As Sandra Pickerall stood before the imposing castle of Alemtejo her hopes rose; for she felt that such an imposing edifice must be the abode of civilized men and women--people who would sympathize with her situation and perhaps eventually might be persuaded to return her to her own people.

She had expected to be taken to some squalid, native village, ruled over probably by a black sultan, where she would be reviled and mistreated by perhaps a score of wives and concubines. Her captor’s insistence that she would be a goddess had never impressed her, for she was definitely convinced that the man was insane and thought his stories were but a figment of a deranged mentality.

“So this is the castle of Alemtejo!” she said, half aloud.

“Yes,” said the man. “It is the castle of Cristoforo da Gama, the King of Alemtejo.”

There was no sign of life outside the castle; but when her companion stepped forward and pounded upon the great gate with the hilt of his knife, a man leaned from the barbican and hailed him.

“Who comes?” he challenged; and then, “Oh, it is God who has returned.”

“Yes,” replied the girl’s captor, “It is he whom the king calls God. Admit us, and send word to Cristoforo da Gama, the king, that I have returned and brought a goddess.”

The man left the opening, and Sandra heard him calling to someone upon the inside of the gate, which presently swung slowly open; and a moment later Sandra and her captor filed into the ballium, while the servants of God turned back into the forest.

Inside the gate stood a number of chocolate-colored soldiers wearing helmets of gold and cuirasses of golden chain mail. Their brown legs were bare, and their feet were shod in crude sandals. All wore swords and some carried battleaxes, and others ancient muskets, the latter looking very impressive notwithstanding the fact that there had been no ammunition for them in Alemtejo for nearly four hundred years.

The ballium, which was wide and which evidently extended around the castle, was laid out with rows of growing garden truck, among which both men and women were working. These, too, like the soldiers at the gate, were mostly chocolate-colored. The men wore leather jerkins and broad brimmed hats, and the women a garment which resembled a sarong wound around their hips. The women were naked from the waist up. All showed considerable excitement as they recognized the man; and when, later, he and Sandra were being conducted across the ballium toward the main entrance to the castle, they knelt and crossed themselves as he passed.

Sandra was dumbfounded at this evidence that these people, at least, thought that her companion was a god. Maybe they were all insane. The thought caused her considerable perturbation. It was bad enough to feel that one might be associating with a single maniac, but to be a prisoner in a land of maniacs was quite too awful to contemplate.

Inside the castle they were met by half a dozen men with long gowns and cowls. Each wore a chain of beads from which a cross depended. They were evidently priests. These conducted them down a long corridor to a great apartment which Sandra immediately recognized as a throne-room.

People were entering this apartment through other doorways, as though they had recently been summoned, and congregating before a dais on which stood three throne chairs.

The priests conducted Sandra and her companion to the dais, and as they crossed the room the people fell back to either side and knelt and crossed themselves.

“They really take him seriously,” thought Sandra.