might have been a
king.”
His eyes narrowed, as if he were having
trouble seeing.
“You should light another lamp, Physician. It
has grown confoundedly dim in here.”
Kephalos nodded, without speaking. Then he
reached across the table and took Hiram’s cup from between his
unresisting hands. It was only then that I began to understand what
was happening.
“Come, Lord—help me with him.”
Even as I rose from my seat, Hiram was
beginning to sag in his chair. He was staring at us, his face
expressive at once of the fear growing within his soul and the
change, whatever it must have been, that had robbed him of all
strength. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. He did not
resist as Kephalos and I picked him up by his legs and arms and
carried him over to a sleeping mat laid out in one corner of the
room.
“Look at his eyes,” Kephalos murmured. “This
slackness will not last long.”
I looked, and the pupils had contracted down
almost to nothing. I did not know what it meant.
“The doors of sight are nearly closed, as you
see. It is no wonder he thought the light grown dim.”
Kephalos took him by the wrist and raised his
arm. When he released it, the arm hung suspended for a moment and
then, only very slowly, sank back down to Hiram’s side.
“He is already becoming rigid,” Kephalos
said. “Excuse me, Lord.”
He went into the next room, and I heard the
sound of retching. When he came back, his face was pale and he
seemed exhausted.
“I lined my guts with oil, and made certain
there was plenty of food in my belly to absorb the poison—a recipe
I learned years ago from an Arab colleague of great learning. It
was in the water with which we tempered the wine and it acts on the
muscles, causing them to contract. It is like a cramp of the whole
body. I am well enough, however. I have a headache but nothing
more.”
Then he squatted down beside the sleeping mat
where Hiram lay, unable even to move now, and spoke to him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I have given you
something to keep you quiet while my Lord Tiglath and I make good
our escape, but it will not kill you unless you are very foolish.
You are deprived of the power of motion, and even of speech. You
must accept that. If you allow yourself to grow frightened or
excited, there is a chance you will throw yourself into a
convulsion, and you will be unable to breathe. Your own body will
strangle you from the inside. Do you understand that?”
It was impossible to know whether Hiram
understood anything, since the only sound that came from him was a
faint clicking inside his throat.
“In three or four days, this paralysis will
begin to wear off. You will be returned to the full enjoyment of
health, but you must remain calm. By then we will be far, far away
and out of your power to do us any harm. Remember, Hiram of
Latakia, your life is in your own keeping. Stay quiet and you will
recover.”
Then Kephalos stood up and turned to me.
“Take only your sword and javelin, Lord,” he
said. “We must leave everything else—we must allow the proprietor
to believe we have only stepped out for a little air. I have seen
to everything. There is a boat waiting for us by the great bridge.
Hurry, Lord—there is no time for reflection!”
As we fled that place, I cast one glance back
at Hiram, his lips trembling in a meaningless palsy. Perhaps it was
all lies. Perhaps he would die—he looked like a dying man—and then
my secret would have claimed another victim.
IV
“My guest has drunk himself into a stupor,”
Kephalos told the proprietor of our inn. “I have left him to sleep
himself sober—you would do well to advise your household slaves not
to disturb him, since wine seems to make him quarrelsome and he
will have a tender head when he wakes up.”
The proprietor nodded sagely, stroking his
beard. He was a man to recognize good advice when it was given to
him. The walls of his inn were not thick and the doors no more than
curtains,
king.”
His eyes narrowed, as if he were having
trouble seeing.
“You should light another lamp, Physician. It
has grown confoundedly dim in here.”
Kephalos nodded, without speaking. Then he
reached across the table and took Hiram’s cup from between his
unresisting hands. It was only then that I began to understand what
was happening.
“Come, Lord—help me with him.”
Even as I rose from my seat, Hiram was
beginning to sag in his chair. He was staring at us, his face
expressive at once of the fear growing within his soul and the
change, whatever it must have been, that had robbed him of all
strength. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. He did not
resist as Kephalos and I picked him up by his legs and arms and
carried him over to a sleeping mat laid out in one corner of the
room.
“Look at his eyes,” Kephalos murmured. “This
slackness will not last long.”
I looked, and the pupils had contracted down
almost to nothing. I did not know what it meant.
“The doors of sight are nearly closed, as you
see. It is no wonder he thought the light grown dim.”
Kephalos took him by the wrist and raised his
arm. When he released it, the arm hung suspended for a moment and
then, only very slowly, sank back down to Hiram’s side.
“He is already becoming rigid,” Kephalos
said. “Excuse me, Lord.”
He went into the next room, and I heard the
sound of retching. When he came back, his face was pale and he
seemed exhausted.
“I lined my guts with oil, and made certain
there was plenty of food in my belly to absorb the poison—a recipe
I learned years ago from an Arab colleague of great learning. It
was in the water with which we tempered the wine and it acts on the
muscles, causing them to contract. It is like a cramp of the whole
body. I am well enough, however. I have a headache but nothing
more.”
Then he squatted down beside the sleeping mat
where Hiram lay, unable even to move now, and spoke to him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I have given you
something to keep you quiet while my Lord Tiglath and I make good
our escape, but it will not kill you unless you are very foolish.
You are deprived of the power of motion, and even of speech. You
must accept that. If you allow yourself to grow frightened or
excited, there is a chance you will throw yourself into a
convulsion, and you will be unable to breathe. Your own body will
strangle you from the inside. Do you understand that?”
It was impossible to know whether Hiram
understood anything, since the only sound that came from him was a
faint clicking inside his throat.
“In three or four days, this paralysis will
begin to wear off. You will be returned to the full enjoyment of
health, but you must remain calm. By then we will be far, far away
and out of your power to do us any harm. Remember, Hiram of
Latakia, your life is in your own keeping. Stay quiet and you will
recover.”
Then Kephalos stood up and turned to me.
“Take only your sword and javelin, Lord,” he
said. “We must leave everything else—we must allow the proprietor
to believe we have only stepped out for a little air. I have seen
to everything. There is a boat waiting for us by the great bridge.
Hurry, Lord—there is no time for reflection!”
As we fled that place, I cast one glance back
at Hiram, his lips trembling in a meaningless palsy. Perhaps it was
all lies. Perhaps he would die—he looked like a dying man—and then
my secret would have claimed another victim.
IV
“My guest has drunk himself into a stupor,”
Kephalos told the proprietor of our inn. “I have left him to sleep
himself sober—you would do well to advise your household slaves not
to disturb him, since wine seems to make him quarrelsome and he
will have a tender head when he wakes up.”
The proprietor nodded sagely, stroking his
beard. He was a man to recognize good advice when it was given to
him. The walls of his inn were not thick and the doors no more than
curtains,
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