The House of Rimmon | Page 8

he is killed. I had it from one of the camp-followers who saw him fall at the head of the battle. They are bringing his body to bury it with honour. O sorrowful victory!
RAKHAZ; Peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant, you have not been rightly informed, I will misinform you. The accounts of Naaman's death are overdrawn. He was killed, but his life has been preserved. One of his wounds was mortal, but the other three were curable, and by these the physicians have saved him.
SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself before RAKHAZ in pretended admiration.] O wonderful! Most admirable logic! One mortal, and three curable, therefore he must recover as it were, by three to one. Rakhaz, do you know that you are a marvelous man?
RAKHAZ: Yes, I know it, but I make no boast of my knowledge.
SHUMAKIM: Too modest, for in knowing this you know what is unknown to any other in Damascus!
[Enter, from the right, SABALLIDIN in armour: from the left, TSARPI with her attendants, among whom is RUAHMAH.]
HAZAEL: Here is Saballidin, we'll question him; He was enflamed by Naaman's fiery words, And rode with him to battle. Good, my lord, We hail you as a herald of the fight You helped to win. Give us authentic news Of your great general! Is he safe and well? When will he come? Or will he come at all?
[All gather around him, listening eagerly.]
SABALLIDIN: He comes but now, returning from the field Where he hath gained a crown of deathless fame! Three times he led the charge; three times he fell Wounded, and the Assyrians beat us back. Yet every wound was but a spur to urge His valour onward. In the last attack He rode before us as the crested wave That heads the flood; and lo, our enemies Were broken like a dam of river-reeds, Burst by the torrent, scattered, swept away! But look! the Assyrian king in wavering flight Is lodged like driftwood on a little hill, Encircled by his guard, and stands at bay. Then Naaman, followed hotly by a score Of whirlwind riders, hammers through the hedge Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke: "Take back this gift," he cries; and shatters it On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight Dissolves in universal rout: the king, His chariots and his horsemen melt away; Our captain stands the master of the field, And saviour of Damascus! Now he brings, First to the king, report of this great triumph.
[Shouts of joy and applause.]
RUAHMAH: [Coming close to SABALLIDIN,] But what of him who won it? Fares he well? My mistress would receive some word of him.
SABALLIDIN: Hath she not heard?
RUAHMAH: But one brief message came: A tablet saying, "We have fought and conquered," No word of his own person. Fares he well?
SABALLIDIN: Alas, most ill! For he is like a man Consumed by some strange sickness: wasted, wan,-- His eyes are dimmed so that scarce can see; His ears are dulled; his fearless face is pale As one who walks to meet a certain doom Yet will not flinch. It is most pitiful,-- But you shall see.
RUAHMAH: Yea, we shall see a man Who took upon himself his country's burden, dared To hazard all to save the poor and helpless; A man who bears the wrath of evil powers Unknown, and pays the hero's sacrifice.
[Enter BENHADAD with courtiers.]
BENHADAD: Where is my faithful servant Naaman, The captain of my host?
SABALLIDIN: My lord, he comes.
[Trumpet sounds. Enter company of soldiers in armour. Then four soldiers bearing captured standards of Asshur. NAAMAN follows, very pale, armour dinted and stained; he is blind, and guides himself by cords from the standards on each side, but walks firmly. The doors of the temple open slightly, and REZON appears at the top of the steps. NAAMAN lets the cords fall, and gropes his way for a few paces.]
NAAMAN: [Kneeling] Where is my King? Master, the bearer of thy sword returns. The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke On him who sent it. Asshur's Bull hath fled Dehorned. The standards of his host are thine! Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free!
BENHADAD: [Holding out his arms.] Thou art a mighty man of valour! Come, And let me fold thy courage to my heart.
REZON: [Lifting his rod.] Forbear, O King! Stand back from him, all men! By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim This man a leper! On his brow I see The death-white seal, the finger-print of doom! That tiny spot will spread, eating his flesh, Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until The impious heart that dared defy the gods Dissolves in the slow death which now begins. Unclean! unclean! Henceforward he is dead: No human hand shall touch him, and no home Of men shall give him shelter. He shall walk Only with