The Prince of India; Or Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 01
Lew Wallace
Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franksand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML versionby Al Haines.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL
BY LEW. WALLACE
VOL. I.
_Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last Let us behold your faces, let us hear The words you uttered in those days of fear Revisit your familiar haunts again The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet Once more upon the pavement of the street_ LONGFELLOW
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE EARTH AND THE SEA ARE ALWAYS GIVING UP THEIR SECRETS
I. THE NAMELESS BAY II. THE MIDNIGHT LANDING III. THE HIDDEN TREASURE
BOOK II
THE PRINCE OF INDIA
I. A MESSENGER FROM CIPANGO II. THE PILGRIM AT EL KATIF III. THE YELLOW AIR IV. EL ZARIBAH V. THE PASSING OF THE CARAVAN VI. THE PRINCE AND THE EMIR VII. AT THE KAABA VIII. THE ARRIVAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE IX. THE PRINCE AT HOME X. THE ROSE OF SPRING
BOOK III
THE PRINCESS IRENE
I. MORNING ON THE BOSPHORUS II. THE PRINCESS IRENE III. THE HOMERIC PALACE IV. THE RUSSIAN MONK V. A VOICE FROM THE CLOISTER VI. WHAT DO THE STARS SAY? VII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA MEETS CONSTANTINE VIII. RACING WITH A STORM IX. IN THE WHITE CASTLE X. THE ARABIAN STORY-TELLER XI. THE TURQUOISE RING XII. THE RING RETURNS XIII. MAHOMMED HEARS FROM THE STARS XIV. DREAMS AND VISIONS XV. DEPARTURE FROM THE WHITE CASTLE XVI. AN EMBASSY TO THE PRINCESS IRENE XVII. THE EMPEROR'S WOOING XVIII. THE SINGING SHEIK XIX. TWO TURKISH TALES XX. MAHOMMED DREAMS
BOOK IV
THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE
I. THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE II. THE AUDIENCE III. THE NEW FAITH PROCLAIMED IV. THE PANNYCHIDES V. A PLAGUE OF CRIME VI. A BYZANTINE GENTLEMAN OF THE PERIOD VII. A BYZANTINE HERETIC VIII. THE ACADEMY OF EPICURUS IX. A FISHERMAN'S FETE X. THE HAMARI
BOOK I
THE EARTH AND THE SEA ARE ALWAYS GIVING UP THEIR SECRETS
THE PRINCE OF INDIA
CHAPTER I.
THE NAMELESS BAY
In the noon of a September day in the year of our dear Lord 1395, amerchant vessel nodded sleepily upon the gentle swells of warm waterflowing in upon the Syrian coast. A modern seafarer, looking from thedeck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plying the same line oftrade, would regard her curiously, thankful to the calm which held herwhile he slaked his wonder, yet more thankful that he was not of herpassage.
She could not have exceeded a hundred tons burthen. At the bow andstern she was decked, and those quarters were fairly raised. Amidshipshe was low and open, and pierced for twenty oars, ten to a side, allswaying listlessly from the narrow ports in which they were hung.Sometimes they knocked against each other. One sail, square and of adingy white, drooped from a broad yard-arm, which was itself tilted,and now and then creaked against the yellow mast complainingly,unmindful of the simple tackle designed to keep it in control. Awatchman crouched in the meagre shade of a fan-like structureoverhanging the bow deck. The roofing and the floor, where exposed,were clean, even bright; in all other parts subject to the weather andthe wash there was only the blackness of pitch. The steersman sat on abench at the stern. Occasionally, from force of habit, he rested a handupon the rudder-oar to be sure it was yet in reach. With exception ofthe two, the lookout and the steersman, all on board, officers,oarsmen, and sailors, were asleep--such confidence could aMediterranean calm inspire in those accustomed to life on the beautifulsea. As if Neptune never became angry there, and blowing his conch, andsmiting with his trident, splashed the sky with the yeast of waves!However, in 1395 Neptune had disappeared; like the great god Pan, hewas dead.
The next remarkable thing about the ship was the absence of the signsof business usual with merchantmen. There were no barrels, boxes,bales, or packages visible. Nothing indicated a cargo. In her deepestundulations the water-line was not once submerged. The leather shieldsof the oar-ports were high and dry. Possibly she had passengers aboard.Ah, yes! There under the awning, stretched halfway across the deckdominated by the steersman, was a group of persons all unlike seamen.Pausing to note them, we may find the motive of the voyage.
Four men composed the group. One was lying upon a pallet, asleep yetrestless. A black velvet cap had slipped from his head, giving freedomto thick black hair tinged with white. Starting from the temples, abeard with scarce a suggestion of gray swept in dark waves upon theneck and throat, and even invaded the pillow. Between the hair andbeard there was a narrow margin of sallow flesh for features somewhatcrowded by knots of wrinkle. His body was wrapped in a loose woollengown of brownish-black. A hand, apparently all bone, rested upon thebreast, clutching a fold of the gown. The feet twitched nervously inthe loosened thongs of old-fashioned sandals. Glancing at the others ofthe group, it was plain this sleeper was master and they his slaves.Two of them were stretched on the bare boards at the lower end of thepallet, and they were white. The third was a son of Ethiopia of unmixedblood and gigantic frame. He sat at the left of the couch,cross-legged, and, like the rest, was in a doze; now and then, however,he raised his head, and, without fully opening his eyes, shook a fan ofpeacock feathers from head to foot over the recumbent figure. The twowhites were clad in gowns of coarse linen belted to their waists;while, saving a cincture around his loins, the negro was naked.
There is often much personal revelation to be gleaned from theproperties a man carries with him from home. Applying the rule here, bythe pallet there was a walking-stick of unusual length, and severelyhand-worn a little above the middle. In emergency it might have beenused as a weapon. Three bundles loosely wrapped had been cast against atimber of the ship; presumably they contained the plunder of the slavesreduced to the minimum allowance of travel. But the most noticeableitem was a leather roll of very ancient appearance, held by a number ofbroad straps deeply stamped and secured by buckles of a metal blackenedlike neglected silver.
The attention of a close observer would have been attracted to thisparcel, not so much by its antique showing, as by the grip with whichits owner clung to it with his right hand. Even in sleep he held it ofinfinite consequence. It could not have contained coin or any bulkymatter. Possibly the man was on some special commission, with hiscredentials in the old roll. Ay, who was he?
Thus started, the observer would have bent himself to study of theface; and immediately something would have suggested that while thestranger was of this period of the world he did not belong to it. Suchwere the magicians of the story-loving Al-Raschid. Or he was of thetype Rabbinical that sat with Caiphas in judgment upon the gentleNazarene. Only the centuries could have evolved the apparition. Who washe?
In the course of half an hour the man stirred, raised his head, lookedhurriedly at his attendants, then at the parts of the ship in view,then at the steersman still dozing by the rudder; then he sat up, andbrought the roll to his lap, whereat the rigor of his expressionrelaxed. The parcel was safe! And the conditions about him were as theyshould be!
He next set about undoing the buckles of his treasure. The long fingerswere expert; but just when the roll was ready to open he lifted hisface, and fixed his eyes upon the section of blue expanse outside theedge of the awning, and dropped into thought. And straightway it wassettled that he was not a diplomatist or a statesman or a man ofbusiness of any kind. The reflection which occupied him had nothing
todo with intrigues or statecraft; its centre was in his heart as thelook proved. So, in tender moods, a father gazes upon his child, ahusband at the beloved wife, restfully, lovingly.
And that moment the observer, continuing his study, would haveforgotten the parcel, the white slaves, the gigantic negro, theself-willed hair and beard of pride--the face alone would have heldhim. The countenance of the Sphinx has no beauty now; and standingbefore it, we feel no stir of the admiration always a certificate thatwhat we are beholding is charming out of the common lines; yet we aredrawn to it irresistibly, and by a wish vague, foolish--so foolish wewould hesitate long before putting it in words to be heard by our bestlover--a wish that the monster would tell us all about itself. Thefeeling awakened by the face of the traveller would have been similar,for it was distinctly Israelitish, with exaggerated eyes set deeply incavernous hollows--a mobile mask, in fact, concealing a life in someway unlike other lives. Unlike? That was the very attraction. If theman would only speak, what a tale he could unfold!
But he did not speak. Indeed, he seemed to have regarded speech aweakness to be fortified against. Putting the pleasant thought aside,he opened the roll, and with exceeding tenderness of touch broughtforth a sheet of vellum dry to brittleness, and yellow as a fadedsycamore leaf. There were lines upon it as of a geometrical drawing,and an inscription in strange characters. He bent over the chart, ifsuch it may be called, eagerly, and read it through; then, with asatisfied expression, he folded it back into the cover, rebuckled thestraps, and placed the parcel under the pillow. Evidently the businessdrawing him was proceeding as he would have had it. Next he woke thenegro with a touch. The black in salute bent his body forward, andraised his hands palm out, the thumbs at the forehead. Attentionsingularly intense settled upon his countenance; he appeared to listenwith his soul. It was time for speech, yet the master merely pointed toone of the sleepers. The watchful negro caught the idea, and going tothe man, aroused him, then resumed his place and posture by the pallet.The action revealed his proportions. He looked as if he could havelifted the gates of Gaza, and borne them easily away; and to thestrength there were superadded the grace, suppleness, and softness ofmotion of a cat. One could not have helped thinking the slave mighthave all the elements to make him a superior agent in fields of bad aswell as good.
The second slave arose, and waited respectfully. It would have beendifficult to determine his nationality. He had the lean face, the highnose, sallow complexion, and low stature of an Armenian. Hiscountenance was pleasant and intelligent. In addressing him, the mastermade signs with hand and finger; and they appeared sufficient, for theservant walked away quickly as if on an errand. A short time, and hecame back bringing a companion of the genus sailor, very red-faced,heavily built, stupid, his rolling gait unrelieved by a suggestion ofgood manners. Taking position before the black-gowned personage, hisfeet wide apart, the mariner said:
"You sent for me?"
The question was couched in Byzantine Greek.
"Yes," the passenger replied, in the same tongue, though with betteraccent. "Where are we?"
"But for this calm we should be at Sidon. The lookout reports themountains in view."
The passenger reflected a moment, then asked, "Resorting to the oars,when can we reach the city?"
"By midnight."
"Very well. Listen now."
The speaker's manner changed; fixing his big eyes upon the sailor'slesser orbs, he continued:
"A few stadia north of Sidon there is what may be called a bay. It isabout four miles across. Two little rivers empty into it, one on eachside. Near the middle of the bend of the shore there is a well of sweetwater, with flow enough to support a few villagers and their camels. Doyou know the bay?"
The skipper would have become familiar.
"You are well acquainted with this coast," he said.
"Do you know of such a bay?" the passenger repeated.
"I have heard of it."
"Could you find it at night?"
"I believe so."
"That is enough. Take me into the bay, and land me at midnight. I willnot go to the city. Get out all the oars now. At the proper time I willtell you what further I wish. Remember I am to be set ashore atmidnight at a place which I will show you."
The directions though few were clear. Having given them, the passengersigned the negro to fan him, and stretched himself upon the pallet; andthenceforth there was no longer a question who was in control. Itbecame the more interesting, however, to know the object of the landingat midnight on the shore of a lonesome unnamed bay.
