Part 30 (1/2)
”But you retain it,” I said. ”You, at least, are safe.”
”Yes,” he replied thoughtfully. ”Yet if the Naya had intended to secure the treasure for herself she would most certainly have taken this first of all. It is one of the most historic and valuable ornaments of the royal jewels of Mo, besides being one in which most superst.i.tion is centred. In her flight she would entertain the bitterest ill-feeling towards me and desire my rule to be brief. Therefore, she must have stolen the necklet; she would have secured that, if nothing else.”
I was compelled to agree with this view, especially as he added that one of the most firm beliefs of the Sanoms had ever been that Zomara would send vengeance most terrible upon any who removed the treasure from its chests without the sanction of the people. No, it seemed evident that some third person had been in possession of the secret. Who, we knew not, but were determined to discover.
On returning to the palace I stood, as usual, beside the Emerald Throne while its occupant gave audience to those who came to make obeisance and offer congratulations. The Court of the Naba Omar was even more brilliant than that of his mother had been, and at evening, under the bright lights, was, indeed, a glittering a.s.sembly, where the gems worn by officials and courtiers almost dazzled one's eyes by their profuseness.
Days pa.s.sed--bright, peaceful days succeeding the brief period of feverish excitement and deadly hatred. Mo had become herself again; her people a.s.sured that an era of liberty and prosperity had recommenced, her ruler leaving no effort unspared to act in the best interests of his beloved nation. By day the great sunny courts of the palace, with the bright flowers and fruit-laden vines, rang with the tramp of armed men and tall, stately officials; by night the sounds of revelry, music and dancing awakened the echoes of the great moon-lit colonnades, and was wafted on the sweet-scented air afar beyond the grim, frowning outer walls.
Yet the burden of kings.h.i.+p seemed to press heavily upon the young Naba.
Though wearing no diadem, his brow soon became furrowed, as if by its weight, and his air was one of constant preoccupation. His change of manner puzzled me. His mind appeared overshadowed by some gloomy foreboding, the nature of which I could by no amount of cautious questioning elicit. During each day he attended a.s.siduously without relaxation to affairs of state, and when night drew on and the inmates of the great luxurious palace, a veritable city within a city, gave themselves up to reckless enjoyment, he was seldom present, for he would withdraw to one of his small private apartments, and there sit, pretending to read, but in reality brooding in silence. One poignant sorrow had transformed him from a bright, happy youth, to a man sad-eyed, dull, morose. Sometimes, as I watched, I noticed how he would suddenly sigh heavily, and set his teeth as a bitter relentless expression would flit for an instant across his countenance, and I knew that at such moments there entered into his heart the contemplation of a fierce and terrible revenge.
Even to me, his constant companion, whose opinion he sought almost hourly, he made no mention of his heart's sorrow, yet from close observation through many days, I knew the cause of his overwhelming grief was the loss of Liola. He never mentioned her, for the day after we had ascertained the truth about her tragic end, he had taken me aside and asked me never to allow her name to pa.s.s my lips in his presence.
”Memories are painful, you know, Scars,” he had said. ”I must try and forget, try and live down my sorrow if I can, although I fear I shall carry it with me to the grave.”
These words I often remembered when, alone with him, I watched the look of ineffable sadness upon his face. In the Hall of Audience, the centre of his brilliant court, his face was always pleasant, smiling and full of good-nature, as it had ever been; but, alas! it was only a mask, for alone, in the privacy of his chamber, he cast it aside and gave himself up to debauches of melancholy painful to behold.
Thus weeks lengthened into months. He had wished me to keep from the people the great loss sustained by the robbery from the Treasure-house, believing that in the circ.u.mstances silence was best, and I had not breathed a word to a soul, not even to Kona or Goliba. The city had resumed its old look of prosperity, its markets were crowded daily, and its populace were content in the knowledge that under the reformed _regime_ they were free. Although once every week, Omar, with his court, descended to the Temple of Zomara, and there adored the Crocodile-G.o.d, human sacrifices had been discontinued, and the wors.h.i.+p of the giant idol was devoid of those revolting practices introduced by the Naya. Of the latter, no tidings had been gleaned. Although every effort had been made to trace her, she had disappeared. Of the treasure of the Sanoms, too, nothing had been heard. How it had been conveyed out of Mo remained an inscrutable mystery.
I confess to being astonished that Omar seldom, if ever, spoke of either of these matters, which had at first so seriously agitated him. Whether he had relinquished all thought of recovering the jewels collected by his ancestors, or whether he was endeavouring to formulate some plan of action I knew not, yet his unwillingness to speak of them was, to say the least, noteworthy.
”Niaro has to-day returned from the gate of Mo,” I observed one evening when we were sitting alone together in one of the smaller courts, the night air stirred by the distant sound of stringed instruments and the thumping of Moorish tam-tams. ”He has sent messengers by the Way of the Thousand Steps far into the lands beyond, but no word have they been able to gather regarding the Naya.”
”She has escaped the mad vengeance of our people, who would have killed her,” he said, calmly. ”For that I am thankful.”
”You seem to have no desire that she should be captured,” I said.
”None. She has escaped. After all it is best.”
”But the treasure,” I said, dropping my voice so that no eavesdropper might overhear. ”Its hiding place, like the thief, is still unknown.”
”Yes,” he answered. ”Unknown at present, but ere long some discovery must be made. When it is, I antic.i.p.ate it will be a startling one.”
Our conversation was interrupted at that moment by the approach of a slave who, bowing low until his brow touched our carpet, said:
”One of thy servants, O Master, desireth to have speech with thee. He hath sped from afar upon the wings of haste and beareth tidings.”
”Of what?” cried Omar, starting up.
”I know not, O Master. The name of thy servant who awaiteth audience with thee is Makhana, who cometh from beyond the great black water.”
”Makhana!” we both cried, and Omar ordered that he should be admitted immediately, and without ceremony. Then, turning to me, he explained that on ascending the throne he had sent a message to Makhana in London ordering him to return at once.
A moment later the secret agent of Mo, a tall, spa.r.s.e figure, attired in shabby European clothes, entered, and, snapping fingers with his master, greeted and congratulated him. Then, casting himself upon the mat near us, he began to tell us what had occurred after our flight from Eastbourne, and relate the latest news from the civilised land we had left so many months before. I also told him how we had been enticed away by Kouaga, and the order of the Naya for Omar's a.s.sa.s.sination.
”Much has happened since I returned,” Omar observed, when I had concluded. ”As you have no doubt already heard, my mother has been deposed, and I have been enthroned in her stead.”
”Yes,” the secret agent answered. ”I have already heard all this, and although I wish you every peace and prosperity, I have, I regret, to make a startling announcement.”