered to both certaindrinks that had an immediate and wonderfully revivifying effect. Thesepotions had also the advantage of stimulating their appetites, sothat they were the better enabled to take the nourishment he pressedupon them. Then he accompanied them to their sleeping chambers andbade them lie down and take the repose they so sorely needed. Noneof the three had had any sleep or rest--for Leonard's swoon in hiscell and subsequent state of torpor could scarcely be so called--forthe past two nights. The two young men were not only worn out, but inthat excited state in which the brain seems to insist upon going overand over and over again the events of the previous troubled time, inthat ceaseless, monotonous whirl that makes all efforts at sleep souseless. But Monella--who alone showed no sign of the strain all hadundergone--sat down by the side of each in succession for a short time,and talked to him in his low, musical tones. What he talked of, orwhat he did, neither could afterwards remember; but the effect wasmagical. As Leonard afterwards expressed it, a soothing, delicioussense of drowsy rest crept over his senses; a rest that was not sleep,for he could still hear the usual sounds around, but gradually growinghushed and muffled. Then came a sensation as of being lifted and waftedaway by a gentle wind; and in the sighing of the breeze there seemeda delightful strain of music, a dreamy lullaby that carried with it arestful peace sinking imperceptibly into untroubled repose.
The strangest thing, perhaps, is that even the unimpressionableTemplemore was affected in the same way, as he afterwards admitted. Norwas that all; for, on awaking, he was conscious of having had the mostdelicious dreams, though he could not quite recall their subject. Forsome time he lay in a state of blissful ease, striving to recollectthe dream that had left sensations so delicious, and afraid to rousehimself for fear the remembrance should vanish altogether. He couldhear the usual sounds going on in the palace, the tramp of armed men,and clashing and jingling of arms; but he was only half-conscious ofthem. Then he heard his name called in tones that seemed to come fromthe far distance, and, opening his eyes, he saw Monella standing besidehis couch and regarding him with a grave smile.
"Wake up, my friend," he said. "It is time you roused yourself. Iwish to have some talk with you and Leonard. You have slept foreight-and-forty hours!"
Templemore sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"I feel as if I had slept for months," he answered in a half-dazed way."And I've had such curious dreams, or visions; I feel quite sorry to beawake again. It's a strange thing for _me_ to talk like that, I know,"he added with hesitation.
"What did you dream of?" asked Leonard, who had entered in time to hearthe other's concluding words.
"That's the strange part of it," returned Templemore, looking perplexedand somewhat sheepish. "I've had a most extraordinary dream of somekind, or a vision or something--_that_ I know, yet I cannot rememberwhat it was. All I can now tell you is that it was something soextremely pleasant that it has left the most agreeable sensationsbehind
it. My very blood seems in a warm, delicious glow from it. Whatcan it be?" he added, looking in a bewildered way from one to the other.
But Monella made no comment, and went away.
"It's been just the same with me," said Leonard, in a low voice, thathad an expression almost of awe in it. "Monella woke me about half anhour ago and I felt much like what you have described."
"It's very odd," Templemore returned thoughtfully. "It must be thedrink he gave us. Do you remember what Harry Lorien said of him? Thathe believed Monella was a magician? I begin to think him a wizardmyself. But, dear boy, how much better you look!"
"So do you, Jack; and he tells me Ulama is the same--and it's all hisdoing, you know. He _is_ a wizard; and that's all there is to be saidabout it."
"The question is," Jack went on, "what was it he gave us? Here it hasmade us sleep nearly forty-eight hours; and it seems, has done us, inthat time, as much good as one would have thought would have takena week or two to accomplish, and yet it has left no dull, drowsy,listless feeling, such as opiates generally do. I can't make it out."And, shaking his head gravely, Templemore went to take his morningplunge.
When they sought Monella, he bade Leonard give him the particulars ofall that had occurred to him. Leonard recounted them.
"It seemed very terrible to me," he said when he had finished, "at thetime; and truly I thought I should never get over it. Yet--now--itseems such a long while ago--so far off."
"That is well, my son," returned Monella. "For it has been a soretrial. I have heard about _you_," he continued, turning to Templemore,"from the lady Zonella and from Ergalon."
"I owe a great debt to her--to him--to both," Templemore replied."Without their aid I fear things would have gone badly with Leonard,and myself too."
"Yes, Coryon had ably laid his treacherous schemes, and we all havereason to be thankful for their failure," said Monella solemnly."Things came to a crisis just then. I had just matured certain plansthat Sanaima and I had laid out; and only the day before my long-lostmemory returned to me, and I remembered, all in a flash, as it were,the whole of my former life."
"That you were--that is--are----" Templemore began; but stopped andlooked confused.
"Yes, that I am indeed Mellenda," was the reply, given with an air ofgrave conviction. "I know the statement sounds incredible to you; youare of that nature, have been brought up in that kind of school, thatmakes such a thing sound impossible. But if _I_ myself feel and knowthat it is true, and if my people around me know it and not only admitit but rejoice in it, then, for me, that is sufficient."
"Certainly," Templemore assented, feeling very uncomfortable under theother's gaze.
"Still--to you--let me be, while you remain here, simply what I havebeen before--your friend Monella. I am the same being to-day that youhave known and, I hope, liked--that you have joined with in facingdanger and adventure--I am the same! The mere fact that I rememberthings now that I had forgotten before makes no difference to me or toour friendship."
This was said with a look of such kind regard that Templemore felt hisown heart swell with responsive feeling. It was true he had a stronginclination to regard the other as a sincere, but self-deceivingmystic; but, apart from that--apart from this strange delusion, as hedeemed it, about Monella's being the legendary Mellenda--Templemorelooked upon him with feelings of the greatest admiration, affection,and respect. And he had never been so conscious of those feelings as atthis moment. He took the hand that the other extended to him, and benthis head respectfully.
"Sir," said he in a low tone, "no son could respect and reverence abeloved and honoured father more than I do you. No one could feelprouder of the love and esteem you have been kind enough to show me; nopeople, I feel satisfied, could have a worthier, a more disinterested,or exalted ruler. If I find it difficult to realise the marvel thatyou have related, if I have the idea that, perhaps, you are mistakingyour own dreams for actual realities, it is not from any doubt of yoursincerity or veracity--only that in that way alone can I bring myselfto explain the wonder."
"And I, on my side, respect the honesty that will not allow you topretend what you cannot feel," was the reply. "To you let me be simplyMonella, and let us continue on our old terms of mutual friendship andesteem. And now I am going to rouse your wonder and surprise with yetone other unexpected statement. Your friend Leonard here is not theson of the parents he has all his life supposed himself to be."
Leonard sprang up with an exclamation.
"I will explain how. You have already told us"--this to Leonard--"howthat your supposed father and mother, with yourself, and your Indiannurse, once stayed some time with a strange people in a secluded valleyamong the peaks of the Andes. I was not there at the time, but theywere my people."
"Your people!" Leonard repeated with astonishment.
"Yes, my son, my people! Apalano, and two or three others of whom youhave heard me speak--all, alas, now dead! I was informed of your visitwhen I next came back to them, for a while, from my wanderings. I heardof it and what had happened; how Apalano's little child--his onlyone--had been killed by a venomous serpent."
"The child of Apalano!" Leonard repeated in amaze.
"The two children," Monella continued--"Mr. Elwood's child andApalano's--were wonderfully alike, and your nurse, the Indian womanCarenna, was very fond of both, and was in the habit of taking themout together. She was out with them thus one day, and left themboth sleeping in the shade of a clump of trees while she went a fewyards away to gather some fruit. She returned (so she says) in a fewminutes; then, thinking one of the children had a strange look shepicked it up in alarm; at the same moment a serpent glided out fromunder its clothes and went away, hissing, into the wood. But thechild was dead; and it was the child of the Englishman. Then Carenna,frantic with grief, and afraid to tell the truth to her master andmistress, exchanged the clothes and ornaments of the children. Thetrick succeeded; for the dead infant was swollen and discoloured; andApalano mourned the death of his only child, when it went away, inreality, with the strangers and their Indian nurse."
"Then," said Leonard excitedly, "I am----"
"Ranelda, son of my well-beloved friend! Ah," said Monella, sadly, "itwas a cruel thing to do. It preyed upon the mind of my friend, and, Itruly believe, brought on the fatal sickness. But for that he mighthave lived, haply, to see at last the land of his fathers--might havebeen one of us here to-day."
Leonard felt the tears come into his eyes at the picture called up bythis suggestion; and he said in a low tone,
"Alas! My poor father! It was cruel--very cruel!"
"It seems so," Monella returned with a sigh. "But God so willedit. And He has also willed that you should be led back to your ownnation--that, after many days, you should join with me in the work thatI had set myself."
"It's very wonderful. Yet it seems to me to explain those strangedreams and visions that were ever urging me on to attempt theexploration of the mysterious Roraima! I suppose, when Carenna foundout who you were, she confessed?"
"Well," answered Monella, with a half-smile, "I made her do so. Peoplefind it difficult to hide anything from me. I saw she had some secret,and compelled her to divulge it. But, since she was so afraid toconfess to others, and especially averse to _your_ knowing it, I madeher this promise, that, if you desired to return from our adventure,you should do so in ignorance of the actual facts. I was only to tellyou in case you freely elected to stay here permanently. That is why Ihave kept it back thus far. I had intended to announce it to you and tothe people at the time of your public betrothal. Then they would havereceived you, with one accord, as one having a right to rule over them.And now you can understand why I have regarded you with such affectionfrom the first; and how glad I was to find, in Apalano's son, one soworthy of my love and confidence. Your father was allied with my line,and you are, therefore, akin to me. Worthy son of a worthy father! Letme join with you in thankfulness that you have, after all, come intothe heritage that is yours by right! The young ea
gle was bound to findits way to the eyrie for which it was best fitted." And Monella stoodup and laid his hand affectionately upon the young man's shoulder.Leonard reverently bowed his head, and the other pressed his lips uponhis forehead.
There was silence for some seconds. Then Templemore took Leonard's hand.
"And let me too congratulate you, Leonard," he said fervently. "It isgood news for you--this; for, since you have elected to pass here theremainder of your life, it will be a great comfort and advantage to youthat you have such good claims and qualifications for the position."
"I am thinking about my poor father who died of heartache anddisappointment," rejoined Leonard; and in his tone there was a note ofgenuine sorrow. "And I can scarcely forgive Carenna--fond of me as Iknow her to have always been--for her cruelty to him."
Presently Templemore turned again to Monella, saying,
"Did Carenna then believe this mountain was inhabited, that you wouldfind here the people you came to seek? Did you yourself think that?"
"As to myself, I can scarcely tell you," was the answer. "'Reason'said that the hope of finding here the people of whom Apalano had sooften talked to me--for that was all I then knew--was chimerical; yetApalano's dying wishes, and some strange sentiment or instinct withinme, urged me on. Then, when I met with Carenna, I found she quitethought it might turn out true."
"Carenna thought it?"
"Why, yes; but that is not very surprising, for, according to theIndian ideas, it would not be the only instance in this country. Thereis a belief amongst the Indians in several parts that some of theunexplored mountains are inhabited by strange and unknown races. Thisapplies to those--and there are many; Roraima is not the only one--thatare surrounded by the curious belts of almost impenetrable forest. TheIndians believe that, if these forests could be passed, strange peopleswould be met with living on the mountains thus encircled; and they saythat on clear nights the lights from their fires may often be seen.[10]Therefore Carenna was quite prepared to believe we might find Roraimainhabited."
[10] Mr. Im Thurn, referring to this belief amongst the Indians, states that he has himself seen, from a distance, strange lights on the Canakoo Mountains for which he was quite unable to account. See 'Among the Indians of British Guiana,' p. 384.
"I see. Then she, at least, will not have been so very much surprisedat our not returning, and may not have given us up for dead?"
"Yes; that is probable enough."
"And if she has heard of the signal flares we made when someIndians--as I suppose they were--were camping in sight of the mountain,she would look upon that as a sign of our being up here alive?"
"I think that is very likely."
"There is the suggestion of a little comfort in that," said Templemore;"for, otherwise, those I left behind, and who are dear to me, must havegiven up all hope and be now mourning me as dead. With Leonard it isdifferent. He stood alone in the world and has no one to grieve for himmore than as an ordinary friend."