Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  All of the central space was devoted to agriculture, and except for a few public buildings only granaries and storehouses were built there. Yet it was all as elaborately laid out as a public park, and the soil must have been wonderfully fertile.

  One or two natural brooks that flowed through the place fed several canals used for irrigation and boating; and although the Vale of Tcha was really extensive, without an inch of waste space, it was so hemmed in by the mountain that it looked like a toy kingdom.

  Escorted by the officer we traversed paths bordered with gay flowers which led through the pasture lands and grain fields, making indirectly toward a large enclosure near the north end of the valley. I could not imagine what this place was, at first, but saw many white-robed figures flocking to it from various parts of the town. When we drew nearer it resolved itself into a great outdoor hall, built much like the ancient Greek theatres, although it was probably much older than the Greek nation.

  All unguarded we followed our conductor to the entrance of this theatre. There was no possible chance to escape. While we were in the Vale of Tcha and unarmed we were virtually in a prison, with ten thousand native inhabitants for jailors.

  CHAPTER 17

  WE ARE CONDEMNED BY THE TRIBUNAL

  The theatre, or rather assembly hall, was built so that a small stage or platform faced row after row of circular marble seats which rose in tiers, one slightly elevated above another, until the highest tier was some sixty feet above the ground. As we were led in I noticed that the seats were nearly filled with men, women and children. All wore the staple white toga, often over finer garments which fitted the body loosely and were more or less embroidered and decorated according to the fancy or the station of the wearer. Sometimes these togas were solid white throughout, but more usually there was a plain or figured band of a different color around the hem and the neck. The women affected wider borders and more color on their garments than the men.

  Every inhabitant of Tcha, male or female, had red hair. There were many shades from deep auburn to brick red; but it was all undeniably red. Eyes, too, were invariably blue, being likewise of many graduations of shade, from dark violet to light watery azure. The complexions of the people, as I have said, were dazzlingly fair, with few freckles, and this despite the warm latitude in which they lived. However, I never knew it uncomfortably warm in Tcha.

  Having remarked upon the fine physique of the men of Tcha, I may as well state here that their women were the handsomest females I have ever seen. It would not have been possible to find an unattractive maid or matron in the hidden city. They were, as a rule, tall and slight, exceedingly graceful and free of carriage and of extraordinary facial beauty. Cheery and bright they seemed but neither talkative nor frivolous. Modest and unassuming at all times they yet maintained an air of stately pride that won and retained the respect and deference of the opposite sex. In Tcha the women were considered the equal of men in all ways, and their superiors in many.

  A more reserved and unexcitable race has never existed. In the assemblage we faced there was no disorder of any sort. Even the children restrained any evidence of feeling. Inimical, powerfully opposed to the strangers who had intruded upon them we felt them to be; yet no jeers nor insults came from the throng, which represented the rank and file of the populace.

  The officer lined us up facing the low platform, upon which sat a group of three aged men. Their beards — many wore beards in this valley — were snow white, and their heads were bald. They were not wrinkled nor decrepit, but carried themselves erect and proudly.

  Of course I knew this was the powerful Tribunal which was to decide our fate, and so I examined their faces with interest. Their eyes, which returned our gaze, were mild and calm in expression. There was no sign of hatred, antagonism or cruelty in those placid countenances. Somehow I took heart as I read the faces of the Tribune, and felt relieved that we had been brought before them for judgment.

  All others in that vast throng were commoners: the three aged members of the Tribunal alone possessed authority. We knew nothing as yet of the political constitution of the people, but this conclusion was self evident.

  The officer knelt and removed his casque.

  “Here, Fathers, are the strangers,” he said.

  One of the three addressed us.

  “Who speaks for you, strangers?” he inquired.

  Allerton stepped forward and bowed respectfully. The three aged heads bent to acknowledge the salutation.

  “It is well,” said another. “We desire to question you, sir, and trust you will answer us truly. Why are you here?”

  “We came,” said Paul, using the expressive Maya language, which seemed to be spoken in the valley, “merely from curiosity. We are experienced travelers, from a country afar off, and we wished to see your valley, to meet your people and to make you our friends.”

  The third Tribune spoke. “How came you to know that the Vale of Tcha exists?” he asked.

  Allerton hesitated, not knowing how to answer. He tried to choose his words with great care, for words meant lives at this crisis.

  There was no impatience displayed by the Tribune, yet our leader’s very hesitation was against us. It was a fair question, from their standpoint, but the most difficult one Paul could have been called upon to answer. He must at all hazards protect his friend and “brother.”

  But Chaka showed his mettle then. He advanced a pace and standing beside Allerton he said in a clear voice that could be heard by all:

  “It was I who told him of the hidden Vale of Tcha.”

  The three graybeards examined the speaker carefully.

  “You are an Itzaex,” said one.

  “I am Chaka Atkayma, the child of the gods and the hereditary ruler of my people,” was the proud assertion. Chaka was superb when he assumed this mood.

  “And how came you to know of the Vale of Tcha?” was the next question.

  “My father, the great Tcheltzada Atkayma, told me.”

  The members of the Tribunal exchanged glances of intelligence.

  “Did he ask you to keep the information secret, to use it only to prevent your people from coming too near to the mountain of Aota?”

  “He did,” said Chaka. “But I related the story to my brother Paul, whom I love as myself. When he became eager to visit your city I offered to guide him.”

  The graybeards nodded. They felt they were now getting the plain, unvarnished truth.

  “Did you not realize the penalty of your act; the fate sure to overtake you if you succeeded in coming among the people of Tcha?”

  Allerton had recovered his wits by now, and strove to shield his friend.

  “He did, your Highness, and warned my comrades and me. But we paid little heed to his protests. Why should we be unwelcome in Tcha? We come not as enemies but as friends. We are few in numbers; the Tcha are thousands. In no other country of the great wide world are peaceful strangers forbidden the hospitality of the people.”

  I thought this was a hard hit, and a corking good argument; but the three bald heads did not seem impressed by it. One of them replied:

  “The Tcha have the right to make their own laws, and to protect themselves from intrusion. For thousands of years we have been sufficient to ourselves, ignoring the outer world from whence you came. We have forbidden strangers to come among us. Through the Tcheltzada Atkayma of the Itzaex we warned all men to keep away from our domain, under penalty of death. You have disregarded our warning; you have disobeyed our laws. Therefore you must submit to the punishment your folly has brought upon you.”

  Pleasant prospect, wasn’t it? Chaka said, in a firm voice:

  “I alone, your Highness, deserve punishment. It was my disobedience of your commands that permitted these people to come to the Vale of Tcha. I claim at your hands full punishment for my fault, and the release of my innocent friends.”

  “Not so!” cried Allerton, quickly. “It was I who, learning of your hidden city, persuaded Chaka Atkaym
a to guide me here. It was I who induced these comrades to accompany us. The fault is mine, your Highness. I alone deserve the death penalty.”

  For an impressive moment the three members of the aged Tribunal gazed full into the faces of these strange contestants for the honor of death. Then they deliberately rose, walked around the bench where they had been seated and sat down in a row with their backs toward us and the assemblage.

  At this every head in the audience was bowed low, as if in prayer. Absolute silence reigned. Not even the rustle of a garment was to be heard.

  The Tribunal was deciding our fate.

  I own that I felt desperately uneasy and weak-kneed. The gentleness of demeanor of the old men and the quiet repression of the populace should have been reassuring; but somehow the chills would run up and down my back in spite of me. Chaka and Paul turned and embraced one another with mutual love and gratitude, after which they stood proudly erect and awaited their fate. As for the rest of us, fearful as we were we failed to show the white feather. Cowardice at such a time would be strangely out of place; because, perhaps, it was so unavailing. Unless it may prove profitable, cowardice is the rankest folly.

  After a brief consultation the members of the Tribune came back to their first position, facing us. Their gaze was as calm and inscrutable as before. Then one of them rose to his feet and addressed the assemblage.

  “The strangers are all condemned to death,” said he, quietly. “The laws of our fathers, the founders of the Vale and City of Tcha, must be obeyed. Once we pardoned an atkayma of the Itzaex and sent him back to his people, that through fear and in self-protection he might preserve us from further molestation or intrusion. That was deemed a wise action at the time, but it is not necessary for us to spare the atkayma’s son, who stands before us. For, thinking the young man had perished, Tcheltzada confided our secret to his brother Datchapa, an old and wise Itzaex who will now rule his people and is too cautions to disobey our commands.”

  I wondered how he knew all this, and if old Datchapa had really survived his tumble down the side of the pyramid. When the speaker sat down another Tribune rose, saying:

  “As our laws provide, in such cases, the civil government of Tcha, which we the Tribune represents, is powerless to do more than condemn strangers who intrude upon our domain. The prisoners must now be turned over to her Supreme Highness the High Priestess of the Sun,” (here Tribunal and people all bowed their heads humbly) “that they may be used for the sacrifice, if found fit, or otherwise destroyed. This is our decree, the decree of the Tribunal of Tcha, from which there is no appeal.”

  Here the third judge arose.

  “The prisoners must be taken to the Holy Temple at once and delivered to the representatives of her Supreme Highness, the hereditary High Priestess of the Sun. And may the god approve us and shed his blessings upon us, now as heretofore.”

  CHAPTER 18

  WE ARGUE WITH THE HIGH PRIESTESS

  Well, it was all over, and we had no chance to demur or make any protest. The members of the Tribune gathered their robes about them and walked away, and then the tiers of seats began to empty, without haste and in an orderly, circumspect manner.

  Curious looks were cast at us, but I could read neither pity nor abhorrence in any countenance. We were wholly outside the lives of this strange race, and they accepted our fate as a matter of course.

  The officer who had brought us here now turned and said:

  “You have been tried and judged, strangers. You have heard the verdict of the just Tribunal. Follow me.”

  Of course we tagged along after him; there was nothing else to be done. We now headed straight for the city, and that especial part of it situated at the south end of the valley. The people, returning to their dwellings, avoided interfering with us. While within earshot they did not discuss us or our unhappy destiny. Through centuries they have been taught consideration for others, nor did they forget the lesson even in their conduct toward strangers and condemned criminals.

  Our glimpses of the residences we passed filled us with wonder and admiration. Highly polished marble, ornate and artistic carvings, exquisite tropical shrubbery, closely mowed lawns, fountains, cornices and ornaments of wrought gold were everywhere visible. The approaches to some of the finer dwellings were paved with layers of golden sheets, riveted together and in some instances bordered with fine rubies and other gems. Gold seemed the most abundant metal the Tcha possessed, and they had a secret way of hardening it that rendered it as durable as steel, without impairing its beauty.

  Approaching nearer and nearer to the south wall of the mountain enclosing the valley, we at last reached the most impressive and extensive building of all — the Temple of the Sun. Ample grounds surrounded the huge, majestic pile, enclosed by marble walls ten feet in height, which were supplemented by a six-foot ornamental railing of elaborately worked gold. The entrance gates were likewise of gold, and bore in the center of each a highly polished representation of the sun shedding its rays in every direction.

  News of our coming had evidently preceded us, for the great gates at once swung inward to receive us and a group of tall priests, most of them advanced in years, stood ready to admit the devoted band of prisoners to the sacred precincts. The official did not pass the gates. He reverently removed his casque and said:

  “Holy fathers, to your keeping I confide the condemned. They now belong to our mother, the divine and adorable High Priestess of our god, the Sun.” Then, turning to us he continued in an earnest tone: “Destiny directs all human life. You are brave men, strangers, and are prepared to well fulfill the decree of Destiny. Being on the threshold of the great Hereafter, I give you greetings and good wishes. May your journey be peaceful and swift.”

  Without awaiting our thanks for this doleful farewell he turned and departed, while with small ado we were marched through the gates and allowed to hear them swing shut behind us, the ring of their golden bars sounding like a knell in my ears. According to the best calculations of the Tcha we were never to pass this barrier again, either alive or dead.

  Directly facing the gates was the great temple, entered by a broad flight of steps and composed of four walls, roofless and open to the rays of the sun. Entirely separated from this main building were two others of smaller dimensions but much more elaborate. That at the right had a separate enclosure and was connected with the temple by a peristyle; the other, toward which we were directed, stood alone.

  This, we found, was the palace of the High Priest, and the residence of the numerous priests of the sun. The leaders of the reception committee were diverse. One was a wild-eyed, ascetic looking fellow who glared at us but kept silent; the other proved a kindly-faced man who treated us with marked respect.

  After giving us a cool and refreshing beverage to drink — it reminded me of lemonade — we were taken to the presence of the High Priest, a doddering, withered old individual who seemed to have lived far beyond his allotted time and was drowsing contentedly when we disturbed him. He woke up to stare at us a moment, then waved us away, saying to our escort:

  “They belong to the great god, the Sun. Cherish them; treat them tenderly, as befits those to be prepared for the sacrifice.”

  At the moment we were inclined to resent this. None of us, I am sure, had any desire to become a sacrificial offering. But as we left the High Priest, who had fallen asleep again even before he had finished speaking, Chaka congratulated us on our good fortune.

  “Had we been deemed unworthy of their great god,” he explained in English, “they would have killed us at sundown to-night, murdering us in cold blood and tossing our carcasses to the beasts. Sacrificial offerings are reserved for especial occasions and are often prepared for weeks in advance, being cherished and fattened that they may become the more acceptable to the god. Therefore this order means we shall gain time to plan an escape. That may not be impossible, my friends, after all; and, in any event, time has its value.”

  Afterward the atkayma tol
d us that had not the High Priest been in his dotage he assuredly would not have accepted our blacks for sacrifice. The Mexican might pass, perhaps, as his skin was not unlike the color of that of the Itzaex; but the Sun-god might not like black sacrifices. The event, however, proved that Chaka was wrong in this conclusion.

  We were now treated with great respect by the priests, even the wild-eyed one being willing to “cherish” the victims. Having been formally dedicated to their god, our persons were sacred and our comfort and welfare the objects of much solicitude. If one of us expressed a desire it was at once granted, and we were surrounded by every luxury the luxurious palace afforded. In effect we became autocrats, commanding the priests at will. One thing only was denied us — permission to leave the temple enclosure.

  For four dreary days we lived this sybaritic life; they were dreary because we had little to do but to eat and sleep and take life easy. Of course we talked over our delicate position and sought to evolve some plan of escape, but without the precious outfit that had been taken from us we were practically helpless.

  All the Vale of Tcha was under the supreme rule of the High Priestess of the Sun, an hereditary title that had been handed down from mother to daughter for thousands of years — how many thousands we as yet were unable to learn. The High Priestess was attended by fifty Virgins between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Having served to the latter age they were released, sent back to their homes and permitted to marry. The daughters of these original Virgins of the Sun were entitled to succeed their mothers, in time; if there were not enough of them, choice was made of young girls from the noblest families of the nation.