CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE TRIBUNALS OF GOD DEAL WITH ALCAMAYN
The “Tribunals of God,” as the courts of justice were called, convened in the Temple of Mars, situated northwest from the center of the city.
It was here that the highest courts assembled four times a year to hear and to judge the most important criminal cases.
There were twelve judges and eighty jurors, who were seated in a semi-circle facing the south, where sapphire tablets in gold plates set forth the ten great laws of the land. In front of them were two blocks of stone, on which the accuser and the accused stood. Outside this were seats for the jurisconsults, hedged in by a wall of solid masonry, always guarded.
The building itself was square, with each corner exactly on a cardinal point, and finished with square towers, from the tops of which the decisions were announced at sunset.
The size of the temple was one three-hundred-thousandths of the diameter of Mars.
Outside the walled enclosure were quarters for the jurisconsults and their families, also for the students and the instructors. A long subterranean passage, dimly lighted, led to the chambers for solitary confinement, and it was from the arches overhead that criminals under death-sentence were executed, by being hung by the heels.
Dull gray walls, ceilings and floors greeted the eye everywhere, while leather and iron fittings added to the gloom and depression. Over the door of the main entrance was the inscription:
“THE WISE EMPLOYMENT OF PUNISHMENT IS THE BEST MEANS OF TEACHING THE LOWER ANIMALS: MAN LEARNS ONLY BY EXPERIENCE, WHICH IS A VARIED FORM OF PUNISHMENT.”
The awning over the head of the presiding judge was a splendid woolen tapestry, representing the “Judgment of Hirach,” and underneath was the inscription:
“THE MISFORTUNE OF THE CRIMINAL IS THAT HE MAKES A BAD BARGAIN: HE GIVES SO MUCH FOR SO LITTLE.”
As hierophant and Past Grand Servitor, it was Yermah’s duty to preside at Alcamayn’s trial. His official robe for this occasion was flame-colored, with belt, bracelet, and thumb-ring of iron set with amethysts, while on his head was a skeletonized iron crown.
The extreme gravity of the case hastened the proceedings, which were concluded on the following Tuesday—Mars’ day. In ordinary circumstances it would have been considered a monstrous thing to appeal with such haste to an extraordinary tribunal; but the diversity of frictional causes underlying the main issue made it expedient to act with vigor and promptitude.
The people themselves claimed the right to punish crimes of peculiar gravity or of exalted personages. Since the action pertained to their Servitor, they were the ones most grievously wronged, and they clamored loudly for the life-blood of the jeweler.
Alcamayn’s life should be forfeited to the state because of high treason, inasmuch as he had made it impossible to maintain traditional relations with other nations, by removing the only man of consecrated blood capable of carrying out the solemn covenants.
It was Hanabusa’s duty, as accuser, to present the findings of this tribunal to Yermah for final consideration.
The high-priest, Imos, received similar instruction later in the day, when the warrior-priests, without a dissenting voice, found Alcamayn guilty of sin against the Holy Pneuma,[20] because by curtailing Orondo’s physical life, he had cut the ego’s earth experience short, thus dooming his victim to early reincarnation. Death, incurring a similar fate, was but just retribution.
Setos must stand as an accuser when the final trial began. In his own selfish way, he was attached to Ildiko; but he could have killed her with his own hands for having placed him in such a difficult position. He had no pity for her blighted prospects.
The father was enraged against the daughter, because he knew that no man would offer her marriage again—that she must live in perpetual disgrace.
Pity her? Not he! Had she not dashed his ambitions at the very moment of fulfillment? Was his incipient greatness always to be subservient to inferiors? Was he never to have the opportunity to show what was in his heart?
Poor Ildiko! Frivolous feather-brain that she was, many a sympathizing glance fell upon the closed windows of her bridal chamber. She was not allowed to return home again. So in hideous mockery she paced the floor of this room, sick to death of its luxury, and hating the sight of her wedding finery.
Yermah found her lying prostrate, twisting her hands in and out of her disheveled hair; and when he gently raised her and spoke kindly to her, she broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, infinitely sadder than tears. She had the curses of her father still ringing in her ears, and remorse held such carnival that blows would have been easier to bear.
“Beat, curse and abuse me, Yermah, or I shall go raving mad! Don’t even look at me kindly! I cannot endure it!”
Yermah feigned not to hear her.
“Where is Rahula?” he asked in an ordinary tone. “Hast thou seen her?”
“No. She must be with Alcamayn.”
“That were not possible. He is in solitary confinement, and is allowed to see no one. She is probably occupied with his defense.”
“Dost thou think there is any hope for him? I have loved him from early childhood—more than I did Orondo,” she said simply. “Canst thou not plead for him?”
Even with tear-stained, grief-distorted face, Ildiko was attractive and winning.
“All that is possible will I gladly do, for both thy sakes.”
The Dorado talked long and earnestly with her, knowing that words would be a harmless safety-valve for her tortured mind, and when he left her she was comparatively calm.
Yermah was as good as his word. In the Temple of the Sun, on the following day, he made an eloquent plea for compensation for Ildiko, since Alcamayn had stolen away her senses by drugging the wine she drank in honor of the state. The councilors by vote exculpated her from all blame in Orondo’s death, and allowed her the living usually given the widow of a Grand Servitor. It was a foregone conclusion that they would fix the death penalty on Alcamayn for depriving the Azes of their rightful ruler.
The unit of ancient society was the community or gens; of modern society, the individual. Since the first ten great laws were compiled and graven on tablets of stone, there have been but two forms of civilization. One exemplifies the principles of brotherhood; the other, crystallizes around individualism. Both ideals have had many variations and degrees of success in racial and national expression.
The Egyptians thought their laws were given them by Menes, the Greek Hermes; the Hindus believed that Menes received his laws direct from Krishna.
The Lacedæmonians claimed that Apollyon inspired Lycurgus to write them wise and just laws for their guidance.
Many branches of the Aryan race look to Zoroaster as the man to whom the Good Spirit communicates the first rules of government.
The Toltecs say it was Mexi; the Quiches ascribe it to Votan; while, through the Jews, we claim Moses as the great law-giver.
But from whatever source, the principal rules are the same. In none is property held to be of greater value than human life. The precepts of Christianity do not contradict this teaching, but actual practice is often quite another matter.
The legislation known as labor laws would be difficult to explain were precept and practical Christian civilization the same thing.
The first step inspired by selfishness was to substitute the family for the tribe, making it a corporation sole, so that co-ownership was the original law of property.[21]
In Yermah’s day, no one could forfeit or transfer his rights, and all holdings went back to the community at death. Personal property was interred with the body, in order to destroy the magnetic attraction which would still hold the astral man to the earth, especially to his familiar haunts.
There was no law of crimes, no criminal jurisprudence such as we have to-day. But the community had the right to compel the wrong-doer to compound for injuries inflicted. The state undertook to mete out punishment the same as an individual would do in similar circumstances.
When speedily caught, a criminal was sure to suffer severely. If apprehended a year later, the penalty was much lighter as the fictitious anger of the state was supposed to be cooler.
Towers of Refuge were not only common to Asia, but were found all over the Americas and the accused was immune when once inside its sacred walls.
The trial of Alcamayn was a proceeding wholly extraordinary, irregular and independent of set rules and fixed conditions. Yermah sat with the Council of State, and was deputed by them to represent the civic interests in the final judgment.
Equity was supposed to flow from the conscience of the Servitor. He, alone, could pronounce the death sentence, after the judges and jurors had passed upon the case.
Yermah asked Ben Hu Barabe, the civil chief and law-giver of the Monbas, to personate him in the commonwealth. The four preliminary trials were before the assembly of the tribes, represented by Ben Hu Barabe; the tribunal of God, represented by Imos; the assembly of one hundred, represented by Setos; and the laws of nations, represented by Hanabusa.
These men were the four accusers, who appeared before Yermah and demanded the forfeit of Alcamayn’s life, when, at sunrise, the final sitting began.
In addition to the twelve judges and eighty jurors, there were as many more students, who stood behind their elders, and in this way learned to practice in the courts.
With a thin iron collar around his neck, to which three chains were attached, held by a soldier on each side and one behind, Alcamayn was led before the Tribunal.
He was dressed in black, with a light weight iron crown on his head shaped like an inverted pentagram.
The high-priest, Imos, preceded Alcamayn, carrying a rod of iron in his hand. Stationing himself at the left of the prisoner, the high-priest waited Yermah’s question:
“Why comest thou here, Imos?”
“To claim the life of this man,” touching Alcamayn with the rod, then laying hold of him.
The prisoner made a show of resistance, until Yermah bade them relax their hold.
“Alcamayn, what means thy interference?”
“I crave the right to establish and prove my innocence,” answered the accused in an unsteady voice.
“May the life within me be forfeited, if there be no justice in my cause.” Imos spoke with decisive emphasis.
“If this man merit not death, take thou vengeance on me,” said Ben Hu Barabe, standing beside Imos.
“The same dread fate await me too, if there be reason for merciful judgment here.” Hanabusa spoke with deliberation, as he joined the other accusers.
“Woe is me!” wailed Setos, unsteadily. “Yet I and all my posterity would be forever accursed if we hindered justice. I am here to claim the life of Alcamayn, and to stake my own on the demand.”
He did not look at the jeweler, and it seemed difficult for him to stand, while the accused said in a low voice:
“May I be early deprived of physical life in four succeeding incarnations, if I be not innocent of this charge.”
“Thou standest in a perilous position, Alcamayn,” cautioned Yermah. “Weigh thy words well!”
“Had my days four times their natural span, I should risk them without fear.”
There was no bravado in Alcamayn’s tone or manner.
He feared the worst, and there was a hungry, desperate expectancy in every glance. The days had gone over his head like years.
Stripped of all finery and with close cropped hair, his bat-wing ears stood out from his head. The hawk face, clean-shaven, showed the cunning and courage of a cornered rat. The hunchback’s supreme egotism stood him in good stead, but the inner man had no compunction for what he had done. He was appalled at the unexpected death of Orondo, never having counted on such an outcome.
But what criminal ever does look forward to being caught and overwhelmed with his own guilt?
Alcamayn had succeeded in getting even with his tormentors, and he was secretly glad of it. If it had only been Ildiko who had died instead of Orondo, he would have been entirely satisfied; and, as it was, persuaded himself that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
He hated Orondo, and the jilted man deemed that justifiable since his rival’s success had been a prime cause of humiliation.
The prisoner was seated on a revolving stool, and made to face each judge and juror while the questions and responses were being given.
One of the most damaging circumstances against Alcamayn was his own soberness compared with Ildiko’s sudden intoxication. He reluctantly admitted that he had deliberately gone to the wedding meditating revenge, and had carefully carried it out at the first opportunity.
The accused did not deny that he was actuated by a petty, mean jealousy, although he scorned the insinuation of loving Ildiko. His deformity told against him greatly, because of the belief that the body was but an outward expression of the inner man.
Each of the four accusers took turn in examining the testimony, analyzing the motives, inquiring minutely into extenuating circumstances; and the judges and jurors were equally divided for and against.
The arguments continued all day, but at sun-down the decision had been reached.
There was no prerogative of pardon. The commonwealth had the right to interfere directly and by isolated acts, to avenge itself on the author of the evil which it had suffered.
“Alcamayn, hast thou aught to say which can delay judgment about to be meted out to thee?”
Yermah spoke perfunctorily.
The strain was telling on them all; and Alcamayn, more dead than alive, answered mechanically:
“I have none.”
“Alcamayn, face thy accusers.”
The condemned man dragged himself to his feet, and stared doggedly ahead of him.
“Alcamayn, never more canst thou be heard in thine own behalf. I charge thee, as death must soon be thy portion, speak the truth. Art thou guilty?”
The stillness was intense.
Every man waited to see if the convicted man would imperil his immortal soul by withholding the truth.
The prisoner felt this. He knew what a shock he could give them, and the leading passion being strong upon him, he answered defiantly:
“I am innocent!”
Trouble had not softened him. On the contrary, he had grown bitter and vindictive as he realized his desperate straits.
Yermah picked up an iron-headed arrow, as the guard brought the prisoner forward. Leaning toward him, he drew a circle over Alcamayn’s heart, and then made a square around it with the arrow.
This was the death sentence.
“May the Father of Justice and Mercy claim the divine within thee, Alcamayn!”
The doomed man merely bowed his head.
“Let Saturn’s day witness the carrying out of this decree. Away with him!”
Yermah felt the words more keenly than the man to whom he had spoken them. Alcamayn’s thin upper lip curled in a sardonic smile, which did not leave his face while the badge of death, a square of sheet iron with a white enamel circle in the center, was being fastened to his breast.
The condemned man was kept in solitary confinement. Once the door of his cell closed upon him, he gave way to a frenzy of despair, butting his head against the wall with so much violence that the guards were obliged to tie him down to the floor.
Frantic hysteria closed his throat, and threatened strangulation, and when his teeth were pried open, he shut them on his tongue with such force as to nearly sever the end.
Shamans worked with him all night, but nothing save physical exhaustion quieted him. Under sentence of death, the miserable man was allowed to receive any consolation possible.
There were no restrictions placed upon the visit of friends, the only regulation being a complete and thorough search before and after the visit of both prisoner and caller.
Long before light, came Rahula. She was nearly distracted by Alcamayn’s shrieks and groans, but tried to show a brave face. The prisoner was sinking into a drowse, and Rahula did not know whether he recognized her or not. She had brought him some ripe persimmons, and occupied herself trying to make him comfortable.
To her surprise he awoke hungry, and did full justice to the appetizing meal prepared for him. There was no objection to her providing the food, but the authorities insisted that she should partake of it freely. So it happened that she furnished and ate all meals with him.
Many and long were the confidential talks these two had together, and on more than one occasion Rahula committed to picture-writing things that were told her.
Nothing escaped her tightly closed lips, nor did she utter one word of complaint. She was surly and defiant when questioned, but made no resistance at the last moment.
On Friday morning, Ildiko, pale and agitated, knocked timidly at the outer gate, and begged to see Alcamayn. He received her quietly, but there was not a shade of pity for her broken fortunes.
The widow’s face was drawn and pinched, and she looked utterly forlorn and helpless while the search went on.
Once in the cell, she tried to speak cheerfully to her childhood friend, but she could not prevent a revulsion of feeling when she saw the perfumed dandy shorn of all his splendor; his long, thin neck and large ears grated upon her senses unpleasantly.
How was it ever possible that she had loved him?
Ildiko began to suspect that it was remorse and not affection which had prompted her feelings. She had never practiced self-restraint, but had always given voice to every passing emotion. What she said was true at the time it was spoken, or, at least, she thought it was.
Alcamayn huddled over in a corner opposite, unable to control his repugnance, and instinctively sharing something of the aversion apparent in Ildiko.
Wholly surprised and half-frightened at herself, Ildiko arose to take leave. She tried to feel very sad, but instead of the passionate tears, and protest of undying love, she gulped down a dry sob, extended a cold clammy hand, and in a queer little voice, said with painful articulation:
“May Infinity hover over and guard thee!”
“May Justice find and abide with thee!” he answered, ignoring her proffered hand.
Alcamayn held her eyes unflinchingly until she reached the door, to which she made a halting journey, hoping that he would say some kind word in farewell.
This was balm to his revolted feelings, and he had a grim sort of satisfaction in knowing that she had sued for his good will, and had been repulsed.
It was one way to revenge himself upon her choice of another for a husband. The homicide really cherished no ill will toward Orondo. Ildiko was the one he despised, and he would leave her his dying curses.
The last hour of his life was spent with Yermah, who did all that could be done to sustain the wretched man through the anticipation of the coming ordeal.
Imos prepared the spiced and tinctured wine, which Alcamayn was obliged to sip through a straw. This was done to produce drowsiness; when the victim was fully under its influence, a white powder having the quality of cocaine was sprinkled upon his face to deaden pain.
Alcamayn’s under-garments were of chamois-skin, over which was a loose robe of coarse cloth made from the beaten fiber of nettle. A hideous mask was put over his face, to show that his lower self would be disguised in animal form in its next incarnation.
Ben Hu Barabe and Hanabusa placed Alcamayn gently on the floor, giving directions to the priests and warriors as to the number of cords which should bind his body.
When securely pinioned they sewed him up in another layer of coarse cloth, and then placed him on a litter. This they carried up to the second floor, where by stout cords they tied Alcamayn’s feet to the arch in front of his cell. The body was held upright on a trap-door, and allowed to fall full length, striking the head upon the floor.
“May all who thus invert good be compelled to die head downward!” said Imos, solemnly, as the trap-door closed, and the executioners stood, blankly facing each other.
Great care was taken to preserve a semblance of lifelike proportions in the outlines of the funeral basket, to enable the spirit to manifest easily at some future time.
Four lusty tamanes shouldered the basket-covered remains and the little procession filed out of the temple inclosure.
Men, women and children turned their backs as it passed, and there was no one to receive the body when it was delivered to the priest at the judgment hall of Hirach.
Early next morning Imos announced in the Temple of the Sun that Alcamayn’s body had been refused burial.
Then the citizens went to the hall, and carried the remains down to Land’s End, opposite Point Lobos. When the strongest ebb tide was at its full, they cast it into the sea. At this point the current runs at the rate of from three to four knots an hour, and the people knew that when once washed out to the north, the body could never, in time or eternity, return again to Golden Gate Bay.
The continuous barkings and roarings of the now extinct sea-cows which congregated on the rocks in that vicinity were supposed by the populace to be wails and lamentations from the unfortunate dead whose bodies had been literally condemned as food for the fishes.