14. XIV.
Then, Ipsistos, with a heart sore for his people,
went into the market-place, where were gathered
together many of his own condition, and to these
he cried aloud, and he prayed that they might give
ear to his tidings, and he promised to show them
strange things. And they were angered when
they beheld him on the eminence, and hearkened
to the words of his exhortations. And one said —
“Is not this Ipsistos, the son of the brick-maker
— and shall one of our own sort claim to be wiser
than we?”
And another cried —
“The mortar is even now upon his jacket, yet
would he talk for the magi.”
“Where should he get this impudence,” cried
a third, “to speak to us in words of counsel?
Were we not boys together — have we not often
played together on the same hill-side?”
“I know him well; he liveth in our street — he
is a fool that dreams — let us stop his mouth.”
Then came one from Bermahdi, the high priest,
who whispered in the ear of a huge man whose
anger was greater than the rest, and these were the
words of his speech —
“Thrust him down, brother, he is insolent; —
doth he pretend to be wiser than us? — thrust him
down, I tell you; — it shall be good if we do so.”
Then said another who came from Bermahdi —
“He hath reviled the goddess, whose white temple
is upon the hill — thrust him down — let the
grass grow in his mouth!”
“Stone him!” cried a third.
And the huge man, whose name was Brassid,
lifted a rock and flung it at Ipsistos, and the rock
smote the youth upon the ear and sorely wounded
him. And Ipsistos fled from the wrath of the multitude;
and he fled, not from fear but from sorrow,
as he beheld many among the multitude with whom
he had played even when a boy. And he had a
purpose in his flight, and he fled towards the pale
groves where he had raised the altar. And the
multitude pursued him, and they reviled him and
stoned him as he fled. But when the youth
reached the groves he paused in his flight, and he
turned full upon the multitude — and his eye was
lifted, and he beheld the goddess whom he worshipped,
looking down upon him from the cloud.
And the sweet voice spoke in his ears —
“Ipsistos — thy hour is come!”
“Let the hour be blessed by thee, oh! image
of divinest joy, and thy servant hath no fears. He
is ready.”
And he laid his hands upon the horns of the altar,
and he looked out upon the multitude. And
he began a song of thanksgiving and of praise,
though their voices were bitter with revilings. And
they rushed upon him where he stood, and they
tore him from the horns of the altar. With a
blind fury they set upon him, and the strong men
seized each of them a limb. And Brassid was the
man who bade them do violence upon him. And
they dragged the youth to and fro, and they rent
his limbs apart, and scattered them asunder even
while the life struggled in his bosom. And when
they had done the deed, they were confounded,
and knew not what they had done. But Brassid,
the strong, who was of a mean craft, he laughed
to scorn the confusion of the multitude. And
with loud cries he rushed upon the altar which Ipsistos
had raised with his own hands, and he would
have torn the altar from its place, but a sudden fear
seized upon him. For a bright eye looked out
upon him from the cloud, with a look of exceeding
sorrow; and the sounds of a sad voice came
upon his ears like a passing wind; and these were
the words of the voice —
“What! ye have slain your master — he who
hath wrought for you; and now would you destroy
his work? Go! — but come to me at evening.”
And none saw the eye, or heard the voice, but
Brassid, and, for a brief time, he was too greatly
astonished to speak. And the people would have
rushed upon the altar even as he had done, but he
stayed their fury:
“Enough! Wherefore should we pull down
this pile which is but of wood, and the work of him
whom we have destroyed. Let it stand, in token
of his folly.”
And he led the multitude back to the city, but
the voice went with him.
