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- CHAPTER LVI.
King Media A Host
Striking into a grove, about sunset we emerged upon a fine, clear
space, and spied a city in the woods.
In the middle of all, like a generalissimo’s marquee among tents, was a
structure more imposing than the rest. Here, abode King Media.
Disposed round a space some fifty yards square, were many palm posts
staked firmly in the earth. A man’s height from the ground, these
supported numerous horizontal trunks, upon which lay a flooring of
habiscus. High over this dais, but resting upon independent supports
beyond, a gable-ended roof sloped away to within a short distance of
the ground.
Such was the palace.
We entered it by an arched, arbored entrance, at one of its
palmetto-thatched ends. But not through this exclusive portal entered
the Islanders. Humbly stooping, they found ingress under the drooping
eaves. A custom immemorial, and well calculated to remind all
contumacious subjects of the dignity of the habitation thus entered.
Three steps led to the summit of the dais, where piles of soft mats,
and light pillows of woven grass, stuffed with the golden down of a
wild thistle, invited all loiterers to lounge.
How pleasant the twilight that welled up from under the low eaves,
above which we were seated. And how obvious now the design of the roof.
No shade more grateful and complete; the garish sun lingering without
like some lackey in waiting.
But who is this in the corner, gaping at us like a butler in a
quandary? Media’s household deity, in the guise of a plethoric monster,
his enormous head lolling back, and wide, gaping mouth stuffed full of
fresh fruits and green leaves. Truly, had the idol possessed a soul
under his knotty ribs, how tantalizing to hold so glorious a mouthful
without the power of deglutition. Far worse than the inexorable
lock-jaw, which will not admit of the step preliminary to a swallow.
This jolly Josh image was that of an inferior deity, the god of Good
Cheer, and often after, we met with his merry round mouth in many other
abodes in Mardi. Daily, his jaws are replenished, as a flower vase in
summer.
But did the demi-divine Media thus brook the perpetual presence of a
subaltern divinity? Still more; did he render it homage? But ere long
the Mardian mythology will be discussed, thereby making plain what may
now seem anomalous.
Politely escorting us into his palace, Media did the honors by inviting
his guests to recline. He then seemed very anxious to impress us with
the fact, that, by bringing us to his home, and thereby charging the
royal larder with our maintenance, he had taken no hasty or imprudent
step. His merry butlers kept piling round us viands, till we were well
nigh walled in. At every fresh deposit, Media directing our attention
to the same, as yet additional evidence of his ample resources as a
host. The evidence was finally closed by dragging under the eaves a
felled plantain tree, the spike of red ripe fruit, sprouting therefrom,
blushing all over, at so rude an introduction to the notice of
strangers.
During this scene, Jarl was privily nudging Samoa, in wonderment, to
know what upon earth it all meant. But Samoa, scarcely deigning to
notice interrogatories propounded through the elbow, only let drop a
vague hint or two.
It was quite amusing, what airs Samoa now gave himself, at least toward
my Viking. Among the Mardians he was at home. And who, when there,
stretches not out his legs, and says unto himself, “Who is greater than
I?”
To be plain: concerning himself and the Skyeman, the tables were
turned. At sea, Jarl had been the oracle: an old sea-sage, learned in
hemp and helm. But our craft high and dry, the Upoluan lifted his crest
as the erudite pagan; master of Gog and Magog, expounder of all things
heathenish and obscure.
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