Selim. Your Mightiness doth behold the youth. [To Ion, who stands proudly.] Kneel, slave!
Ion. I kneel not unto tyrants.
Moh'd. How, bold stripling! Weigh with more care thy speech, and forget not before whom thou dost stand. [To Selim.] Go, slave, and stand without; see that none enter here unbidden. [Exit Selim.] Speak, boy! Who art thou, and why dost thou seek thus fearlessly the presence of thy foe? – and beware thou speakest truly if it is as a friend to treat in honorable fashion, or as a spy, thou now standest before us.
Ion. I am a Greek, son to the noble Cleon, now thy captive; I seek his rescue.
Moh'd. Son to Cleon! Now, by the Prophet, 'tis wondrous strange! And thou hast ventured alone into the camp amid thy deadly foes? Speak, boy, – thine errand!
Ion. To offer hostage; to treat with Mohammed for a father's life; to move to pity or to justice the heart that hath doomed a noble soldier unto an unjust death.
Moh'd. And where, my bold prince, are thy followers, thy slaves, thy royal train?
Ion. On yonder plain, cold in their graves.
Moh'd. Hast thou brought ransom? Where is thy gold?
Ion. In the coffers of the Turkish Mohammed, plundered from his slaughtered foes.
Moh'd. Thou spakest of hostage, – I see it not.
Ion. 'Tis here, – the son of Cleon.
Moh'd. Thou! and thinkest thou thy young, worthless life were a fit hostage for the leader of a rebel band, the enemy of all true followers, whose capture hath cost blood and slaves and gold? By Allah! boy, thou must name a higher price to win the life thou doth seek.
Ion. I have nought else to offer. Thy hand hath rent from me friends, followers, gold, a sire. But if this young life hath any worth to thee, if these arms may toil for thee, this form bear burdens to thy royalty, take them, – take all, O king, but render unto me that life without which Greece is lost.
Moh'd. Peace! Thy speech is vain; thy life is nought to me.
Ion. I will serve thee as a slave; in all things do thy bidding, – faithful, unwearied, unrepining. Grant but my boon, and monarch shall never have a truer vassal than I will be to thee. Great Mohammed, let me not plead in vain.
Moh'd. Peace, I say; anger me not.
Ion. O king, hast thou no heart? Think of the ruined home, the mourning people, the land made desolate by thee; of her who now counts the weary hours for tidings of those dear to her, – tidings fraught with life or death as thou shalt decree; of the son by thee doomed to see his honored sire, hero of a hundred battles dragged like a slave unto a shameful death. As thou wilt have mercy shown to thee, that mercy show thou unto me. Oh, say to me, "Thy father lives!"
Moh'd. Away! I will not listen.
Ion. Nay, I will kneel to thee. I who never knelt to man before, now implore thee with earnest supplication. 'Tis for a father's life.
Moh'd. Kneel not to me, – it is in vain. Thy father is my captive, my deadliest foe, whom I hate, and curse, – ay, and will slay. Boy, dost thou know to whom thou dost bow?
Ion [rising proudly]. To the pagan Mohammed, – he who with murderous hand hath bathed in blood the smiling plains of Greece; profaned her altars, enslaved her people, and filled the land with widows' tears and orphans' cries; he who by perfidy makes captives of his foes, refusing hostage and scorning honorable treaty; turns from all supplicants, closes his heart to mercy, and tramples under foot all pity and all justice, – the murderer, and the tyrant. Yes, king, I know to whom I plead.
Moh'd. [in great anger]. Ho, without there, guards! – Selim! [Enter Selim and soldiers.] Away with the prisoner! Bind him fast; see he escape not. Mohammed stands not to be braved by a beardless boy! Hence! [Guards approach with chains.]
Ion. Lay not hands upon me, – I am no slave! One more appeaclass="underline" May a son look once more upon his father ere death parts them forever? May I but for an hour speak with Cleon?
Moh'd. Once more thou mayst look upon the rebel Greek. When he hangs from yonder battlement thou mayst gaze unbidden as thou will. Away! With to-morrow's sun, he dies.
Ion. So soon, O king! – nay, the son of Cleon kneels not to thee again [turns to go].
Moh'd. Stay, – yield up thy sword! Bend thy proud knee, and surrender unto me the arms thou art unworthy now to bear.
Ion [drawing his sword]. This, my sword, girded on by a mother's hand, pledged to the deliverance of a captive sire, dedicated to the service of my country, unstained, unconquered, —thus do I surrender thee. [He breaks the sword, and flings it down.]
Moh'd. Again dost thou brave me! Away with the rebel! Bind him hand and foot. He shall learn what it is to be Mohammed's slave. Hence, I say!
Ion. I am thy captive, but thy slave – never! Thou mayst chain my limbs, thou canst not bind my freeborn soul! Lead on, – I follow.
SCENE THIRD
Zuleika [pacing up and down]. Night draweth on apace, and ever nearer comes the fatal hour. With to-morrow's dawn all hope is o'er, for Mohammed hath sworn the Greek shall die, and when was he ere known to fail in his dread purpose? In vain have I wept before him, imploring him to have some mercy; in vain have I sought with golden promises to move the stony-hearted Hafiz, – all, all hath failed, and I am in despair. And that brave youth, his true heart filled with love's pure devotion, seeking by the sacrifice of his own life to save a father! And now each moment bringeth nearer the death-hour of that father, and he is mourning in solitude that he may not say farewell. Where can I turn for help? Ah, Hassan! my faithful slave. He is true, and loveth me like his own. He must aid me [claps her hands; enter Hassan]. Hassan, thou lovest me, and would not see me grieve?
Hassan. Allah, forbid! Thou art dear to old Hassan as the breath of life, and while life lingers he will serve thee.
Zuleika. Then must thou aid me in a deed of mercy. Who doth keep watch to-night before the tent of the young Greek?
Hassan. Mine is the watch. Wherefore dost thou seek to know?
Zuleika. Hassan, thou hast sworn to serve me. I have a boon to ask of thee.
Hassan. Speak, lady! thy slave doth listen.
Zuleika. Thou knowest that with the morning sun Mohammed hath sworn Cleon shall die. Such is the fierce anger he doth bear his foe he hath refused all mercy and scorned to listen to the prayers of the young prince who hath journeyed hither at peril of his own life to place himself in the power of the king as hostage for his father.
Hassan. It is indeed most true. Poor youth!
Zuleika. 'Tis of him I would speak to thee. Mohammed, angered at his boldness, hath, as thou knowest, guarded him in yonder tent, denying him his last sad prayer to speak once more in life with his father. Oh, Hassan, what must be the agony of that young heart to see the hours swift speeding by, and know no hope.
Hassan. What wouldst thou have me do?
Zuleika. Lead him to his father; give him the consolation of folding to his breast the beloved one to save whose life he hath sacrificed his own.
Hassan. Dear mistress, thou art dreaming, and cannot know the danger of so rash a deed. Bethink thee of Mohammed's anger, the almost certain doom of such as dare to brave his mighty will. I pray thee let not thy noble heart lead thee astray. Thou canst not save him, and will but harm thyself.
Zuleika. Hassan, thy love and true devotion, I well know, doth prompt thee to thus counsel, and in thy fear for me thou dost forget to think of mercy or of pity. I thank thee; but thou canst not move me from my firm resolve. Again I ask thee, Wilt thou aid me?