Elissa

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ELISSA

OR THE DOOM OF ZIMBABWE

by H. Rider Haggard




DEDICATION

To the Memory of the Child

Nada Burnham,

who "bound all to her" and, while her father cut his way through the
hordes of the Ingobo Regiment, perished of the hardships of war
at Buluwayo on 19th May, 1896, I dedicate these tales--and more
particularly the last, that of a Faith which triumphed over savagery and
death.

H. Rider Haggard.

Ditchingham.



AUTHOR'S NOTE

Of the three stories that comprise this volume[*], one, "The Wizard," a
tale of victorious faith, first appeared some years ago as a Christmas
Annual. Another, "Elissa," is an attempt, difficult enough owing to the
scantiness of the material left to us by time, to recreate the life of
the ancient Phoenician Zimbabwe, whose ruins still stand in Rhodesia,
and, with the addition of the necessary love story, to suggest
circumstances such as might have brought about or accompanied its fall
at the hands of the surrounding savage tribes. The third, "Black Heart
and White Heart," is a story of the courtship, trials and final union of
a pair of Zulu lovers in the time of King Cetywayo.

[*] This text was prepared from a volume published in 1900
titled "Black Heart and White Heart, and Other Stories."--
JB.


NOTE

The world is full of ruins, but few of them have an origin so utterly
lost in mystery as those of Zimbabwe in South Central Africa. Who built
them? What purpose did they serve? These are questions that must have
perplexed many generations, and many different races of men.

The researches of Mr. Wilmot prove to us indeed that in the Middle Ages
Zimbabwe or Zimboe was the seat of a barbarous empire, whose ruler was
named the Emperor of Monomotapa, also that for some years the Jesuits
ministered in a Christian church built beneath the shadow of its ancient
towers. But of the original purpose of those towers, and of the
race that reared them, the inhabitants of mediaeval Monomotapa, it is
probable, knew less even than we know to-day. The labours and skilled
observation of the late Mr. Theodore Bent, whose death is so great
a loss to all interested in such matters, have shown almost beyond
question that Zimbabwe was once an inland Phoenician city, or at the
least a city whose inhabitants were of a race which practised Phoenician
customs and worshipped the Phoenician deities. Beyond this all is
conjecture. How it happened that a trading town, protected by vast
fortifications and adorned with temples dedicated to the worship of the
gods of the Sidonians--or rather trading towns, for Zimbabwe is only one
of a group of ruins--were built by civilised men in the heart of Africa
perhaps we shall never learn with certainty, though the discovery of
the burying-places of their inhabitants might throw some light upon the
problem.

But if actual proof is lacking, it is scarcely to be doubted--for the
numerous old workings in Rhodesia tell their own tale--that it was the
presence of payable gold reefs worked by slave labour which tempted the
Phoenician merchants and chapmen, contrary to their custom, to travel
so far from the sea and establish themselves inland. Perhaps the city
Zimboe was the Ophir spoken of in the first Book of Kings. At least, it
is almost certain that its principal industries were the smelting and
the sale of gold, also it seems probable that expeditions travelling by
sea and land would have occupied quite three years of time in reaching
it from Jerusalem and returning thither laden with the gold and precious
stones, the ivory and the almug trees (1 Kings x.). Journeying in
Africa must have been slow in those days; that it was also dangerous is
testified by the ruins of the ancient forts built to protect the route
between the gold towns and the sea.

However these things may be, there remains ample room for speculation
both as to the dim beginnings of the ancient city and its still dimmer
end, whereof we can guess only, when it became weakened by luxury and
the mixture of races, that hordes of invading savages stamped it out
of existence beneath their blood-stained feet, as, in after ages, they
stamped out the Empire of Monomotapa. In the following romantic sketch
the writer has ventured--no easy task--to suggest incidents such as
might have accompanied this first extinction of the Phoenician Zimbabwe.
The pursuit indeed is one in which he can only hope to fill the place
of a humble pioneer, since it is certain that in times to come the
dead fortress-temples of South Africa will occupy the pens of many
generations of the writers of romance who, as he hopes, may have more
ascertained facts to build upon than are available to-day.





ELISSA



CHAPTER I

THE CARAVAN

The sun, which shone upon a day that was gathered to the past some
three thousand years ago, was setting in full glory over the expanses of
south-eastern Africa--the Libya of the ancients. Its last burning rays
fell upon a cavalcade of weary men, who, together with long strings of
camels, asses and oxen, after much toil had struggled to the crest of
a line of stony hills, where they were halted to recover breath. Before
them lay a plain, clothed with sere yellow grass--for the season was
winter--and bounded by mountains of no great height, upon whose slopes
stood the city which they had travelled far to seek. It was the ancient
city of Zimboe, whereof the lonely ruins are known to us moderns as
Zimbabwe.

At the sight of its flat-roofed houses of sun-dried brick, set upon the
side of the opposing hill, and dominated by a huge circular building
of dark stone, the caravan raised a great shout of joy. It shouted in
several tongues, in the tongues of Phoenicia, of Egypt, of the Hebrews,
of Arabia, and of the coasts of Africa, for all these peoples were
represented amongst its numbers. Well might the wanderers cry out in
their delight, seeing that at length, after eight months of perilous
travelling from the coast, they beheld the walls of their city of rest,
of the golden Ophir of the Bible. Their company had started from the
eastern port, numbering fifteen hundred men, besides women and children,
and of those not more than half were left alive. Once a savage tribe
had ambushed them, killing many. Once the pestilential fever of the low
lands had taken them so that they died of it by scores. Twice also had
they suffered heavily through hunger and thirst, to say nothing of their
losses by the fangs of lions, crocodiles, and other wild beasts which
with the country swarmed. Now their toils were over; and for six months,
or perhaps a year, they might rest and trade in the Great City, enjoying
its wealth, its flesh-pots, and the unholy orgies which, among people
of the Phoenician race, were dignified by the name of the worship of the
gods of heaven.

Soon the clamour died away, and although no command was given, the
caravan started on at speed. All weariness faded from the faces of the
wayworn travellers, even the very camels and asses, shrunk, as most of
them were, to mere skeletons, seemed to understand that labour and blows
were done with, and forgetting their loads, shambled unurged down the
stony path. One man lingered, however. Clearly he was a person of rank,
for eight or ten attendants surrounded him.

"Go," said he, "I wish to be alone, and will follow presently." So they
bowed to the earth, and went.

The man was young, perhaps six or eight and twenty years of age. His
dark skin, burnt almost to blackness by the heat of the sun, together
with the fashion of his short, square-cut beard and of his garments,
proclaimed him of Jewish or Egyptian blood, while the gold collar about
his neck and the gold graven ring upon his hand showed that his rank
was high. Indeed this wanderer was none other than the prince Aziel,
nick-named the Ever-living, because of a curious mole upon his shoulder
bearing a resemblance to the _crux ansata_, the symbol of life eternal
among the Egyptians. By blood he was a grandson of Solomon, the mighty
king of Israel, and born of a royal mother, a princess of Egypt.

In stature Aziel was tall, but somewhat slimly made, having small bones.
His face was oval in shape, the features, especially the mouth, being
fine and sensitive; the eyes were large, dark, and full of thought--the
eyes of a man with a destiny. For the most part, indeed, they were
sombre and over-full of thought, but at times they could light up with a
strange fire.

Aziel the prince placed his hand against his forehead in such fashion as
to shade his face from the rays of the setting sun, and from beneath its
shadow gazed long and earnestly at the city of the hill.

"At length I behold thee, thanks be to God," he murmured, for he was a
worshipper of Jehovah, and not of his mother's deities, "and it is
time, since, to speak the truth, I am weary of this travelling. Now
what fortune shall I find within thy walls, O City of Gold and
devil-servers?"

"Who can tell?" said a quiet voice at his elbow. "Perhaps, Prince, you
will find a wife, or a throne, or--a grave."

Aziel started, and turned to see a man standing at his side, clothed in
robes that had been rich, but were now torn and stained with travel,
and wearing on his head a black cap in shape not unlike the fez that
is common in the East to-day. The man was past middle age, having a
grizzled beard, sharp, hard features and quick eyes, which withal were
not unkindly. He was a Phoenician merchant, much trusted by Hiram,
the King of Tyre, who had made him captain of the merchandise of this
expedition.

"Ah! is it you, Metem?" said Aziel. "Why do you leave your charge to
return to me?"

"That I may guard a more precious charge--yourself, Prince," replied
the merchant courteously. "Having brought the child of Israel so far in
safety, I desire to hand him safely to the governor of yonder city.
Your servants told me that by your command they had left you alone, so
I returned to bear you company, for after nightfall robbers and savages
wander without these walls."

"I thank you for your care, Metem, though I think there is little
danger, and at the worst I can defend myself."

"Do not thank me, Prince; I am a merchant, and now, as in the past, I
protect you, knowing that for it I shall be paid. The governor will give
me a rich reward when I lead you to him safely, and when in years to
come I return with you still safe to the court of Jerusalem, then the
great king will fill my ship's hold with gifts."

"That depends, Metem," replied the prince. "If my grandfather still
reigns it may be so, but he is very old, and if my uncle wears his
crown, then I am not sure. Truly you Phoenicians love money. Would you,
then, sell me for gold also, Metem?"

"I said not so, Prince, though even friendship has its price----"

"Among your people, Metem?"

"Among all people, Prince. You reproach us with loving money; well,
we do, since money gives everything for which men strive--honour, and
place, and comfort, and the friendship of kings."

"It cannot give you love, Metem."

The Phoenician laughed contemptuously. "Love! with gold I will buy as
much of it as I need. Are there no slaves upon the market, and no free
women who desire ornaments and ease and the purple of Tyre? You are
young, Prince, to say that gold cannot buy us love."

"And you, Metem, who are growing old, do not understand what I mean by
love, nor will I stay to explain it to you, for were my words as wise
as Solomon's, still you would not understand. At the least your money
cannot bring you the blessing of Heaven, nor the welfare of your spirit
in the eternal life that is to come."

"The welfare of my spirit, Prince? No, it cannot, since I do not believe
that I have a spirit. When I die, I die, and there is an end. But the
blessing of Heaven, ah! that can be bought, as I have proved once and
again, if not with gold, then otherwise. Did I not in bygone years pass
the first son of my manhood through the fire to Baal-Sidon? Nay, shrink
not from me; it cost me dear, but my fortune was at stake, and better
that the boy should die than that all of us should live on in penury and
bonds. Know you not, Prince, that the gods must have the gifts of the
best, gifts of blood and virtue, or they will curse us and torment us?"

"I do not know it, Metem, for such gods are no gods, but devils,
children of Beelzebub, who has no power over the righteous. Truly I
would have none of your two gods, Phoenician; upon earth the god of gold,
and in heaven the devil of slaughter."

"Speak no ill of him, Prince," answered Metem solemnly, "for here you
are not in the courts of Jehovah, but in his land, and he may chance
to prove his power on you. For the rest, I had sooner follow after gold
than the folly of a drunken spirit which you name Love, seeing that it
works its votary less mischief. Say now, it was a woman and her love
that drove you hither to this wild land, was it not, Prince? Well, be
careful lest a woman and her love should keep you here."

"The sun sets," said Aziel coldly; "let us go forward."

With a bow and a murmured salute, for his quick courtier instinct told
him that he had spoken too freely, Metem took the bridle of the prince's
mule, holding the stirrup while he mounted. Then he turned to seek his
own, but the animal had wandered, and a full half hour went by before it
could be captured.

By now the sun had set, and as there is little or no twilight in
Southern Africa it became difficult for the two travellers to find their
way down the rough hill path. Still they stumbled on, till presently
the long dead grass brushing against their knees told them that they
had lost the road, although they knew that they were riding in the right
direction, for the watch-fires burning on the city walls were a guide
to them. Soon, however, they lost sight of these fires, the boughs of
a grove of thickly-leaved trees hiding them from view, and in trying to
push their way through the wood Metem's mule stumbled against a root and
fell.

"Now there is but one thing to be done," said the Phoenician, as he
dragged the animal from the ground, "and it is to stay here till the
moon rises, which should be within an hour. It would have been wiser,
Prince, if we had waited to discuss love and the gods till we were safe
within the walls of the city, for the end of it is that we have fallen
into the hands of king Darkness, and he is the father of many evil
things."

"That is so, Metem," answered the prince, "and I am to blame. Let us
bide here in patience, since we must."

So, holding their mules by the bridles, they sat down upon the ground
and waited in silence, for each of them was lost in his own thoughts.



CHAPTER II

THE GROVE OF BAALTIS

At length, as the two men sat thus silently, for the place and its
gloom oppressed them, a sound broke upon the quiet of the night, that
beginning with a low wail such as might come from the lips of a mourner,
ended in a chant or song. The voice, which seemed close at hand, was
low, rich and passionate. At times it sank almost to a sob, and at
times, taking a higher note, it thrilled upon the air in tones that
would have been shrill were they not so sweet.

"Who is it that sings?" said Aziel to Metem.

"Be silent, I pray you," whispered the other in his ear; "we have
wandered into one of the sacred groves of Baaltis, which it is death
for men to enter save at the appointed festivals, and a priestess of the
grove chants her prayer to the goddess."

"We did not come of our own will, so doubtless we shall be forgiven,"
answered Aziel indifferently; "but that song moves me. Tell me the words
of it, which I can scarcely follow, for her accent is strange to me."

"Prince, they seem to be holy words to which I have little right to
hearken. The priestess sings an ancient hallowed chant of life and
death, and she prays that the goddess may touch her soul with the wing
of fire and make her great and give her vision of things that have been
and that shall be. More I dare not tell you now; indeed I can barely
hear, and the song is hard to understand. Crouch down, for the moon
rises, and pray that the mules may not stir. Presently she will go, and
we can fly the holy place."

The Israelite obeyed and waited, searching the darkness with eager eyes.

Now the edge of the great moon appeared upon the horizon, and by degrees
her white rays of light revealed a strange scene to the watchers. About
an open space of ground, some eighty paces in diameter, grew seven huge
and ancient baobab trees, so ancient indeed that they must have been
planted by the primaeval hand of nature rather than by that of man. Aziel
and his companion were hidden with their mules behind the trunk of one
of these trees, and looking round it they perceived that the open space
beyond the shadow of the branches was not empty. In the centre of this
space stood an altar, and by it was placed the rude figure of a divinity
carved in wood and painted. On the head of this figure rose a crescent
symbolical of the moon, and round its neck hung a chain of wooden stars.
It had four wings but no hands, and of these wings two were out-spread
and two clasped a shapeless object to its breast, intended, apparently,
to represent a child. By these symbols Aziel knew that before him was
an effigy sacred to the goddess of the Phoenicians, who in different
countries passed by the various names of Astarte, or Ashtoreth, or
Baaltis, and who in their coarse worship was at once the personification
of the moon and the emblem of fertility.

Standing before this rude fetish, between it and the altar, whereon lay
some flowers, and in such fashion that the moonlight struck full upon
her, was a white-robed woman. She was young and very beautiful both in
shape and feature, and though her black hair streaming almost to the
knees took from her height, she still seemed tall. Her rounded arms were
outstretched; her sweet and passionate face was upturned towards the
sky, and even at that distance the watchers could see her deep eyes
shining in the moonlight. The sacred song of the priestess was finished.
Now she was praying aloud, slowly, and in a clear voice, so that Aziel
could hear and understand her; praying from her very heart, not to the
idol before her, however, but to the moon above.

"O Queen of Heaven," she said, "thou whose throne I see but whose face
I cannot see, hear the prayer of thy priestess, and protect me from the
fate I fear, and rid me of him I hate. Safe let me dwell and pure, and
as thou fillest the night with light, so fill the darkness of my soul
with the wisdom that I crave. O whisper into my ears and let me hear the
voice of heaven, teaching me that which I would know. Read me the riddle
of my life, and let me learn wherefore I am not as my sisters are; why
feasts and offerings delight me not; why I thirst for knowledge and not
for wealth, and why I crave such love as here I cannot win. Satisfy my
being with thy immortal lore and a love that does not fail or die, and
if thou wilt, then take my life in payment. Speak to me from the heaven
above, O Baaltis, or show me some sign upon the earth beneath; fill up
the vessel of my thirsty soul and satisfy the hunger of my spirit. Oh!
thou that art the goddess, thou that hast the gift of power, give me,
thy servant, of thy power, of thy godhead, and of thy peace. Hear me,
O Heaven-born, hear me, Elissa, the daughter of Sakon, the dedicate
of thee. Hear, hear, and answer now in the secret holy hour, answer by
voice, by wonder, or by symbol."

The woman paused as though exhausted with the passion of her prayer,
hiding her face in her hands, and as she stood thus silent and
expectant, the sign came, or at least that chanced which for a while she
believed to have been an answer to her invocation. Her face was hidden,
so she could not see, and fascinated by her beauty as it appeared to
them in that unhallowed spot, and by the depth and dignity of her wild
prayer, the two watchers had eyes for her alone. Therefore it happened
that not until his arm was about to drag her away, did either of them
perceive a huge man, black as ebony in colour, clad in a cloak of
leopard skins and carrying in his right hand a broad-bladed spear who,
following the shadow of the trees, had crept upon the priestess from the
farther side of the glade.

With a guttural exclamation of triumph he gripped her in his left arm,
and, despite her struggles and her shrill cry for help, began half to
drag and half to carry her towards the deep shade of the baobab grove.
Instantly Aziel and Metem sprang up and rushed forward, drawing their
bronze swords as they ran. As it chanced, however, the Israelite caught
his foot in one of the numerous tree-roots, which stood above the
surface of the ground and fell heavily upon his face. In a few seconds,
twenty perhaps, he found his breath and feet again, to see that Metem
had come up with the black giant who, hearing his approach, suddenly
wheeled round to meet him, still holding the struggling priestess in
his grasp. Now the Phoenician was so close upon him that the savage could
find no time to shift the grip upon his spear, but drove at him with
the knobbed end of its handle, striking him full upon the forehead and
felling him as a butcher fells an ox. Then once more he turned to fly
with his captive, but before he had covered ten yards the sound of
Aziel's approaching footsteps caused him to wheel round again.

At sight of the Israelite advancing upon him with drawn sword, the great
barbarian freed himself from the burden of the girl by throwing her
heavily to the ground, where she lay, for the breath was shaken out of
her. Then snatching the cloak from his throat he wound it over his left
arm to serve as a shield, and with a savage yell, rushed straight at
Aziel, purposing to transfix him with the broad-headed spear.

Well was it for the prince that he had been trained in sword-play from
his youth, also, notwithstanding his slight build, that he was strong
and active as a leopard. To await the onslaught would be to die, for
the spear must pierce him before ever he could reach the attacker's body
with his short sword. Therefore, as the weapon flashed upward he sprang
aside, avoiding it, at the same time, with one swift sweep of his sword,
slashing its holder across the back as he passed him.

With a howl of pain and rage the savage sprang round and charged him a
second time. Again Aziel leapt to one side, but now he struck with all
his force at the spear shaft which his assailant lifted to guard his
head. So strong was the blow and so sharp the heavy sword, that it shore
through the wood, severing the handle from the spear, which fell to the
ground. Casting away the useless shaft, the warrior drew a long knife
from his girdle, and before Aziel could strike again faced him for
the third time. But he no longer rushed onward like a bull, for he had
learnt caution; he stood still, holding the skin cloak before him shield
fashion, and peering at his adversary from over its edge.

Now it was Aziel's turn to take the offensive, and slowly he circled
round the huge barbarian, watching his opportunity. At length it came.
In answer to a feint of his the protecting cloak was dropped a little,
enabling him to prick its bearer in the neck, but only with the point
of his sword. The thrust delivered, he leapt back, and not too soon, for
forgetting his caution in his fury, the savage charged straight at him
with a roar like that of a lion. So swift and terrible was his onset
that Aziel, having no time to spring aside, did the only thing possible.
Gripping the ground with his feet, he bent his body forward, and with
outstretched arm and sword, braced up his muscles to receive the charge.
Another instant, and the leopard skin cloak fluttered before him. With
a quick movement of his left arm he swept it aside; then there came a
sudden pressure upon his sword ending in a jarring shock, a flash of
steel above his head, and down he went to the ground beneath the weight
of the black giant.

"Now there is an end," he thought; "Heaven receive my spirit." And his
senses left him.

When they returned again, Aziel perceived dimly that a white-draped
figure bent over him, dragging at something black which crushed his
breast, who, as she dragged, sobbed in her grief and fear. Then he
remembered, and with an effort sat up, rolling from him the corpse of
his foe, for his sword had pierced the barbarian through breast and
heart and back. At this sight the woman ceased her sobbing, and said in
the Phoenician tongue:--

"Sir, do you indeed live? Then the protecting gods be thanked, and to
Baaltis the Mother I vow a gift of this hair of mine in gratitude."

"Nay, lady," he answered faintly, for he was much shaken, "that would be
a pity; also, if any, it is my hair which should be vowed."

"You bleed from the head," she broke in; "say, stranger, are you deeply
wounded."

"I will tell you nothing of my head," he replied, with a smile, "unless
you promise that you will not offer up your hair."