Semiramis: A Tale of Battle and of Love
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Title: Semiramis: A Tale of Battle and of Love
Creator: Edward Peple
Illustrator: C. M. Burd
Release date: May 27, 2013 [eBook #42822]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEMIRAMIS: A TALE OF BATTLE AND OF LOVE ***
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: She had come into the lion's very lair. (Page 143)]
SEMIRAMIS
A Tale of Battle and of Love
BY
*EDWARD PEPLE*
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
1907
Copyright, 1907
BY MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
Published August, 1907
Reprinted, November, 1907
To
"THE LITTLE PADRE"
CONTENTS
I. The Raising of the Siege
II. The Building of a City
III. The Governor of Syria
IV. The Fish Goddess
V. A Prayer to Dagon
VI. The Daughter of Derketo
VII. A Master's Kiss
VIII. They that Depart and He that is Left Behind
IX. The Eaglet Nursed by Doves
X. The Lifting of a Tax
XI. The Sandal and the Straws
XII. The Sorrows of a King
XIII. The Skin of a One-Eyed Lion
XIV. The Turn of a Woman's Tongue
XV. An Army on the March
XVI. The Pass of the Wedge
XVII. In the Shadow of Zariaspa
XVIII. The Raisin in a Skin of Vinegar
XIX. The Stratagem
XX. The Flight
XXI. The Riddle of the Secret Way
XXII. Who Ruleth, First Must Rise
XXIII. The Siege
XXIV. The Citadel
XXV. Shifting the Burden
XXVI. The Passing of a Man
XXVII. A Path Which Led to Its Starting Point
XXVIII. The Cry of the Tigress to her Mate
XXIX. When a Woman Ruled the World
XXX. The Desert and the King
XXXI. The Crowning of the Dead
XXXII. A War Queen's Prophecy
PREFACE.
The existing history of Assyria's greatest ruler, Semiramis, is so
confounded with the religions and superstitions of the ancients that
little or no authentic fact may be gleaned therefrom. Again, these
legends were handed down from father to son among the Syrians and
imaginative Persians, till finally recorded by the more imaginative
Greeks. These latter gentlemen seemed seldom to allow mere truth to
stand as a stumbling block in their literary paths, but leaped it nimbly
for the entertainment of an admiring world.
As for poets, they ever sing of Queen Semiramis at a period of her
seasoned age and wickedness, though her "devilish beauty" continued to
abide with her, being wielded as an evil scepter o'er the souls of men;
yet much must be forgiven in a poet, because of that strange inaptitude
of truth for a friendly relationship with meter and with rhyme.
In every human, however bad, there exists a trace of virtue, even as, on
the other hand, no mortal yet has lived without some blemish of flesh or
mind or heart; thus Nature balances her weird accounts, leaving the
extremes of vice or purity to mythical ideals.
Given a woman without imagination or originality, and that woman
deserves no credit whatsoever for her righteousness. She exists; she
does not live; for her temptation possesses no attractive lure. Yet
given another woman, of beauty, temper, brains, and for her the battles
of good and evil will be waged till her fires are dead. Her better self
must battle against ambition, passion, the blood of direct inheritance,
the thousand ghostly guides that lead her into perilous ways, while on
the scales of circumstances must hang the issue of her rise or fall.
She must face still other foes, in men who are stronger than
herself--men who seek her charms for weel or woe; for perfect love is a
woman's highest goal, and a man may make or mar it by the mould of his
great or little heart.
If, therefore, in her later days Semiramis was evil, the fault was not
all her own. She chose her master--not the master of her mind, but the
master of her woman's heart, and to him she gave her all. What wonder,
then, that when her all was filched by lustful treachery, departing
peace awoke a sleeping devil in her blood?
Great faults had Queen Semiramis, and many, as viewed by enlightened
women from a reach of two thousand years; yet who shall say that evil
would have claimed this splendid savage had fate not raised another
savage to mould her destiny?
It is not the purpose of this work to present a series of historical
facts, for even the legends of Semiramis are too absurd and fragmentary
to admit of such a hope. Its aim--in emulation of the worthy
Greeks--is, at least, to entertain, albeit a truth or two may now and
again be handled carelessly. It treats of ancient loves and wars, a
tangle of myth and probability--a patch-work, woven into a quilt which,
at worst, may assist the reader in going peacefully to sleep.
July, 1907. E. P.
SEMIRAMIS
CHAPTER I
THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE
King Ninus sat his war horse, gazing sadly out across the walls of
Zariaspa. His cheek was bronzed by the brush of many winds, his muscles
hardened by the toil of battle in a hundred lands; the blood of
dauntless youth ran riot in his veins, yet it whispered at his heart
that the King had failed.
Behind him the mountains of Hindu-Kush towered, dull and purple, in the
morning light, their peaks obscured in coils of snake-like mist.
Southward they ran, a ragged line of hills, till they reached the height
of Hindu-Koh and claimed a brotherhood with the mighty Himalayas. To
right and left the hill-steeps lay, a barren waste of rock and stunted
shrubbery, while at the feet of Assyria's King stretched fertile
valleys, and the plains of Bactria reaching away to the banks of the
River Oxus.
In the centre of the plain stood Zariaspa, the city which defied
Assyria's might, a fortress whose walls rose thirty cubits above the
earth, grim, battle-scarred, but still unconquered. Within, the
defenders feasted from a never ending store of food which seemed to drop
by magic from the brazen skies, while without, a hungry host of
besieging foes sat, cursing, in the sand.
So Ninus sat upon his horse in troubled thought, a monarch cheated of
his heart's desire--cheated by craft and prowess more subtle than his
own. To his side rode Menon down a mountain trail, a Prince of the
house of Nairi, now travel-stained from a baffled hunt for the secret of
Zariaspa's store of food. He made report, and Ninus listened, silent,
nodding slowly, frowning at the distant walls.
In feature and form these two were as oddly matched as the sons of a
kindred race might be. The King was of massive frame and corded thews,
a leader of men who ruled by the right of might, who offered to those he
loved an open hand--to his enemies a hard-clenched fist. Haughty of
mien was he, with the eyes of a restless hawk burning beneath the shadow
of his brow; his strong, square chin lay hidden in his beard, while from
his helm swept a mass of hair, resting in thick, oiled curls upon his
shoulders.
The Prince beside him was but a boy in years, with a beardless face of
beauty to look upon, a slender, nimble frame, yet hardened in the school
of hunting and of war. Where Fate was pleased to mark his path, there
Menon[#] rode with a loose, free rein, mocking at danger as he played at
love, yet scorning not discretion's padded shield.
[#] This name is known to modern writers as Onnes or Cannes, but the
historian Diodorus called him Menon and this name has been used by the
author throughout.
Where Ninus smashed his way through the bristling ranks of opposing
force, Menon skimmed in crafty circles till he found the weakest point,
then cut it cleanly, as the swallow cuts the wind. Where Ninus frowned
and crushed obedience to his will, there Menon bought devotion's
merchandise with the price of a joyous laugh; yet the boy, withal, had
need to lean upon the arm of power, while the King was a king from helm
to heel, a lord to whom his mighty armies gave idolatry and the tribute
of their blood.
"Menon," spoke the King at length, as he pointed across the plain to
Zariaspa, "I have sworn by Bel and Raman to lay yon city low, to sack it
to the dust of its whitest ash. Thinkest thou we may some day cease to
squat in the manner of toads outside its walls?"
"Aye, my lord," the Prince returned, with a fleeting smile, "some
day--when the toads have learned to fly."
King Ninus nodded thoughtfully, and with his fingers combed at his
thick, black beard.
"True," he answered, "true; and yet we soon will be upon the wing. Look
thou and listen." Again he pointed, not at the city's walls, but to the
monster camp which circled Zariaspa as a girdle rests about a woman's
waist. "See, Menon, thy King hath learned to fly."
Now even as he spoke, the besieging army woke as from a heavy sleep. On
the gentle wind came a clank and clatter of swiftly gathered arms, the
squeak of wheels and the harsh, shrill cries of captains to their men.
At first the sound was faint and far, a whispered echo through the
morning mists; yet anon it multiplied and swelled into a busy roar, as
the vanguard of Assyria's hosts turned tail upon their enemies and
crawled toward the southern mountain-pass.
Menon, like the King, gazed out across the plain, but in wonder and
amaze, then raised his eyes to his master's frowning face. Twice he
strove to speak, and twice fell silent, turning again to the marvel of
Assyria's army in retreat.
"My lord--" he began at last, but Ninus checked him with a lifted hand.
"Nay, Menon," the master sighed, "thy soul is troubled because of the
strangeness of this thing; yet heed me and know the cause. My heart is
still for battle, yet the heart hath taken council of the mind, and
wisdom soundeth my retreat."
The King dismounted from his steed, leading the Prince to a seat upon a
stone which overlooked a wider view of the breaking camp. He placed his
arm in fatherly caress on Menon's shoulder, and spoke once more:
"My warriors have called their chief a god." He paused to smile behind
his beard, and for an instant sat in reverie. "Now godhood hath its
virtues so long as it leadeth unto victory and beds of ease; yet this
have I learned, and to my woe, that a pot of boiling grease poured down
from a city's wall will scald a god as it scaldeth a naked slave.
Defeat is mortal; gods bring victory alone, and my faithful followers
begin to mutter among themselves."
Again King Ninus paused in reverie, then stretched his knotted arm
toward the stubborn city.
"Three years have we girded Zariaspa's walls and battered at its
masonry. Three years! and what hath been compassed in these weary days?
We scrape an hundred-weight of scales from off the stones, and sacrifice
a third of an army's strength to the sport of our laughing enemies. Our
shafts are as swarms of harmless gnats, our lances reeds in the hands of
girls; our mightiest engines toys at which the foemen crow and chuckle
in their merriment. From the Oxus to the hills we harry the land in
search of food, while the Bactrians fatten as they loll upon their
battlements. Aye, meat have they, the which they devour in lazy
arrogance, tossing the bones thereof at our hungry men below! Whence
cometh this vast supply? From Bel or Gibil, it matters not; they gorge
themselves, and laugh! Five score spies have I sent by craft into the
city, and five score spies have they hanged upon the walls! By the
breath of Shamashi-Raman, it rouseth me to wrath!"
The King arose and set to striding in fury to and fro, while Menon
forbore to question him, knowing that if his master willed he would
speak in time.
"And so," sighed Ninus, pausing at last beside the boy, "and so will we
journey westward for a space, to conquer other and weaker lands, to
fatten my army with the fruits of spoil, to help them forget that a god
hath failed. When this be compassed, then will I rest from war beside
the Tigris where my city shall be builded in the sand--a city, Menon,
the like of which no eye hath yet beheld--a fortress beside whose
strength this little Zariaspa is but a nut to crack beneath thy heel.
And there will I set my court and hold dominion over all the world--hold
it, till men and the children of men shall wear my footstool smooth with
the pressure of their knees!"
The monarch's bosom heaved in wrapt desire; his dark eyes kindled with a
flame inspired, as he raised them toward the clouds. As a prophet he
saw this pearl of glory rise from out the wilderness. He saw its
monster walls, surmounted by a thousand and a half a thousand soaring
towers. In fancy he fashioned gleaming palaces and sumptuous banquet
halls. He dreamed of gardens drowsing in the cool of spreading palms,
where a king might rest from the toil of his lion-hunt; he heard the
splash of fountains murmuring through the long blue night, till the
torch of morning lit his terraces, and the grapes of Syria ripened to
his hand. He watched in triumph from his palace roof the vast brown
city stretching at his feet, while the echoed roar of its busy din
climbed upward in waves of melody. He heard the clang of its mighty
gates of bronze that opened to the commerce of the earth--that opened
again to the outrush of his war-armed hosts, a thousand nations melted
into one grand hammer-head that rose and fell in obedience to his
lightest nod.
"And because of this city," King Ninus cried aloud, "the peoples of
every land shall hold my memory till the passing ages rot, for I swear
to mount it on a deathless throne and crown it with the splendour of my
name! Up, Menon, and journey with thy King to NINEVEH!"
And thus was born that Nineveh which rode astride the world, to fall at
last, as falls the pride of power, and find its grave in the dust from
whence it sprung--to lie forgotten in a mouldy crypt of dreams, till the
peoples who slipped from the womb of another age swarmed forth to dig
again--to spell out a kingdom's vanished glories from the symbols of a
vanished tongue.
Menon and the King rode down into the valley and across the plain to
where the great war-serpent of Assyria began to uncoil itself and crawl
toward the west. For the space of a moon the joyless work went on. The
camps of horse and foot were struck, the rude utensils and heavier arms
being strapped to the backs of beasts of burden, while an hundred
thousand chariots were hitched and deployed across the plains.
Cumberous engines for the hurling of heavy stones were dragged from
beneath the city walls, to be burned and destroyed, or hauled through
gaps in the distant mountain range by lowing oxen and toiling, sweating
slaves. The warriors set torches to the huts and houses behind their
trenches, and a roar of flames was added to the bustling din of moving
men-at-arms. Great columns of spark-shot smoke arose, to roll above the
city in a suffocating cloud--to choke the defenders who coughed and
crowded along the battlements. As each dense mass of besiegers passed,
the Bactrianas set up shouts and songs of victory, while they hurled
their taunts, together with flights of shafts and stones, at the
growling, cursing enemy below.
From day to day the scene was one of turbulence and haste, a jumble of
groaning carts and provision trains, of swiftly formed battalions
passing westward on the run, to join the vanguard and be lost in a cloud
of thick, low-hanging dust. And thus an hundred nations trickled into
order through the teeming ruck, each yelling in its native tongue as it
flung defiance back at Zariaspa; while above the rumbling tramp of
myriads of feet rose the blare of countless signal horns.
When the last day dawned, King Ninus marshalled an array to bid farewell
to his jeering foes. Where he faced the city gates, a thousand chariots
were formed in a curving, triple line, with steeds whose polished
trappings glittered in the sun, their drivers giants picked from the
flower of his force. The wings were shaped by cavalry, dark-visaged
riders from the south, in turbans and flowing robes, while a horde of
footmen were massed behind. Here were seen the harnessed tribes that
bowed to Assyria's rule; Indian bowmen, with weapons fashioned from
bones of saurians; spearsmen from Babylonia, archers from the north;
grim swordsmen from the Upper and Lower Nile, bearing their shields of
painted bronze; wild slingers from the Syrian hills, half clothed in the
skins of beasts; Afghans, sullen Khatti, proud Armenians in solid,
bristling ranks--the warriors of the world who had swept all Asia as
with a flame, yet failed to drag the walls of Zariaspa down.
In the centre of the curving front King Ninus sat his war horse
silently; on his right rode Menon, while on his left a mounted herald
waited for command. The monarch gave a sign; the stern battalia
advanced, to halt within an arrow-shot of the city gates; then the
herald raised his voice, demanding audience with Oxyartes, King of
Bactria.
Now the Bactrians on the walls, suspecting some deceitful snare,
answered the summons with hoots and laughter, with the mimic howls of
animals and the mocking crow of cocks. A cloud of arrows fell like
drops of rain, galling the restive chariot steeds, while a captain on
the wall released the beam of a catapult. A monster rock came hurtling
through the air, to strike the earth within a spear's length of the King
and crash through the triple line of chariots; whereat a mighty roar of
rage went up, the clamour growing into fury, till Ninus wheeled his
horse and gave a sharp command. At his word, the centre of the line
began to bend in a deeper curve, divided at last, and two great columns
of horse and foot streamed westward toward the hills, while the rumbling
chariots, twelve abreast, brought up the rear.
With Menon alone King Ninus sat motionless upon his steed till his
warriors left the space of a thousand paces clear; then he rode to the
gate and struck it sharply with the hilt of his heavy sword.
"Come forth, King Oxyartes!" he cried aloud. "Come forth!"
Now the people of Bactria loved a fearless man, be he enemy or friend,
so they cheered him till the city rocked with the thunder of their
shouts, and Oxyartes stood out upon the battlements.
"What would Ninus of the King of Bactria?" he called; and Ninus
answered, albeit he lifted not his eyes:
"It is not meet that the lord of Assyria hold speech with fowls who
roost in trees. Come down and parley, King to King."
A bowman from above took umbrage at the haughty tone, and loosed a shaft
which broke upon the monarch's metal helm, yet because of this deed King
Oxyartes seized the miscreant and flung him from the wall. Then he
called for a rope which, being brought, was looped beneath his arms, and
his warriors lowered him to the earth, for the city gates were sealed.
In his hand he held a naked sword, and Ninus noting this laughed
scornfully, dismounted and cast his weapon on the ground, awaiting his
enemy with folded arms. The Bactrian flushed in shame, flung his own
blade aside, and advanced with outstretched hands.
"Pardon, my lord," he begged. "With one so strange to fear, I might
have brought my trust as I brought my sword."
"Nay," smiled Ninus; "where the sword is wisdom, there caution is a
shield."
Oxyartes was of that mould of warrior which Ninus loved; the straight,
lean form, the kingly head beneath whose brow the eyes looked out with a
level gaze, while the hands he offered were firm in the strength of
youth--a fitting shield for the heart of his sturdy land.
"And why," he asked, "am I honoured by a parley with Assyria's lord,
when his army marcheth westward in retreat?"
King Ninus laid his hand upon the Bactrian's shoulder, looked into his
eyes, and spoke:
"I come to bid farewell to a worthy foe, ere I turn toward the Tigris
where my city shall be builded on its shore. There will I rest and plan
my coming wars. There will I raise another and a mightier force, to
return when three short years have passed and blot thy city from the
plains. Ah, smile if thou wilt, friend Oxyartes, but I come again, and
at my coming, look well to Zariaspa's walls!"
So Oxyartes ceased to smile, casting his gaze upon the earth, for he
knew his foe spoke truth and would come again.
"My lord," he asked at length, "wherefore should our races be at war?
In the country round about I may not match thy multitude of men-at-arms;
yet behind my battlements I defy thy proudest strength. Wisdom crieth
out for truce, a compact wherein I weld my force with thine and share
all conquests and a portion of the spoil thereof. Speak, Ninus, for the
compact seemeth just."
"True," the monarch nodded gravely, "true; and yet I may not do this
thing. When Bactria is conquered and thy citadel laid low, then will I
make a treaty with thy nation's chiefs. They shall join their strength
to mine and share a goodly part of my captives and my spoils." He
paused to smile, and once more laid his hand on the shoulder of
Oxyartes. "Their warrior King will I set among my best beloved, for I
hold him as a brother in the arts of war; yet heed me, friend, I have
sworn by Bel and Raman to rake the ashes of thy Zariaspa into sacks and
with them feed the waters of the sea! And this will I do, or leave my
bones to bleach beneath the brow of Hindu-Kush! Till I come
again--farewell."
Then Oxyartes embraced the Assyrian king, begging him to tarry for a day
as an honored guest, to feast and receive the richest gifts his kingdom
might afford; but Ninus smiled and shook his head.
"Nay, suffer me to treasure up the thought," he answered with a laugh,
"yet keep thy gifts till I come to take them for myself."
"So be it," smiled the Bactrian in return. "Three years of peace thou
givest me, and in them will I dig the grave of Assyria's lord in the
shadow of frowning Kush! Farewell!"
He stooped and gave the sword of Ninus into the monarch's hand, stroked
the charger's neck till its master mounted, then watched the King and
Menon ride away across the sunlit plains.
Not once did Ninus give a backward glance, yet Menon wheeled his steed
and kissed his hand to a gathering of maidens watching from the
battlements.
CHAPTER II
THE BUILDING OF A CITY
The Assyrian host dragged westward till it wormed its way through
notches in the mountain range, descended the further slopes, then fared
upon its way. It split at last into lesser armies, each beneath the
leadership of a trusted chief, each charged with a separate mission of
its own. One force swung north, to harry the shores of the Black and
Caspian seas and to levy tribute for the building of the city. Another
force went south through the plains and valleys of Armenia, while still
another fared afar to the Sea of the Setting Sun. Here fleets of
Phoenician merchantmen were seized and pressed into the service of the
King, for in the eyes of Ninus a nation's traffic was but a paltry thing
till Nineveh should be. These ships sailed out toward the delta of the
Nile, presently to return with swarms of Egyptian workers, together with
their cutting-tools of bronze, their winches and their levers used in
the wielding of mighty weights. Ten score thousand riders spread forth
through every land and every tribe, summoning workers by pay or
promises; and where a tribe rebelled, Assyria's warriors herded them
like sheep toward one central hub of toil.
King Ninus himself sat down upon the river bank where the waters of the
Tigris and the Khusur join, and here he wrought his plans. A band of
men went northward to the forest lands, felled trees, and split them
into boards with which they fashioned a fleet of wide flat boats. These
boats, propelled by sweeps and pushing-poles, were manned by Phoenicia's
sons, for Assyria knew no more of ship-craft than hillsmen know the
camel's back; yet Ninus employed the skill of others in his self
appointed task. While the boats were being builded, he marked the line
of his city wall in the form of a mighty egg, full twenty leagues
around; then the King began to dig.
He caused two trenches to be sunk, the one within the other; the outer
trench being twenty cubits wide and ten in depth, while the inner trench
was shallower, but of greater width. These he flooded by means of the
river Khusur, forming two vast canals, with a ring of earth between
whereon should rest the walls of Nineveh. Then the whole wide world, it
seemed, was set a-making bricks.
On the Tigris river-flats, above and below the city site, a million
workers toiled by night and day--warrior, captive, slave, King Ninus
cared not, so he moulded bricks. These bricks were fashioned from river
mud brought down by inundation, the mud commingled with straw and the
fiberous parts of reeds to give it strength, and were set to bake in the
heat of the summer sun.
Later these river flats would be employed for the making of other
bricks--the kiln-baked bricks which were glazed and tinted with every
color known to men, designed for the facing of temples and of palaces;
but now the work went on for the city wall alone. And yet not quite
alone, for in the centre of the city's line, where the Khusur cut the
site in twain, the King erected a monster mound whereon his royal palace
would one day sit; then on the summit of the mound he builded a
watch-tower, and abode therein. Here, beneath a shading canopy, the
master-builder sat from dawn till dark, watching his work, for he had
sworn a sacred oath to indulge in neither hunt nor war till Nineveh was
Nineveh.
And now he saw the budding of his dream. From the Tigris banks and up
the Khusur came his flatboats, piled high with bricks; they floated on
his two canals, supplying the workers who builded the wall between. In
time this inner canal would disappear, being filled with earth, but the
outer trench would ever remain, to serve as a moat which girt the city
round about.
Like unto ants the workers swarmed beneath the eye of Ninus on his
tower, yet every little insect moved in lines marked out by patient
thought. The well-nigh countless throng was divided into ordered gangs,
each gang provided with an over-chief who urged his laborers by word of
mouth or the lash of whips. Beneath the tower sat a ring of mounted
men-at-arms who galloped forth with orders of the King, or brought
report from points too distant for his eye to scan; for the builder
willed his work to grow, not with gaps or breaks, but as one splendid
whole, each section of the wall arising in conformity with its brother
parts, until a straight, unvaried line should mount each day toward the
sky.
From dawn till dark the robe of Ninus fluttered on the tower's crest--a
banner of warning to those who shirked their toil. Where diligence grew
slack from weariness, or the work of a section fell behind, a
man-at-arms spurred out toward the offending gang, to strike off the
head of its over-chief and cast his body into an empty boat. Presently
this boat, on its outward journey for a load of bricks, would drop the
corpse into the Tigris, and another chief was set in the sleeper's
place.
Beyond the wall the army of Assyria lay encamped, yet active beneath the
rule of Menon and his chiefs. A kingdom in itself it was, whence
recruits were drilled and trained to combat with the veteran warriors;
whence engines of offense were builded against the day when Zariaspa
again would suffer siege; whence foraying bands went forth to gather
grain and fruits, likewise sheep and cattle, wherewith to feed the
multitudes of slaves and soldiery. It was here deserters from the wall
were caught and crucified in sight of those who harboured thoughts
displeasing to the King; for Ninus punished, not in impotent gusts of
rage, but rather with that cold precision of a master-mind. And because
of these things his work went on apace.
When the wall had risen twenty cubits above its base, the King contrived
from his inner trench a myriad of intersecting channels converging
toward his central mound. Through these he conveyed material for the
laying of his streets, for the erection of houses and the temples unto
Ishtar, the fire-god Gibil, and the temple of his great Lord Asshur upon
the hill. The royal palace would be modeled last of all, for the mind
of Ninus, released from other cares, might give its power to the
grandeur of his halls, to their splendour of adornment wherein the arts
of an hundred nations would be taxed to lend them glory.
And now the deep-tongued voice of labour swelled in volume, rolling
upward in incessant waves of melody to where the King sat smiling on his
tower. He listened to the roar of sharp command, commingled with the
answering cries of slaves and the groan of laden carts. Far out across
the plain he spied a train of sleds, each drawn by a thousand men, and
creeping inch by inch through tawny sands; from the quarries in the
south they bore huge blocks of basalt wherefrom strange effigies would
be carven in the likeness of gods, of lions and of winged bulls. Beyond
the wall King Ninus heard the humming din of Assyria's hosts encamped,
the clank of arms and the rumbling tread of horse and foot. Within, he
listened to the whine of ropes, to the creak of hoisting-cranes which
lifted a world of brick and swung like living tentacles above the
sweating pigmies down below. He heard the songs of boatmen on his black
canals, a droning air that rose and fell, stilling the harsher cries of
labour's pain, and seeming to chant the kingly builder's praise.
The heat of the summer sun poured down, a pitiless, parching blaze,
while a horde of delvers bowed beneath their lashes and their loads.
They staggered at their tasks, each praying to his gods for the shades
of night to fall, when he slept like a beaten dog till dawn awoke him to
another hell of toil.
And thus fair Nineveh grew, as if by magic, from the dust, the while a
master-devil watched it from his tower. And the heart of Ninus swelled
within him and was glad.
CHAPTER III
THE GOVERNOR OF SYRIA
King Ninus, grandson of the mighty Shalmaneser, mounted his throne in
youth, a throne which ruled a kingdom run to seed through the slothful
reign of Shamashi-Raman; yet as his grandsire's heart had beat for war
alone, so beat the heart of Ninus, resting not till the glory of Assyria
flamed forth again.
From the city of Kalah, crumbling in decay, he began his little
conquests, conquering his neighbors and joining their strength to his,
making them friends and allies rather than slaves who bowed beneath a
yoke of might. He moulded their uncouth valor into ordered rule,
exchanging their clumsy weapons for his better tools of war, till,
presently, an army raised its head from out the mud of ignorance. A
conquered people, so long as they paid him tribute and kept their
covenants, were left in peace, their gods untroubled, their temples
sacred to their own desires; but should they revolt, then Ninus and his
grim, unpitying host returned, to leave their cities smouldering heaps
upon the plain, the heads of their chiefs set up on poles by way of
warning to all who entertained a similar unrest.
And thus, like ever widening circles in a pool, the Assyrian Empire grew
apace, until at length its confines stretched away, even to the shores
of the Sea of the Setting Sun. Beneath the rule of Ninus bowed Media
and Armenia, the roving, battle-loving Khatti, Tyre, Sidon, Edom and
Philistia. Proud Babylon was once more wedded to Assyria, albeit she
ever scratched and bit in the manner of fractious and unwilling wives.
Damascus fell, a feat which even Shalmaneser failed to compass, and the
peaceful fields of Syria were overrun, their cattle eaten by the hungry
conquerors. The dwellers on the shores of the Black and Caspian seas
were subject to the sway of Ninus, and Egypt paid him endless tribute in
precious metals and shields and swords of bronze.
And yet two kingdoms lay as stumbling blocks in the path of Assyria's
power. The one was Bactria, a land whose armies, beaten in the field,
took refuge behind the massive walls of Zariaspa, defying siege for
three long years, their turrets lined with well-fed, jeering
men-at-arms.
The other unconquered kingdom was Arabia, ruled by a wily Prince, by the
name Boabdul Ben Hutt, who chose a saddle for his throne, his sceptre a
loose-sheathed scimitar. This country abounded in a breed of swiftest
steeds which wrought King Ninus to the verge of mad desire; yet the
prize was beyond his grasp, like the fruit of a palm whose trunk he
could neither fell nor climb. And more; its inner kernel was protected
by a circling rind of desertland, far deadlier than a force of a million
warriors. Moreover this kingdom stood in constant menace to the plans of
Ninus, and so soon as an adjacent country was subdued and the armies
marched to further wars, a cloud of dusky riders would descend in a
swirling rush of sand, to obliterate the tracks of Assyria's patient
toil.
Report came now to Ninus as he sat upon his tower, and vexed him till he
fain would crucify the messengers of evil tidings. The horsemen of
Boabdul were troubling Syria with the points of spears, devouring the
fattest flocks and bearing off rich spoils which the King desired in the
building of his city. For an hour King Ninus combed his beard in
thought, then sent for Menon and spread before him a feast of fruits and
wine.
"Menon," spoke the King, when the feast was done, "to-morrow shalt thou
journey down into Arabia and seal a covenant with our worthy foe, Prince
Boabdul Ben Hutt."
Menon stared and set his goblet on the board.
"A covenant?" he asked in wonder, for he feared lest he had not heard
aright.
"Aye, a covenant of peace," King Ninus nodded gravely; "for, heed thee,
fools alone make war upon the birds of flight, while a wise man feedeth
them from his store of grain, in that they fatten against a time of
need." Menon smiled, and the King spoke on: "Go thou, then, unto
Arabia, seek out Boabdul and bear him gifts which I now make ready.
Offer them together with the love and fellowship of Assyria's lord, and
call him brother in my name. Seal, thou, a covenant whose bonds provide
that we trespass not upon one another's lands; that in all new
conquests, wherein he lendeth aid, a half of the spoils thereof shall be
his part. In turn, Arabia may call upon the arm of Ninus for the
smiting of her enemies, and the lands subdued shall be divided in two
equal shares. Accede to such demands of the noble Prince as wisdom and
justice may advocate, yet upon one point hold fast as a buck-hound's
grip, though the treaty come to grief because of it."
"And that?" asked Menon, still marvelling at the master's tone.
"Stallions!" cried the King, as he struck the table with his hairy fist.
"These must I have, to add to the glory of my stud, to draw my chariots
and to fill the stalls of my stables here at Nineveh. Look to it,
Menon, three thousand steeds of the noblest stock will Boabdul send each
year; and for the which he may ask his price in maidens or other
merchandise. The steeds, my friend, the godly steeds of Barbary!"
For a space the King and his faithful general spoke thoughtfully of
matters pertaining to the truce, then Menon rose to take his leave; but
Ninus detained him further.
"When the covenant shall be sealed," said he, "send messengers with the
terms thereof to my allies in the South; likewise dispatch a trusty
courier to me, then journey into Syria. In Syria thou wilt wait upon
its Governor, one Surbat by name, a drowsy man who ruleth with the
wisdom of a sheep. Send me his head; and when he, thus, shall be
removed from office, rule thou in his stead--yet wisely and with
wakefulness."
Menon's cheeks grew red with pride at the honours which his master was
about to heap upon him, and he would have fallen to his knees in
gratitude, but the King restrained him.
"Nay, listen," said he, "the hills of Syria are fat with the fat of
plenty, their vast tribes rich in cattle and in sheep, while Ninus hath
grievous need of food in the building of his city. Pinch them with tax,
my son, till their veins run dry, yet spare their skins that they puff
again for a later need. I, myself, will send a messenger unto Surbat,
advising him of my will in the change of rule, albeit as to the smiting
of his neck, I will leave it till thou comest on him suddenly."
Once more Menon sought to sink upon his knee, but Ninus took his hands
and raised him, saying, with a smile:
"Nay, spare thy thanks till the lion's hide is dried; for, remember, I
send thee down to Syria for Surbat's head. Rule boldly, but with craft,
lest perchance I may some day send for still another head. And now,
farewell."
Menon journeyed down the Tigris in a barge whose sweeps were manned by
swart Phoenicians; and beside the guard accompanying him, there were
certain slaves who bore provisions and the royal gifts for Arabia's
Prince. By day and night they travelled swiftly till they came to the
town of Kutha, where they crossed by land to the Euphrates and embarked
in another boat. Thence they floated for many days on the current of
this muddy stream, and rested at last by Burwar, a league below the site
where Babylon, the Queen of Cities, would some day rise. Here they
dispatched an Arab messenger unto Boabdul Ben Hutt, and sat down to wait
the pleasure of the Prince and an escort through the desertlands.
At length the escort came, a band of turbaned savages who stole like
ghosts across the sands on the backs of lurching camels; whose weapons
and trappings gave no sound; whose visages were hardened to the breath
of heated winds and the sting of burning dust. Their Sheik bade Menon
welcome in his master's name, and strapped the gifts of Ninus on a
vicious lead-beast's hump. He mounted the leader and seven of his
men-at-arms, but the others, together with the slaves and servants, he
commanded to remain behind.
There were those of Menon's guard who sat uneasy in their seats, because
of the strangeness in the gait of these awsome beasts; and one, when his
camel floundered from its knees, clutched wildly at nothing and pitched
headlong to the earth, to arise from the dust with curses, amid the
laughter of the Bedouins.
Now it is not good to mock at a Babylonian in distress, so he, one
Babus, nursed a certain soreness of his pride which was like to bring
the cause of Menon into bitter stress, yet the time was not yet come.
For the space of eleven days the cavalcade fared westward through the
trackless wastes, the sky a brazen lake of fire, the plains a tawny,
dizzy sea that seemed to heave with endless waves of sand. In the hours
of noon they rested long beneath the shade of canopies, and slept; then
took up their flight again, to shiver through the cool of night when a
huge moon leapt with wondrous suddenness from beneath the world and
raced away along his curving, star-lit path. And thus they journeyed
till the dawn of the twelfth red day, when Menon spied the fringe of a
green oasis as it rose from the desert's rim. Like a cool, sweet
dewdrop it seemed to lie in the core of a yellow leaf, and after a weary
ride at quickened pace the travellers came upon the outposts of
Boabdul's camp.
Here the Assyrians were conducted into tents of skins, that of Menon
being sumptuous in appointment; it was deep, commodious, and provided
with silent slaves to wait upon the chieftain's needs. One servant bore
a cooling draught of wine, while another prepared a bath--a tub devised
of a camel's hide supported on stakes which were driven in the earth.
The juice of the grape was sweet to Menon's swollen tongue, but the bath
was like unto the spirit of a loved one who took him in her arms and
kissed away his weariness. In the water he lingered listlessly, at
rest, at peace, while his thirsty pores drank in the precious moisture;
then a black attendant clothed him in a filmy robe, and a rich repast
was spread. There were dates and figs, with cakes of pounded grain;
there was wine in jeweled cups, and melons chilled in the depths of
Boabdul's wells. The Assyrian ate and was satisfied, then sank upon a
couch, to slumber dreamlessly throughout the day, throughout the night,
till at dawn the tingling blood ran knocking at his heart with the
message that he lived again.
When, once more he had eaten and was conducted from his tent, Menon
found the camp astir with the life and bustle of moving warriors, of
shifting sentinels, and horsemen who led their steeds to water and
provided feed. Through groves of palms he could see a vast array of
tents which stretched away to the uttermost edges of the green oasis,
while on the plains beyond white clouds of riders wheeled and darted to
and fro. The great red sun arose, and with its coming Menon and his
men-at-arms were led before Arabia's Prince.
Boabdul Ben Hutt stood waiting in the opening of his royal tent, a youth
of lordly mien, with a proud, disdainful beauty stamped upon his
beardless face. About his head was wound the folds of a milk-white
turban whose tall aigret was caught in the clasp of a splendid emerald.
His robe was wrought with precious gems and threads of gold, while a
jeweled scimitar swung from his studded belt.
In Assyria's tongue he greeted Menon and his followers, bidding them
welcome to his couch and board, for the Prince was schooled in the
speech of many lands. He questioned them as to the health of the King,
their master, and sought to know if the messengers had rested from their
tedious march; and then, when the rind of courtesy was pealed away,
Boabdul demanded that the meat of Assyria's quest be laid upon the
palate of his understanding.
So Menon spoke as Ninus had desired, calmly, craftily, setting forth the
marked advantage of a union with his lord. He touched with truth upon
Assyria's wants, yet pointed out Arabia's crying needs. He laid the
terms of treaty before the Prince till the scales of justice balanced to
a grain of sand; then, he called Boabdul brother in his monarch's name
and asked for stallions from the plains of Barbary.
The Arab listened in the patience of his race, albeit a frown of anger
now rode upon his brow, while his fingers fluttered about the hilt of
his keen-edged scimitar. When Menon ceased to speak Boabdul spurned the
gifts of Ninus with his foot and loosed the bridle of his fiery tongue.
"What!" he stormed. "Is Arabia's Prince an owl? Shall he blink at the
glory of Assyria's sun, while foxes pluck out feathers from his tail?
My stallions! No! Go back to thy master who would pillage where he
conquereth not, and lead him a bridled jackal for his stud. Go! Say
that Boabdul knoweth not a brother of his name, and bear him as my gift
thy two palms heaped with dust!"
A close-packed ring of Bedouins girt the messengers round about, and
those who understood passed whispered words to their fellow warriors,
till soon a threatening murmur rose, and many a scimitar itched to leave
its sheath.
Now Babus, the Babylonian--he whose pride was sore because of his fall
from the camel's back--spoke out unbidden and flung a taunt in the teeth
of the angry Prince, whereat an Arab impaled the offender on his lance,
so that Babus writhed upon the earth, and died. The Assyrian guard
would have drawn their swords to avenge the stroke, and of a certainty
would have lost their lives and marred their master's truce, but Menon
wheeled upon them with a word of sharp command.
"Peace!" he cried. "The mouth of a braying ass is closed with the dust
which wise Boabdul sendeth as a gift to Ninus." He paused, to set a
chain of gold about the neck of the Arab who had wrought the deed, then
turned to the Prince with palms held downward. "See, my lord," he
smiled, "my hands are empty now. What, then, shall I bear to Ninus who
waiteth at Nineveh for a seal of truce?"
"The jackal!" flashed Boabdul. "Bear him that!"
"Nay," spoke Menon, pointing to the corpse of Babus at his feet, "thy
second gift will I also put to use in devouring the flesh of this fallen
fool, whom my lord will forget, aye, even as a generous Prince forgeteth
wrath."
The Bedouins nodded among themselves and smiled, for they loved the turn
of a crafty tongue, yet the Prince ceased not to scowl.
"And why," he asked, "if Ninus would call me brother of his heart, doth
Ninus not come in person to my tents, or seek a council on some middle
ground?"
"Because," replied the messenger, "he buildeth a city on the Tigus
river-bank; a city so vast that none save he alone may direct the
rearing of its walls and palaces."
"Oho!" the Arab scoffed. "So the master thatcheth huts, and sendeth a
hired servant where he dare not risk the peril of his neck."
Menon flushed, but checked a hot retort upon his lips, and held the eyes
of Prince Boabdul in a level gaze.
"Aye, truly," he answered, with a slow, unangered speech, "I am but an
humble servant of my King; and yet I lead his hosts to battle, even as
thou, my lord, lead those of thine honored father, whom I learn, with
sorrow, is too infirm by reason of his years to bear the stress of war."
Again the Bedouins murmured among themselves, but now in approval of the
Assyrian's words, yet Boabdul checked them with a frowning glance, and
their tongues were stilled.
Of a truth the Prince was pleased in secret at the covenant which Ninus
offered, yet would not seem too eager of his own desires. Therefore he
feigned a marked disfavor to the plan, in hope that the treaty might
lean more lightly on the shoulders of Arabia.
"And this master of thine," he asked, with a dash of scorn, "is he then
so high in power that the world must kneel before his kingly nod? Is he
mightier than I, Boabdul Ben Hutt, who sweepeth the land with sword and
flame? who ruleth from the desert to the lip of the western sea and
balanceth a kingdom on the edge of his whetted scimitar? Speak, servant
of thy King! Would Ninus face me, man to man, and still be conqueror?"
"As to that," smiled Menon, openly, "I may not say. Long have I known
my master as a father and a friend, yet remember not that he boasted of
his deeds."
Now the words of Menon were the words of bald untruth, for Ninus was a
very prince of braggarts, causing a record of his feats of arms to be
graven on mighty tablets, the which were designed for the wondering eyes
of men who should follow after him. But Menon was unafraid, and the
sting of his calm reproof was as a spur in the flanks of the Arab's
rage.
"I would to my gods," he cried, "that this builder of huts were here at
hand, in that I prove a weapon on his teeth!"
"Alas!" sighed Menon, "he is far away at Nineveh, where he trusteth some
day to receive Boabdul as his honoured guest."
"And thou," the Arab sneered; while he trembled with fury because of the
other's unruffled mien, "thou who bearest the terms of this foolish
truce and shieldeth thy master's insolence, wilt thou dare face me,
afoot or astride a steed?"
"Aye," said Menon, as he took Boabdul's measure thoughtfully; "if
thereby our treaty may be sealed--with all my heart."
"Come!" cried the Arab fiercely. "Come cross thy blade with mine; and
if I fall, the treaty shall be made in accord with the covenants set
forth. If not, a second council shall be held, whereat thy King shall
sue for peace upon his knees."
Beneath the shade of date-palms a circle of warriors was formed, and in
its centre the two prepared to battle for the terms of truce. Their
robes were laid aside lest the folds become entangled with their legs,
and they stood forth naked except for waist cloths girt about their
loins. The Arab was lean and wiry to the litheness of a cat, with
corded thews that lay in knots upon his dusky skin. The Assyrian's
flesh, though pale with the tint of a northern clime, was firm and hard,
its muscles rippling smoothly with the movement of his limbs. He was
taller and of longer reach, well schooled in the arts of war, and
possessed of a lynx-eyed watchfulness as a match to the speed of his
nimbler foe.
Boabdul wielded his curving scimitar, which was weighted at its point,
and held a tiny target upon his arm in easy grace, while Menon was armed
with a shield of bronze and a heavy two-edged sword, the gifts of
Memetis, an Egyptian prince held hostage at the court of Ninus.
For a moment the two stood motionless, each striving to note a weakness
in the other's guard, each ready for thrust or parry should an opening
chance; then the Arab crouched and began to move in circles round and
round. Menon, making a pivot of his heel, turned slowly with his
hawk-like adversary, presenting a steady front to every point of menace
or attack, and daring the Arab with his smiling eyes. Of a sudden
Boabdul feinted with an under-thrust, recovered, and lashed out wickedly
at Menon's head; yet the scimitar only rasped along the edge of a
waiting sword, and the Arab bounded back beyond the danger line. Again
and again he sought an opening, and was met by a steady, cool defense,
while the watching Bedouins and Assyrian men-at-arms cheered lustily for
their champions.
Stung by repeated failure, Boabdul's blood ran hot within his veins, and
the battle waxed in fierceness and in speed. As the leopard springs, so
the Arab darted in and out, his scimitar a wheel of light, a weapon in
every spoke, that now rang sharply on a shield of bronze or gritted
against a sword; the while Prince Menon fixed his gaze on the Arab's
eyes and waited a whisper from his gods.
In circles they stamped the earth, amid the din of hoarse, wild cries of
men who lusted for a sight of blood; and then a shout went up, for a
crimson stream ran trickling down the Assyrian's thigh. The crafty
Boabdul, too, had seen, and he bounded to a fresh attack, but Menon
caught the blow on his brazen shield and turned the stroke aside; then
swiftly, and with all his strength he smote the foeman's target with the
flat of his heavy sword. His gods had whispered, for the Arab's arm
hung numbed and useless at his side.
And now it was Menon's turn to forsake the waiting game and push his
foeman to the wall. The fresher of the two, because of his calm
defense, he pressed upon the Prince without a feather-weight of mercy,
nor gave him pause. In vain Boabdul fought with all his skill to regain
an aggressor's vantage ground, yet could not, for his blade was now his
shield, while Menon warded blows with either arm. Still the battle was
not yet won. The Arab strove by a score of cunning tricks to lure his
enemy into faulty guard or a weakness of attack. He even sought with
taunts and mockery to tilt the even temper of his foe; but Menon pressed
him closer still and laughed--which troubled Boabdul grievously. Once
the wily Arab flung himself upon the earth and slashed at the other's
legs, but Menon leaped and the stroke passed harmlessly beneath, while
the Prince regained his feet and moved backward on the run.
They closed again for a final test of strength and artifice, twisting,
thrusting, showering blows that were turned aside or evaded by a
shifting foot, each panting in his toil, each weary but undismayed;
then, of a sudden, Menon locked his sword in the curve of the Arab's
scimitar, and, grunting, heaved it from Boabdul's grasp. The Prince, in
an effort to elude the snare, reeled backward, tripped, and rolled upon
the earth. In a flash the Assyrian sprang upon him and pressed his
point beneath the dusky chin.
With screams of rage the circling Arabs lowered their spears to swoop
upon the victor and save the vanquished if they might, but Menon flung
his shield arm up in warning.
"Back!" he cried, "or by the crown of Ishtar will I slit his throat!"
The sons of the desert halted, as a steed is curbed, each poised for a
savage thrust, each waiting in awesome dread for a thread of life to
snap, while Boabdul Ben Hutt gazed upward into Menon's eyes, though the
brand of fear burned not upon his cheek.
"Strike, dog!" he groaned, in the shame and anguish of defeat; but Menon
tossed his sword away and stretched forth his hands that the fallen one
might rise.
In silence stared the Bedouins; in silence Boabdul rose and looked in
puzzled wonder on his conqueror.
"Assyrian," he asked at length, "why now is thy blade unstained, when a
twist of fortune gave me over into thy hand?"
"My lord," spoke Menon solemnly, and yet with a certain twinkling of the
eye, "I seek to seal a covenant with Arabia's Prince; not with Boabdul
dead."
The Arabian had looked on death, and knew that the wine of life was
sweet to him; so anger departed utterly, and humor seized him till he
laughed aloud.
"Now by my father's beard," he cried, as he caught the Assyrian's hands
in his and pressed them against his breast, "if Ninus keepeth faith as
he chooseth messengers, right gladly will I call him Brother of my
Soul!"
Then a mighty cheer arose, whose echoes rolled far out across the
plains--a cheer for Ninus, lord of all Assyria--and another, louder,
longer still, for the lion-hearted messenger. It had come upon the
Arabs that Menon not once had sought to strike a fatal blow, but had
stood before the desert's fiercest scimitar, undaunted, staking all upon
his strength, and had spared where he might have slain.
They led him unto Boabdul's tent, where the Prince's aged leech
administered to his wound. They bathed and anointed him lest he suffer
hurt because of his heated blood, and clothed him in raiment from
Boabdul's royal chests.
The treaty was duly sealed, to stand between two kingdoms through the
march of years; and neither monarch once broke its covenants, albeit the
links thereof were oft' times strained by jealousies and the wild unrest
of evil men.
When the terms of peace were closed to the smallest point, then Menon
and his followers abode with the Prince for the space of seven days,
wherein the hours of light were passed in hunting and in sports of arms,
while the nights were given o'er to feasts and revelry. The guests were
regaled at a kingly board, where wine cups circled till the thirsts of
men could ask no more, their senses steeped in the charms of music and
of maidens who danced unveiled before their eyes.
In the hour of parting Boabdul took the Assyrian to his heart and bade
him think on Araby as a tent-flap ever held aside; and more, he made the
gift of a noble steed from the plains of Barbary, a brother stallion to
the one which he himself bestrode. With the steed went an Indian slave
whom the Prince called Huzim, a giant from the Indus, with shoulders of
mighty girth and whose bow no arm save his alone could draw.
So Menem, in sadness, parted from his host and journeyed into Syria,
where he came upon Surbat, the drowsy Governor thereof. This man he
removed from office and sent the head of him to Nineveh, taking council
with the gods of craft that he save his own.
Then he rode upon the back of Syria, as a mahout drives a fractious
elephant, goading with a goad of tax, till the hills resounded with its
echoed trumpetings.
CHAPTER IV
THE FISH GODDESS
Menon, Governor of Syria, was troubled in his soul. Throughout the
night he had courted sleep, yet rest came not to body or to mind, for
the air was close, and vexious thought stood sentinal beside his couch.
When the cool of dawn came stealing down on Syria, he left his heated
pallet, clothed himself, and wandered along the lake shore where the
freshening breezes blew. He sprawled at ease upon a shelving stone,
cast off his outer robe, and watched for a ruby sun to spring from out
the east.
Behind him lay the village of Ascalon, where dwelt the herders of sheep,
the tillers of the thirsty soil and the wardens of flocks and herds.
Before him stretched the lake, deep, green and chill, the palm and
pomegranate casting ghostly shadows from its shores. On the further
side, in the gloom of shrubbery and trees, the temple of the fish-god
Dagon seemed but the end of a morning mist that trailed across the
waters. In the shallows beside the rocks swam countless fishes, now
darting to cover beneath the stones, now leaping at some luckless fly
that swung too near the danger line. From end to end the surface broke
with myriads of fins, while ever and again a louder splash proclaimed
some monster's upward rush, the widening ripples cut by minnows in a
scurrying flight.
They dwelt in peace, these denizens of the deep, for the Syrians eat no
fish, nor may they snare them with hooks or nets lest the wrath of Dagon
utterly destroy such fools, together with their flocks and herds, their
wives and children, their soil and the fruits therein. And thus the
fish lived on and multiplied.
There were men, as countless as the fish of Ascalon, who envied Menon as
one on whom the gods had smiled; yet now he sat with his chin upon his
palm, with a foot that tapped impatiently on the wave-bathed shore,
while he scowled at the glory of a coming dawn.
Wherefore should he scowl, this favorite of the gods, Chief Governor of
Syria, a warrior beloved of men, a youth watched covertly from many a
latticed screen till his careless passing caused a yearning sigh?
Wherefore should he mutter curses in his palm and dig his heel into the
sands? Had he not on yestereve received a scroll from the King himself,
wherein that monarch praised him for his services afield, and, more, for
his crafty rule? Had Ninus not made offer of a high reward when Nineveh
should be builded at the end of two short years? Ah, here the sandal
galled! Full many an older man, for very joy, might have danced upon
the lake shore happily, yet Menon muttered curses in his palm and digged
his heel into the sands.
Ere another moon was dead, the waiting messengers must return to Nineveh
and with them bear an answer to the lord of all the lands. Agreement to
the King's desire meant cruelty more bitter than he dared to dream.
Refusal dragged the keystone from his arch of hope, to crush him beneath
the very walls his youthful strength had raised. To seek delay--
Of a sudden Menon started from his revery, as a round white pebble
struck his knee and bounded into the lake. He looked to learn whence
the missile came, but all was still. Behind him in the distance
stretched the rolling hills, with herders following in the wake of
drowsy sheep; to the right, the lake's rim lay in peace, barren save for
a fluttering bird or two, while on the left a fringe of bush ran out on
a point of rocks, too low, it seemed, to screen a human form. Still
wondering, the Assyrian rubbed his knee and gazed reproachfully at the
fishes in the lake, when a flute-like laugh pealed forth--a joyous,
bubbly laugh--that rang along the shores till every rocky ledge took up
its notes and flung a mocking echo across the waves.
Menon sprang upon a stone, to explore each nook and crevice with a
hunter's circling gaze. With body bent, with every sense alert, he
swept the shores for the jester's hiding place; and at last, when hope
was well-nigh spent, he caught the gleam of a wind-blown lock of hair
from the rocky point close down by the water's edge. Menon smiled, then
seemed to become engrossed in the sight of some floating object far out
upon the lake; yet, the while, from the tail of his crafty eye, he
watched the point whence mischief hid as behind a shield. A silence
fell. No sound was heard save the splash of plunging carp, the yelp of
a shepherd's dog, and the harsh, shrill cry of a crane that passed in
lazy, lumbering flight.
From the water a form rose noiselessly, while a pair of dancing eyes
looked out through a leafy screen; a rounded arm was raised, and Menon
wheeled and caught the second pebble as it came. For an instant the two
stood motionless; the one surprised at her swift discovery, the other
stricken speechless with amaze at the bold, unearthly beauty, of a water
nymph.
"A goddess!" he gasped at length, and stared in the wonder of a dreamer
roused from sleep.
She stood at the water's edge, a girl just budding into womanhood, her
fair skin glistening with the freshness of her bath. A clinging skirt
from hip to knee, revealed her slender symmetry of limb, clean, lithe,
and poised for nimble flight. For the rest she was nude, save for a
tumbling wealth of flame-hued locks, tossed by the rising breeze, half
veiling, half disclosing, a gleaming bust and throat. Above, a witch's
face, Grecian in its lines, yet dashed with the warm voluptuousness of
Semitic blood; a mouth, firm, fearless in its strength, yet tempered by
a reckless merriment--a mouth to harden in a tempest-gust of scorn, to
quiver at the sigh of passion's prayer, or fling its light-lipped
laughter in the teeth of him who prayed. Her eyes--a haunted pool of
light, wherein, a man might drown his soul, and, sinking, bless his
torturer.
For an instant more stood Menon, gaping at the girl, till humor gripped
him, and he flung back his head and laughed.
"By Asshur," he cried aloud, "a kiss shall be the price of thy sweet
impertinence!"
At a bound he cleared the intervening space and stretched his hand for a
wayward coil of hair, yet ere his fingers closed the girl leaped
backward, turned, and plunged into the lake. In a flash she
disappeared, to rise again and strike out swiftly in a line with Dagon's
temple on the further shore.
"Oho!" laughed Menon, "t'is then a fish's game! So be it, saucy one, for
two shall play it to the end!"
Not pausing to divest himself of clothing or the leathern sandals
strapped upon his feet, he followed after, sank and shot upward,
snorting as he shook his head to free his ears and eyes. With strong,
free strokes he began the race, smiling happily because of its speedy
end. What chance had she against his splendid strength, he who had
breasted the swollen Euphrates, or stemmed the Tigris when its waters
sang to the plunge of hissing arrow points? The chilling bath lent
vigor to his limbs and sent the young blood bubbling through his veins.
The shoulder muscles writhed beneath his skin, while his heart beat
faster in the fierce exhilaration of pursuit. What joy to run such
quarry down, that gleaming body moving with an easy sweep, the flame-red
hair that barely kept beyond his reach!
Faster and faster Menon swam, with every grain of power behind his
strokes; yet the maiden kept her lead, now pausing to fling a mocking
glance behind, now darting forward till the ripples danced against her
breast. And so the chase went on, till the lake was well-nigh crossed,
till the temple, which had seemed to twinkle among the trees, now stood
out boldly, and an image of the ugly fish-god Dagon watched the
stragglers in stony silence.
Then the pace began to tell, even upon the Assyrian's strength. His
muscles ached; his hot breath broke between his lips in labored gasps;
about his breast a band of bronze seemed squeezing out his life, and a
sweat of weakness dripped into his eyes. He was gaining now! He saw
with a hunter's joy that his quarry wearied of her work. Her strokes
grew feeble, while the flaming head sank lower among the waves.
"By Belit," he wheezed, "the kiss is mine, or I rest my bones at the
bottom of thy lake!"
The space of a spear's length lay between the two, and inch by inch the
pursuer cut it down, while the nymph had ceased to mock him with her
laughter, and bent her ebbing strength to the effort of escape. For her
the race was run. On came the panting hunter in her wake, remorseless,
eager, a hard hand reaching for her floating locks. She ducked her
head, eluding seizure by a finger-breadth, leaped as the struggling
fishes dart, and regained a tiny lead. Once more vantage slipped away,
and now was hanging on a thread of chance. Again and again the
Assyrian's hand shot out, to clutch the air or a dash of spray in his
empty fist. His failure angered him. He clenched his teeth and worried
on, yet splashing clumsily, for exertion now was fraught with agony.
"The kiss!" he breathed. "I'll have the kiss, I swear, or--"
The oath died suddenly upon his lips, for the maiden tossed her arms and
disappeared. With a cry the youth plunged after her, forgetting his
pain in the fullness of a self-reproach. He reached the spot where her
form had sunk, and strove to dive, but weary nature proved a master of
his will. He floated to regain his wind, while scanning the lake for a
rising blotch of red; but only the leaping carp made circles through the
waves, and a ruby sun climbed upward from a bed of mist. The breeze
hummed foolishly among the palms, and a blue crane flung an accusing cry
across the waters.
Menon's hope ebbed low and lower still, to die, to spring again to life
at a peal of bubbly laughter, sweet unto his ears. Behind him he caught
a flash of flaming hair, the gleam of a throat that shaped the taunt, a
shoulder cutting through the ripples easily--the lake-nymph, fresh,
unweary, an impish victor of the race!
By a trick she had lured him to expend his strength in the chase of one
who swam as the minnows swim; and to Menon came this knowledge like a
blow between the eyes. He turned him shoreward with a feeble stroke,
striving to keep himself afloat, for his heavy sandals weighed him down,
and languor seized on every fibre of his frame. He was beaten, spent.
A blurred mist rose before his eyes, while the droning call of distant
battle raged within his ears. A thousand flame-hued heads danced
tauntingly beyond his reach, and laughed and laughed. The world went
spinning down into a gulf of gloom, and a clumsy crane reeled after
it--a steel-blue ghost that stabbed him with a beak of fire. He choked;
he fought for life as he lashed out madly, till the foam-churned waters
mounted high and fell to crush him in their roaring might.
For the space of an indrawn breath a white face rode upon the surface of
the lake, then slowly the Assyrian sank.
It was easier now! He seemed to slide from the grip of pain to a waving
couch of peace. The world had slipped from out its gulf of gloom at
last, to rock through league on league of emerald cloud, and the crane
was gone. The lake-nymph's laughter, too, had died away. She fled from
him no more, but stretched her arms and held him close, his limp head
pillowed on her breast. She warmed his flesh with the coils of her
fiery hair, and her child-voice rose and fell in a crooning
slumber-song.
"The kiss!" sighed Menon, and the waters hung above him drowsily.
CHAPTER V
A PRAYER TO DAGON
As the young Assyrian sank, the maid smiled cunningly and edged away,
fearing to be snared in a trap of her own device; yet when the moments
melted one by one, her merriment gave place to fear. Full well she knew
the space a swimmer might remain beneath the waves, and when at last
four tiny bubbles rose, she took one long, deep breath, and dived.
Downward her course was laid in a slanting line, down to the very
lake-bed, where the rocks were coated with a slimy muck, and tall grey
weeds swayed gently to and fro. She worked in circles among the
sharp-edged, slippery stones, groping with hands and feet where shadows
closed the mouths of the darker pools; and at last she touched his hand.
She strove to seize it, but her breath was well-nigh spent, and with a
spring she shot toward the air.
A moment's rest and again she dived, now certain of the spot whereon he
lay. She reached him, paused an instant while her fingers sought a
clutching point and closed upon his belt. She raised his weight, then
bent her knees to lend a springing start, and began a battle for the
stranger's life.
Slowly, too slowly, was the journey made, for the body in its
water-laden robes was dragging heavily, while the swimmer, with only one
free arm, was hampered in her toil. But still she rose, though her
lungs were like to burst, and the sinews across her chest were taut with
pain. Up, still up, till youth and will could bear the double tax no
more. She had ceased to move. She was sinking now, and of a sudden
loosed her hold and raced for life--alone. High up she shot, till her
slim waist cleared the water line. Another long, glad breath, and she
sank again ere the body might once more settle among the weeds; and now
she was beneath it, swimming cautiously, lest her burden slip.
How far it seemed to that wavy blur of light above, and how he weighed
her down! How the lagging moments crawled, while each was a hope that
slid away as the waters swept beneath her arms! His trailing hands were
checking speed, and his robe was torn and entangled with her feet; yet
across her shoulder hung his head, his cheek pressed close against her
own.
By Ishtar, she would save him now, or rest beside him on his couch of
weeds!
At last! A prayer of thankfulness to Dagon whistled across her lips
with the first sweet rush of imprisoned breath; then, grasping the
Assyrian's locks, she turned upon her back and swam to the temple's
marble steps.
Once she had seen her foster-father bring back the life of a shepherd
boy whose spark was well-nigh quenched in a swollen mountain stream; and
so she wrought with Menon, first turning him upon his face and by her
weight expelling the water from his lungs; then she chafed his pulses,
beat with her fists upon his body, and moved his arms with a rhythmic
motion to and fro. This she did and more, for, womanlike, when hope had
oozed away, she took him on the cradle of her breast and sought to coax
him back to life by soothing, childish words.
"Live! Live!" she breathed. "How young thou art to die! And I--a
fool!--a fool!--to cause thee ill! Come back, sweet boy, and I will
give the kiss! Aye, an hundred if thou wilt--but come!"
She wound her arms about him and looked into his upturned face. How
beautiful he was, but oh, how still! How deep were his eyes which gazed
into her own, but saw not her tears of pity and of pain! Some noble was
he, perchance, in the train of Menon, the mighty Governor, who would
doubtless sell her into slavery because of her wicked deed. But why
should a youth do foolish things? Why had he dared the waters of her
lake where fish alone or the child of fishes swim? Must a life so
young, so precious, pay the price of folly? The folly of a kiss! Ah,
he might have it now, though his lips were cold, unconscious, beneath
the pressure of her own.
Again and again the blazing head was bowed, while the color raced from
cheek to throat, and the lake-nymph's blood awoke--awoke with a flame
that would one day boil the caldron of Assyria, when the froth was
stirred by a spoon of passionate unrest--a flame that would parch a
thousand lands and drive their hordes to madness in a quenchless lust
for war.
With the strength of despair the maiden lifted Menon's body, dragged it
up the temple steps and laid it at the foot of Dagon's altar; then on
her knees beside it she raised her arms and prayed, in a woman's
passion-born desire.
"See, Dagon," she cried aloud, "see what the spirits of thy lake hold
prisoner! See how still he lieth--he who was warm and filled with the
breath of youth! An offering? No, no, sweet god, 'tis not an offering
at thy daughter's hands. The fruits, the garlands, and the grain are
thine; the fattest kids and the first of the springtime ewes, but he is
mine! List thee, mighty one! Why lookest thou across the lake in
silence, unmoved, and heeding not my cry? Do I not bring thee dates and
flowers, the goat's milk and the buds from the tallest palms? No boon
have I asked of thee, yet grant it now! Ah, pity, pity, and give him
back to me!"
The suppliant bowed her head and waited, but the fish-god gave no sign.
High up he towered, a hideous effigy in rough-hewn stone, with human
face and hands, with the scaly body of a fish, while below his human
feet were seen, distorted, half concealed in heaps of withered blossoms
borne in offering by his shepherd worshippers. Behind him lay a carven
plow, in emblem of the tiller's art, a sickle, a herder's crook, and
vessels of wine from the vineyard's choicest juice.
Long moments passed. The lake-nymph's eyes were shifted from Dagon's
visage to the stranger at her side. His body lay in an ugly, helpless
sprawl, his arms outstretched, his dark eyes fixed on nothingness, as
vacant as the idol's own. Once more the maiden turned to the god who
seemed to mock her with his icy calm, whose stony ears were closed to
the voice of prayer. She waited, and childish reverence melted as a
mist dissolves, and fury rent her heart. She sprang to her feet and beat
upon the effigy with doubled fists, her eyes ablaze, her loose hair
whipping at her naked breast.
"Awake! Awake! Art sleeping, Dagon, that thou heedest not? Awake, I
say! 'Tis I who call--_Shammuramat_![#] Am I, too, not a child of
gods, whom the good witch Schelah sayeth will one day rule the world?
Heed, or I tear thy temple down and set a Moloch in thy stead! Awake,
thou fool! Awake!"
[#] The name "Shammuramat" has been corrupted by the Greeks into
Semiramis, in which form the great Assyrian Queen is better known.
The shrill voice ceased. The pale girl listened with a chill of terror
till the echoes died in the temple's dome. Once more she fell upon her
knees, and though her rage still stormed within her heart she softened
her speech, as in after years she won by flattery where anger failed to
lash obedience to her will.
"Forgive, dear Dagon," she whispered, as she clasped his feet, "my
tongue is the tongue of Derketo, my mother, whom thou didst curse with a
just unhappiness. Yet listen! In error didst thou cause this youth to
sink in the waters of thy lake, for he, too, loveth thee, with a love as
great as mine. Give me his life, divine one, and in payment will I
steal rich wine from my father's oldest skins--the palm-wine, Dagon,
which is sweet and strong. Also, my goat is thine. I will slay it here
in sacrifice and lay its heart in the hollow of thy hand."
She paused in thought profound. The bribe was large, yet the scales of
barter needed still another weight; and well she knew the gods demand in
sacrifice the parting with gifts which cause the keenest pangs. Of all
her treasures two were held most dear, her dog and a string of pearls;
and now, as she looked into Menon's sightless eyes, her treasures seemed
to shrink in worth. Yet ere she squandered all upon an altar stone, the
voice of wisdom whispered at her ear and caused her to hide a smile.
"Hear me, Dagon," she murmured, meekly, "thou knowest my good dog Habal
that on rest-days cometh to thy temple's door? Him, too, might I give
in offering to turn thy heart, yet the deed were folly and to thee
unjust; for doth he not watch my father's flocks, with a faithful eye
upon the lambs which are slain for thee alone? Were Habal dead, who
then might save thy lambs from the beasts of prey? Nay, Habal's teeth
can serve thee unto better ends than Habal's blood."
She stole a glance at Dagon, and, finding his features placid in
content, became emboldened to seal her bargain with a master-stroke. In
a corner of the temple lay her robe of fine spun wool, discarded for her
morning bath; and now from beneath its folds she brought her necklace,
holding it up for the greedy god to see.
"Look! Look, sweet god," she cried. "This I offer thee--a treasure
given by a great Armenian prince. Soften thy heart and I cast it into
the deepest waters of thy lake, where none may find it and dispoil thee
of my gift."
True, Semiramis herself might dive and recover it at will, albeit she
hoped a point so trifling might escape the god. Yet, lest the thought
occur to him, she hastened on:
"Knowest thou not the value of such pearls? With a single bead thou
couldst buy an hundred Habals for thine altar's needs. Think, then,
what all would mean--they are twice a score--and I give them for the
life of this one poor youth, whom me-thinks is of common blood and lowly
born. Heed, wise one, and hasten, lest wisdom tempt me and I keep my
pearls."
A shaft of sunlight filtered through the thick leaved palms, wavered,
and crawled across the temple's floor; for an instant it rested on a
tangle of blazing hair, then slowly climbed the fish-god's scaly side.
As the maiden watched, with parted lips, with bosom fluttering to a
quickened pulse, the flame of sunlight flickered and went out. Yet at
her choking cry, it leaped to life again, to splash the face of Dagon
with a leering glow of happiness--and Menon groaned and stirred.
While one might count a score, the girl leaned, limp and nerveless, on
Dagon's altar stone; then she cast aside the blistered cat's paw of
divine appeal and set in its place a swift, more vigorous god of force.
With a zeal of hope she fell upon the body of her charge in all the
strength her wild, free life had built, till Menon's eyelids fluttered
and a frown of half unconscious protest ridged his brow. In the
twilight of understanding, he fancied himself an ill used prisoner in
the hands of enemies who mauled him from neck to heel; and when with
returning life came an agony of water-laden lungs that labored to be
free, he turned on his side and muttered curses, deep, fervent, touched
by the fires of poesy.
It was then, then only, that the toil of Semiramis gave place to
indolence. She rested her chin upon her knees and listened to the music
of his oaths--music far sweeter than the liquid notes of shepherd's
flutes, or the echoes of sheep bells tinkling through the dusk. A seed
of love had broken from its strange, unharrowed soil, and the bud had
opened to look upon its god.
With a sigh of peace she rose and clothed herself in the robe of fine
spun wool, clasped tight her girdle and strapped the sandal thongs about
her feet; then she rested Menon's head upon her lap and forced between
his teeth the rim of a wine cup of which she recklessly deprived great
Dagon's shrine.
"Dagon and I," she murmured, with an impish smile, "have compassed much;
yet Dagon alone, without the measure of my aid--"
She paused, for a young cloud slid across the sun, flinging a shadow on
the temple floor, a shadow which crept and crept till the fish-god's
visage darkened with its gloom; then Semiramis remembered, rose, and
cast her pearls far out into the lake.
Once more she sat beside her charge, chafing his temples with a patient,
lingering caress. Long, long she watched, her fancy looming lace-work
webs of fate, while her heart marked joyfully his battle with reluctant
life; till, presently, his breath flowed gently and the sweat of pain
was dried upon his brow.
Menon's glance met hers, and a flush of shame grew hot upon his
cheek--the shame of defeat to him, a war-tried soldier, at the hands of
a shepherd girl. Yet in her smile a man might forget defeat--forget and
rejoice--forget all else save the smile and the maid who smiled.
His color spread, yet the blood-warmed tint now told no more of the
sting of an humbled pride. He strove to raise his arms, but they seemed
as weights too heavy for his strength, and sank beside him weakly. His
thews were slack; he lay as helpless as an unweaned babe, yet the
victor's eyes were laughing down into his own, and were kind.
"The kiss!" sighed Menon, and the maiden bent and gave her soul into the
keeping of his lips.
CHAPTER VI
THE DAUGHTER OF DERKETO
A coppery sun climbed upward on his hill of cloud; the south-wind
ceased, and the lake drowsed lazily in the morning sun. The Assyrian
still reclined with his head upon the lap of Semiramis, for in the
beginning she would not suffer him to tax his strength with speech. She
urged that he rest, while she told her name and the story of her birth;
and he, content, asked nothing more than to look and listen, while his
heart grew hungry and his pulses sang to a tune of joy. So the maiden
babbled on of gods and men, of the shepherd's home with Simmas, her
foster-father, and of her simple life with sheep that browsed upon the
hills and the fishes swam in the waters of Ascalon.
Her mother, Derketo, had been a goddess whom the Syrians worshipped in
her temple beside the lake, till she drew the fatal wrath of Dagon down,
because of her beauty and her foolish vanities. She lured the hearts of
mortals from their level paths, consuming them with mad desires which
were barren and unfulfilled; playing with passion, yet drinking not its
flame--a reckless sprite who mocked at hell, while she danced on a
thread that stretched across its throat.
Then Dagon, troubled at her wickedness, brought forth from some far
eastern land a warrior youth who sighed and sang before Derketo's
shrine. Slender was he and shapely, with deep blue eyes and locks that
shone as a flame of golden red; so the goddess came out to him and was
pleased because of the sweetness of his song. Through the long blue
night he sang and whispered in her ear, till by his arts and a subtle
tongue he wrought her fall, then straightway disappeared.
A babe was born, and Derketo, in her shame and grief, stole out by night
upon the hills and left her child among the rocks to die; then, weeping,
she crept into her temple, hiding behind its altar's shadow from the
sight of men. By day she slept; by night she crouched beside the
water's edge, to fling shrill curses at Dagon across the lake.
Then Dagon in wrath waxed terrible, and sent a lightning bolt which
destroyed the goddess and her temple utterly, so that Syria knew her
beauty and her wiles no more.
Now a farmer who dwelt in Ascalon was sorely vexed because of theft, yet
never could he lay his hands upon the pilferer, albeit he watched
together with his wife and sons. The goats' milk left in crocks outside
his door would disappear in the broad of day, and after a space his
cheeses began to suffer likewise. Marveling, he set himself to watch
again, and at dawn a flock of doves dropped down before his door. They
pecked at his cheeses, or filled their beaks with milk, then winged
their flight to a distant point on the hillside over against the lake.
The farmer and his sons marked out the spot and journeyed thither, to
find a babe that was sheltered among the stones--the same which Derketo
left to perish, and now was nurtured by these sacred birds.[#]
[#] This is the accepted legend of the origin of Semiramis.
The farmers bore her tenderly to the house of Simmas, chief warden of
the royal flocks, a kindly man who reared her as his own; and they
called her Shammuramat, which name, in the Syrian tongue, means Dove.
Thus the offspring of a goddess, and adopted child of doves and mortal
man, grew swiftly to a strength and beauty of the gods themselves. From
early childhood she loved the lake, where she sported among the waves
till none might match her in speed or grace of stroke; yet, truly, born
of Derketo, goddess of the fishes, what marvel, then? Again, as her
mystic father hunted through far off eastern lands, so the girl soon
turned to hunting through the hills of Syria, with a passion which made
her bow and spear a wonder among the simple shepherd folk.
"And now," said Semiramis, as she toyed with Menon's hand, "and now am I
a woman grown, with lovers who come in droves as the cattle come, yet
daring not to voice the yearnings of their hearts. Great, stupid youths
are they, the sons of farmers and tenders of our herds, who stare at me
in tongue-tied wonderment; aye, like unto the yearling calves whose
thoughts we may not fathom because of their foolishness."
The Assyrian laughed and drew her down till her lips met his and clung;
and she joined his merriment, in that he seemed so unakin to the
yearlings of which she spoke. Then, presently, she thought to ask his
name.
"Menon," he answered simply, whereat she started, pushed his head from
out her lap and edged away.
"Menon--_thou_!" she cried. "Ah, no, my lord! A jest! That man is but
a devil's leech who clingeth to the throat of Syria, taxing, taxing,
till its very blood is sucked in tax! _Thou_--!" She paused to laugh.
"The Governor is ugly, fat--and thou--"
Again she stopped, with suddenness, and blushed.
"Nay, harken," said Menon, "of a truth I am the Governor; and it cometh
to me that I would tax thy country further still--tax it till I snatch
from thy foster-father, Simmas, his choicest store of all."
"Eh--what!" she demanded, angered at his words. "My father--that kind
old man? Shame! Shame, my lord!"
Menon pursed his lips and ridged his brow with his sternest frown.
"I fain would rob him as I say; yea, even thy sacred doves and the very
gods themselves, of Syria's Pearl--Shammuramat."
The girl said naught, but gazed in silence out across the lake, while a
smile played softly at the corners of her mouth. She was not ill
pleased to be called the Pearl of Syria, albeit she herself had long
been conscious of the pretty truth. Moreover, t'was most unseemly in a
maid to gainsay a mighty Governor; and in her heart she could find no
dread of this weighty tax on Syria's birds and gods. Therefore she
waited for his further speech, which came at length with earnestness:
"Now as to these taxes, concerning which I am called a devil's leech, it
grieveth me sorely to oppress a simple folk, and it causeth my soul's
unrest by night and day."
Again the maiden laughed.
"Aye, truly," she answered, spreading out her locks for the sun to dry;
"I well can believe thy words, for never have I looked upon a youth so
melancholy, or one on whom his sorrows ride with a tighter knee. Yet
tell me, O Prince of Woe, what in truth may chance to be thy station and
thy name?"
Menon spread his hands, though he could not help but smile at the
maiden's doubt of him.
"Nay, believe me," he urged, "I speak the truth. I swear it on thy
fish-god's altar. I am indeed the Governor, sent hither at the King's
command, to do his bidding, not my will alone. King Ninus buildeth a
city for himself on a far off river bank, a city which is like unto a
huge, devouring monster, swallowing up the stores of men, the fruits of
the earth, and the children of every land. This, then, is why I come to
tax thine honest neighbors of their wealth."
He told her of the city's walls and of how they rose from out the waste
of sand; of the temples, palaces, the towers and the soaring citadel.
He told of millions toiling through the nights and days, and of an army
which girt the walls around, while Semiramis sat listening, drinking in
his words.
"Ah!" she breathed. "Ah, now I understand! And what is this city
called?"
"Nineveh--the Opal of the East."
Again Semiramis came close to Menon's side, and, at his pleading, once
more took his head into her lap.
"This monarch of thine," said she, as she nodded thoughtfully, "is
right. He is wise and strong. My people are fools to murmur against the
justice of his tax. For listen! I, too, will some day build a city,
more grand, more vast in its reach and splendour, aye, even than this
Opal of the East. Its walls shall top thine highest towers--its gardens
shall hang between the earth and sky. Ah, laugh if thou wilt, yet
Schelah hath seen it all--as I have seen--as it rises on her kettle's
smoke."
At Menon's look of wonder, she told him that Schelah was a witch who
dwelt in a cave among the hills, who wrought strange spells, told
fortunes, and healed disease with her arts and herbs.
"A withered crone is she," the maiden said, "ugly and of crooked limbs,
whose very name the farmers fear; and yet she is not an evil witch, but
kind and gentle to those who understand. Why, I fear her no more
than--than--"
"Than me?" asked Menon, with a smile.
"Than thou," she nodded happily, "and I fear _thee_ none at all. Yet
tell me more."
He told her of the battles he had seen; of the siege of Zariaspa, where
Ninus, baffled of desire, needs turn away till a mightier army could be
raised, and engines devised to batter down the walls. He told her of
other wars, long, fierce, triumphant in the end; and as he spoke
Semiramis saw it all, even as she once had seen a dim and ghostly
Babylon which rose from out old Schelah's kettle-smoke.
She saw vast, rolling plains, where armies met with a rending crash and
roar; where warriors, locked in a grip of rage, fought desperately and
died; where chariots charged as against a cliff, to totter and overturn,
and the sands ran red with blood. She heard the cries of men and the
clang of blows, exultant shouts of victory and the shrieks of those who
fled--the rumble of wheels and hoofs that shook the earth--the clamour
of ranks that reeled through tossing clouds of dust. Her bosom heaved;
her cheeks, her lips, grew crimson with the rush of blood; her dark eyes
kindled, and she trembled as in a chill.
"Ishtar!" she cried, as she raised her head and clenched her outflung
hands. "Oh, if I but once might sing a battle-song! To struggle--to
fight--!"
Menon checked her with a rich, full-throated laugh that echoed to the
temple's dome.
"Fight?" he asked. "In the name of all the gods, fight whom?"
She gave no heed to his merry tone, for the spark had caught, the flames
were lit, and the fuel needs must burn.
"_Poof_! I care not, so it be a foe--a foe who will stand and scorns to
fly!" Again she raised her arms, her rich voice shrill in its pitch of
feverish desire: "To drive a chariot and lash its steeds through hedges
of swords and spears! To drink of the wine of war! To conquer and to
reign--a queen! And see!" she cried, as she caught her flame-hued hair,
"this will I cut away, that none may know me for a maid. Then, then
wilt thou suffer me to follow as a youth who is in thy train. Speak,
lord, I wait."
Menon smiled and shook his head, for a maiden's path, he told her, was
not amidst the perils of the field; but she took his cheeks in both her
palms and bent till her breath was mingled with his own.
"Nay, once," she pleaded, in her haunting, liquid tone, "one _little_
war--no more! Ah, Menon, sweet, thou will let me go?" Lower she bent
and leaned upon his lips, while her strange eyes burned their passion
into his, her fair arms clinging in a love caress. "Menon! Menon!"
He trembled, for his heart cried out aloud and longed to give this maid
whatever she asked; and she held him closer still, murmuring into his
ear as her mother, Derketo, might have whispered when she lured the
steps of men from their level paths.
"Heed me," she pleaded low, and brushed his cheek with the velvet of a
softer curve, "didst thou not will to tax my father of the Pearl of
Syria? What then? Wouldst leave me in thy home--alone--to yearn for a
loved one far afield, to weep, to listen for his footstep through the
weary night? Nay, Menon, that were cruelty, and thou art kind."
A shadow settled on the Governor's brow. He arose and paced the
temple's floor, his hands locked tight behind his back. Grim duty
called his name, and it came to him that the scepter of Assyria was
thrust between his heart and the woman for whom it beat alone.
"What troubleth thee, my lord?"
For a space he answered naught, but kept to his thoughtful pacing to and
fro.
"Maiden," he began at last, "there are matters of state which come to
pass, and a woman may not understand, by reason of their strange
complexities."
The girl looked up, with a sparkle in her eye which warred with a sense
of vague misgiving in her heart.
"Perchance, my lord, the tongue of a learned Governor is happily of that
turn which maketh such matters simple, even to a woman's foolish mind.
I pray thee try."
Menon laughed, then began to tell his trouble as best he might, though
the task now seemed more weighty than the sealing of a truce; and rather
far would he have faced Boabdul's scimitar than the eyes of this
red-haired girl who watched him, hanging on his utterance.
"King Ninus," said he, "hath sent me messengers who on yesterday were
come. They bear me a scroll wherein my master is pleased to laud my
deeds with flatteries and praise. At his command have I taxed thy
people till the very grass blades wilt, and thereby won the enmity of
all the land; yet the King is glad, for because of me he receiveth vast
stores for the building of his city. In reward"--here Menon faltered,
turned away his eyes and looked upon the floor--"in reward he offereth
me his daughter's hand--Sozana--when the walls and palaces of Nineveh
shall be."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis. "Ah! I see!" She crouched upon the temple
steps, one knee clasped tight within her arms, her pink chin resting on
it thoughtfully. "Go on, my lord."
"This offer," continued Menon, scowling as he spoke, "is a fruit of
bitterness upon my tongue, for the maid is loved by my best of
friends--Memetis--an Egyptian Prince whom Ninus holdeth hostage at his
court lest his nation rise to--"
He stopped, for Semiramis had checked his speech with a cold command.
"Nay, let Memetis rest! What manner of maid may this Sozana chance to
be?"
"She is dark and slight," the Governor answered slowly, "of a trustful
nature, gentle in her ways, and kind." The girl beside him laughed, yet
merriment was not its tone; and Menon blundered on: "As children we
played together, she and I--a saucy little rogue of mirth and song--a
child, for whom I'd cut away my hand rather than bring a pang of
suffering."
"So," said Semiramis, in a whispered drawl, "so the Princess is fair to
look upon. I did divine as much. Well? Well, my lord?"
"And now," sighed Menon, "the King would cause this pretty child to
stifle love and wed where she hath no will."
"Not so," declared Semiramis, with a snap of her firm white teeth. "Be
warranted, my lord, the jade hath put him up to it. What! Hath she not
seen thee? Hast thou not beguiled her with thy, craftful wiles? How
should it, then, be otherwise?"
Again the lake-nymph laughed, ungently, and with a shrill, derisive
ring.
"Nay!" said Menon. "Nay! She yearneth not for me, nor do I yearn for
her. In secret is she betrothed unto Memetis whom she loveth utterly;
and should I bow to the King's desire, t'would bring a hurt to her whom
I took to wife, and to him whose happiness I hold more dearly than mine
own."
Once more the Assyrian paused and gazed in trouble through the temple's
door. In the waters of the lake he seemed to see the faces of his
monarch and his friends, the King, with a smile upon his bearded lips;
Memetis, sad and silent in reproach, and sweet Sozana, wondering at a
grief too deep for tears.
"Then why," asked Semiramis, quivering as she spoke, "then why, in the
name of Bel and Moloch, wouldst thou do this wicked thing?"
The Governor stood before her, cast in gloom, and answered sullenly:
"The offer of the King is the King's command, and once, once only, may a
subject thwart his will."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis once again. "Ah, I see! Moreover, I do
perceive that Menon hath a mighty leaning to this maid of Nineveh, who
is dark and slight, of a trustful nature, gentle in her ways, and kind.
Nay, shake not thy head, deceitful one. Shammuramat is not a fool.
What, then, remaineth for my lord to choose?"
Menon sighed, but answered naught, while she sat and watched him pacing
in his deep unrest. Presently she spoke again, slowly, softly, yet the
tone was cold:
"I have marked, my lord, that those of smallest mind demand the longest
span of time in making up the same. The wise man acteth! His love and
greed he weigheth not in the selfsame scale. What! Hath the mighty
Governor still to choose?"
The Assyrian leaned against a pillar of the temple, gazed gloomily
before him, and brooded on the mandate of the King. The warrior within
him whispered at his ear, calling, pleading, as with a trumpet's blast.
Another voice there was, that told of a love of power--of the joy in
ruling over weaker men--and Menon's place was beside the King. They
dragged him, these voices, as with a chain of bronze, yet his heart
cried out Shammuramat! With her he could dwell in peace for all time,
an outcast from his land, a wanderer, in want and poverty--a worshipper
who died content in the glory of her smile. And yet--
"Is my lord still praying to his gods of guile, or doth he slumber
because of weariness--and me?"
The troubled Governor did not note a certain purring in her tone, nor
the gleam of her eye, while she crouched as the leopard crouches,
noiseless, ready for its spring.
"By the great lord Asshur," Menon muttered between his teeth, "my wits
are tried and grievously." He shook himself and turned with his winning
smile. "Can the friend of the good witch Schelah lend aid to one who is
vexed in spirit and in mind?"
"Yea!" cried Semiramis, springing to her feet in a gust of fury. "Yea!"
Her eyes flamed hotly, and her fingers clenched till the nails bit deep
into her palms. "_Go_, thief of kisses! Go, when thou hast scorched my
country bare with tax! Go back to thy maid of Nineveh--this whining
jade whose sire is but a savage and a fool! Yet tell her this--thou
hast looked on the Pearl of Syria! _Tell her--and she will
understand!_"
For an instant stood Semiramis, a queen of consuming rage and scorn;
then she laughed--laughed hoarsely--in the mockery of mirth, sprang down
the temple steps, and was gone.
Menon followed after, shouting, begging her return, as he sought her
among the trees and tangled undergrowth.
"Shammuramat! Shammuramat!" he called aloud, and only the echoes of his
yearning voice came back to taunt him. For a weary space he searched,
yet his search was vain; and when hope had departed utterly, he turned
him homeward, skirting the lake shore with a lagging step.
Then a girl crept out from the shadows among the trees and sat on the
temple steps. She rested her arms upon her knees, her chin upon her
arms, and watched till Menon's drooping figure passed from sight.
Once more she cast her robe aside, tore off her sandals and flung them
down; and then, in the wondrous beauty of her form unveiled, she stood
in wrath before the fish-god Dagon, her eyes aflame, her red hair
tumbling in disorder on her neck.
"What!" she stormed. "Did I--Shammuramat--drag out this liar from the
lake, to save him for a minx at Nineveh?"
She snapped her fingers scornfully and turned upon her heel; then she
dived for her string of pearls.
CHAPTER VII
A MASTER'S KISS
For a year, since his appointment, the Governor of Syria had dwelt at
Azapah, a central point where his army camped, and whence his agents and
his spies went forth to every tribe. Yet Azapah was a home in name
alone, for Menon's eye was ever set on the works of his under-officers.
He would ride from point to point, descending at uncertain times on
those whose duties dozed in lethargy, or on others whose fingers stuck
by chance to certain taxes of the King. And as Ninus made examples on
the walls of Nineveh, so Menon dealt with those who disobeyed his will;
for the body of a wicked, slothful servant was held to be of higher
value when detached from the head which led his steps astray. Thus
Menon won the name of a cruel master, albeit a whisper now and again
went forth of many a poor man's taxes paid in full from the Governor's
own purse.
He journeyed ever on his noble steed of Barbary, whose name was
Scimitar, in honor of Boabdul's blade, and, likewise, was attended by
the Indian slave who came as the Arab's second gift. In Huzim he found
a jewel and a friend, whose heart he won by a stroke of policy. From
the first the Governor had been kind to him, and when the borders of
Arabia were passed, Huzim was given his freedom, to return if he would
to his home upon the Indus; but the Indian fell upon his knees, to kiss
the master's hand and cover it with tears. His freedom he accepted with
a grateful heart, yet prayed to remain in the service of his lord, to
whom he proved a faithful watch-dog unto the end. His mighty bow and
shafts brought many a dish of flesh to Menon's board, and at night his
body lay athwart the master's door, where none might pass and live to
slink away again.
Now Menon had tarried beside the lake of Ascalon for a longer space than
was his wont to abide in any place; yet business there was none to stay
his leave, nor taxes in arrears. The voice of duty whispered warnings
in his ear, pointing unto urgent matters far afield; yet duty, he swore,
might sleep with Gibil till Semiramis was seen again.
For many days he sought her among the hills, from the crack of dawn till
the brazen sun went down, yet found her not; and his heart, because of
its hunger for the maid, grew faint within him and clamored for a food
denied.
Semiramis, too, was haunted by a certain restlessness of mind and foot,
a goad which ever kept her on the move. Close hidden within some clump
of trees, she would watch the hunter's fruitless search from hour to
hour. Her eyes grew wistful, and a fever burned in her racing blood,
though pride, a demon's pride, forbade that she suffer capture at his
hands. If the seeker came near unto her hiding place, she would
straightway creep away to some other vantage point and watch him with a
scowl. Yet, because of his lack of craft in snaring her, hot anger
mounted to the heights of foolishness, causing her to mutter curses on
him, bitter, deep, and to vent her wrath upon things inanimate. At last
she left the lover to his own device, and with her spear and arrows
hunted far and wide, thus finding relief in a savage joy of killing
beasts--the great, the small--she cared not which, so be it that she
killed.
Then Menon, in despair, set Huzim on her trail, for in prowess of the
chase, or in coming up with wary things, there were none the like of him
throughout the land. So Huzim circled round about and found what his
master sought.
At the close of one long red day, when the sun swung low and purple
clouds were banked against the rim of night, the Indian bore word that
Semiramis returned to Ascalon by way of a certain path; so Menon hid
himself and lay in wait. From a leafy screen he watched her coming,
while his breath grew warm and quick, and nearer she came, unconscious
of the snare. Her bow and quiver rattled at her back with each slow
step; she used her spear for a walking staff, and her flame-hued head
was bowed upon her breast. In the dust she dragged the body of a
leopard by its tail, while her sheep-dog Habal trotted at her heels.
Of a sudden Menon stepped across her path, and, with folded arms, stood
smiling as he blocked her way. With a startled cry Semiramis leaped
backward, while Habal crouched between his mistress and the man, his
thick hair bristling down his spine, an ugly rumble in his hoarse, deep
growl.
The Governor spoke contritely and in a prayerful tone, yet the maiden
met his pleading with a torrent of abuse. This he bore with fortitude,
and when she paused for breath, he strove to gain his end by reason,
knowing not that an angry woman scorns it as she scorns no other thing
in heaven or hell. Of this he learned unto his woe, but when he would
have overborne her, snatching at her hand, she struck him with the butt
of her hunting spear and set her dog upon him.
Straight at his throat the black dog leaped, but Menon caught it by the
neck and held its jaws, though its strength was great and it battled
with him mightily. For a space they struggled for a master-grip, yet
Habal's teeth, in the end, were of no avail, for Menon squeezed him till
his bones were like to crack, while he turned once more to Semiramis and
urged his suit.
Now a lover will find a grievous task in murmuring into a maiden's ear,
and at the same time hold a foaming, furious dog; so the maiden mocked
him because of his sad discomfiture, and stirred his wrath. Peal on
peal of impish laughter rang out in the twilight hush, till Menon
cursed, and, clutching Habal still, turned angrily away.
Then the maiden's merriment died swiftly on her lips, for she saw that
he stole her dog; and with a cry of fury she set a shaft upon her bow
and drew it to its head. In an instant now the Governor would tax her
land no more, and Habal and her heart might then be free. And yet she
faltered--paused; then dashed her weapon on the earth, to fling herself
beside it, weeping bitterly.
So Menon bore the struggling Habal in his arms, till he reached his
house, where he tamed the brute and made of him a friend. Long, long he
labored unto this end with morsels of tempting food and many a soft
caress, till at last the captive wagged his tail and licked a master's
hand.
Menon had conquered, yet he could not soothe a look of sadness deep in
Habal's eyes, nor cause him to desist from snuffling at the outer door
where he scratched with his paws and whined.
At length, when the third day passed, the lover clasped a collar of gold
on Habal's neck and whispered into his ear; but Habal looked into his
face, bewildered, for he did not understand.
"_Shammuramat!_" cried Menon, sharply, and the glad beast sprang upon
him, whimpering in his joy. The door was opened. Habal, barking,
bounded through, to burn the earth with the beat of his flying paws.
Yet on the crest of a distant hill he stopped, looked back and barked
again, then disappeared. And the lover, watching, understood--and
smiled.
So Habal found his mistress, as she drooped in the doorway of her
father's home, and overturned her in the pure delight of coming into his
own. He fawned upon her, yelping out his love aloud; he muzzled her,
caressing with paw and tongue, to prove devotion far deeper in its
purity than aught a mortal holds on the altar of his heart.
Semiramis, too, was glad at her dog's return, for she took him in her
arms, and, weeping strangely, hid her face on his shaggy breast; but
when she saw the collar Habal wore, her fury boiled afresh. She tore it
from his neck and gave it to a beggar who had wandered into Ascalon.
The beggar took the trinket gratefully, then hobbled away as fast as his
legs might carry him, though ever and anon he cast a glance behind, in
the manner of one who marvels and may not understand. Now whether this
persistent turning brought good or evil, is a matter hidden in the
beggar's soul alone, for, presently, a horse came tearing down the wind,
while a wild-haired girl leaned low upon its neck, augmenting speed with
frantic voice and heel. She came upon the wanderer suddenly, reining in
her steed till it reared upon its haunches, pawing at the air, its mouth
stretched wide, its nostrils red and quivering. Then the girl
dismounted, demanding back her gift.
The beggar protested, and, muttering, turned away, but she menaced him
with her hunting spear, and of a certainty would have pinned him to the
earth had he not obeyed. Slowly he produced the golden collar from his
pouch and tossed it at her feet.
"Hound!" cried Semiramis, "pick it up and give it in my hand!" Again
her spear was poised, so the beggar stooped to do her bidding hastily;
then, while this fiery hawkling rode away, he lingered, gazing after her
in loose-jawed wonderment.
Semiramis made a wide detour to pass the lake, where she flung poor
Habal's collar far into the deep--repented, and on the morrow dived and
recovered it again. That night she sought her sleep with the bauble
nestling upon her heart; but sleep came not, for her flesh seemed burned
by every golden link. She hurled it from her angrily and was happy for a
space, then stole from her couch and hunted till she found it in the
dark.
When she had it, she hated it; but when she had it not, she longed for
it with a gnawing, furious desire which ever increased in heat and
magnitude; wherein it may be seen that Semiramis, though a goddess born,
was human--and a woman--after all.
Meanwhile the Messengers of State were waiting patiently for Menon's
answer to the King at Nineveh; yet the Governor bade them tarry on for
yet a little while, and took to hunting from a vantage point on the back
of his good steed Scimitar.
One morning Habal's barking caught his ear, so he followed the sound
till he reached the spine of a high, adjacent hill. In the centre of a
plain beyond he spied Semiramis, unarmed, and walking slowly; so his
heart rose up as he patted Scimitar and loosed the rein. In the night
he had vowed no more to plead his cause with a lowly mien, but would
break this witch's spirit though he heat her with his fists.
Semiramis saw him coming, and her heart stood still. The lake was far
too distant for a haven of retreat, and the plain was bare of bush or
thicket through which she might elude pursuit. Should she stand and
face him? Yea! By Ishtar, _no_! He then might fancy that she waited
him--she--Semiramis! So she turned and fled.
The maid was fleet of foot, and skimmed the earth with the speed of a
frightened fawn; yet her pace, alas, was a paltry match for the splendid
stride of Scimitar. Behind her she heard the thunder of his hoofs, but
louder still chimed out the notes of Menon's laughter as his joy gave
tongue. He was nearer now! He pressed upon her flank! Then Menon bent
and gathered up the maiden in his arms. She screamed and bit his hand;
she scratched him, raining buffets on his face and breast; but he only;
laughed the more, and kissed her on the mouth and eyes.
On, on they sped, with mighty leaps and bounds, for Scimitar knew not
what manner of warlocks fought upon his back, so he took the bit between
his teeth and ran as before he had never run, while the toiling Habal
panted far behind.
Now after a space Semiramis ceased to strive, and lay passive in the
rider's grasp. It pleased her thus to be torn from the roots of her own
hot willfulness. It joyed her to be battered against a victor's heart,
to drink in the pain of a hand wound tight within her locks, and to feel
her strength give way beneath his brutal power. For thus it was written
that Semiramis should love, in stormy passion, where an humble prayer
was trampled under foot in scorn.
So it came to pass that of a sudden she flung her arms about the
conqueror's neck and sobbed as though her soul were rent in twain, while
he, to soothe the tempest of her tears, bent down and kissed her lips.
Again and yet again he bent, till Semiramis raised her head and stared
upon him in amaze.
"In the name of the gods!" she cried, "how many wouldst thou take?"
"Not one," laughed Menon, "which thou givest me unwillingly, for I do
but return thy courtesies upon the temple steps."
"Eh--what!" she faltered, flushing crimson at his speech. "Nay, truly,
I recall but three--"
"So be it, then," said Menon, with another laugh and still another kiss.
"T'is in my mind that when my body had been drowned, and lying helpless
in thy power--"
"Beast!" she stormed, in grievous doubt if she should strain him to her
heart or take his life; yet Menon lived.
The Governor turned his steed on the backward trail and journeyed till
they came in sight of Ascalon; then he slid from the back of Scimitar
and walked beside, lest idle shepherds marvel at the strangeness of
uncommon things; albeit he still held tight to the maiden's hand.
Semiramis, from her perch, looked down into her lover's eyes, and her
spirit sang because of its bubbling joy, for now he was
hers--_hers!_--till the very stars should die; yet, suddenly, she
dragged at the bridle rein.
"Wait! What, then, of this minx, Sozana?"
Menon frowned, yet looked upon her steadily.
"Of her," he answered, "thy mind need hold no fear, for I love her not.
To-morrow will I leave the service of my King and fly with thee into
Arabia. With Prince Boabdul will we there abide, for his love will
shield me, even from the wrath of Ninus."
"Now that," spoke Semiramis, thoughtfully, "were the course of a
fledgling and a fool." A moment more she pondered, looking up at last.
"Tell me, can Ninus conquer Zariaspa, or will he fail again?"
"Zariaspa?" asked Menon, vacantly, wondering how this matter ran with
his flight into the desert with a wife. "Zariaspa?"
"Aye, Zariaspa!" she repeated in impatience. "The town--the city! What!
Is my lord a frog? Come, lace thy wits. Will Ninus conquer Zariaspa in
the end?"
"Nay," said Menon, "for the walls are high and strong, while the food of
the garrison is brought by some mysterious means, the which is a puzzle
unrevealed by thought, or search, or vigilance. Again, and yet again,
will Raman-Nirari fail."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis, nodding in the manner of some venerable judge.
"Then write thy King in this wise: I, Menon, Governor of Syria, greet my
lord and master, even as a son might greet his father, in love and
reverence. Because of the honor he hath done me, my heart o'erfloweth
with a joy, and in glad obedience to a monarch's will, I accept his
dau--"
"Hold!" cried Menon, angrily. "Now by, the beard of--"
"Nay," laughed Semiramis, "but wait the end." Again she borrowed of an
aged judge's mien. "--I accept thy daughter's hand. And now, O Radiant
One, I crave a boon--not for myself alone, but for my King. When
Zariaspa shall be overthrown, and another gem is set in the war-crown of
my lord, then let these nuptials be proclaimed. Thus, men will marvel,
saying among themselves: Of a verity King Ninus is divine; for who but a
god would share the glory of his name with an humble warrior--one
unworthy of reward so high." Semiramis paused to smile. "In closing
thy letter, praise the King because of the city which he buildeth on the
sand. Contrive thy words with an artful edge of truth, in that you touch
his vanity. A touch--no more. Yet, above all else, be brief, and of a
not too marked humility."
A light of understanding crept into Menon's eyes, yet a cloud arose to
mar his perfect happiness.
"But--but," he stammered, "if, peradventure, King Ninus conquereth this
city, after all--then--"
"Poof!" scoffed Semiramis. "At worst we will have loved for two
untroubled years--and much may chance in that goodly span of time."
For answer, Menon, caring not a fig if a thousand shepherds saw, laughed
happily, then drew her down to him and kissed her laughing lips.
Across the hills of Syria the lovers journeyed at a crawling pace,
Semiramis enthroned upon the back of Scimitar, while Menon, with her
hand clasped tight in his, strolled slowly at the bridle-rein.
They reached the home of Simmas, and a dancing dog ran out, to spring
upon them, barking joyously.
CHAPTER VIII
THEY THAT DEPART AND HE THAT IS LEFT BEHIND
Simmas, chief warden of the royal flocks and herds, was a venerable man
both wise and strong, yet his heart was as water running before the will
of his foster-child. Unto him the lovers brought the matter of their
vows, concealing naught of the danger to themselves, nor the wrath of
Ninus should he learn how they sought to flatter him and dim his eye.
Gravely had Simmas listened, smiling indulgent smiles, though his heart
was sore afraid for her whom he loved so tenderly; and, at length when
the tale was done, he sighed and shook his wise old head.
"My son," said he, "there are valiant men who have hied them forth to
capture beasts of prey with arrows and with spears; others, more
reckless still, go armed with ropes and stones, yet never have I known
of one who laboured to that end by tickling a lion's nose with straws."
"How know we, then," asked Semiramis, "that a lion may not be vastly
pleased thereat?"
Poor Simmas was forced to laugh, for how could the man do otherwise,
with two round arms clasped tight about his neck, a pink cheek nestled
lovingly against his own? And thus his foster-child met every argument,
twisting his threads of wisdom into ropes of foolishness, until,
reluctantly, he gave them blessing, smiling through his tears.
"Down, Habal," cried Semiramis, "and lick thy master's hand." And the
dog went down.
So it came to pass that the messengers went out from Syria and knelt to
Ninus as he sat upon his watch-tower in the heat of a certain day. They
bore him a missive which that Monarch read for the seventh time, then
read again in sore perplexity, his fingers combing at his beard. It
preened his vanity as by a feather-touch of truth, and joyed his
nostrils with the unctuous odour of his own divinity--a point whereon
his pride was prodded grievously of late.
At his failure in subduing Zariaspa, a whisper leaked abroad that Ninus
was but a mortal, after all; and through his harshness unto those who
toiled on the walls of Nineveh, the whisper swelled in volume and in
frequency, till now it lay upon him in the hours of sleep. The voice of
the people grumbled sullenly, or cried aloud because of the yoke of tax;
yet, far more clamorous still, the whisper troubled at his heart, for a
god once doubted is a god undone.
Therefore, in Menon's missive, the King found goodly food for thought;
and yet, on the other hand there seemed a haunting something underneath,
a something which caused him to taste with care ere he swallowed whole.
"Now as I live," mused Ninus to his inward self, "my Menon loveth me
with a love that is rare amongst the sons of men; or else, full cry, he
followeth the trail of a woman other than Sozana. A woman of wit! A
dreadless woman--a guileful and a wise."
The monarch pondered deeply for a space, while he combed at his beard
and gazed toward the walls of Nineveh; then, suddenly, he frowned and
leaned across the parapet.
"Zomar!" he called to a mounted man-at-arms below, "ride out to yonder
chief of labourers by the western gate and admonish him to ply his whip
with a higher diligence; for it cometh to me that the villain's head is
balanced over-lightly on his neck."
* * * * *
Across the Syrian hills, beneath the splendour of a million stars, rode
Menon and Semiramis, side by side. Their hearts were full with the
fullness of a joy which conquers speech and leaves them to beat with a
voiceless pulse of peace. Their eyes alone told secrets, tender, deep,
for each had hunted through the desert for a grain of sand, and, finding
it, was glad, for they knew that its name was love.
Before them, silent too, rode Huzim, his head bowed low upon his mighty
chest, for a worm of jealousy had entered him because of this love of a
master for his bride. Was a slave not human? Should his lowly mind be
proof against the poison of forgetfulness? A slave! And yet--the
master's hand had freed him of his chains, while he himself had riveted
them again. What now? Were the cloaks of love not strange and
manifold? So gratitude rose up to choke the jealous worm; then Huzim
raised his head once more and crooned the songs of those who dwell where
the Indus runs and the sun is warm.
For league on league they journeyed through the night, each heart a
slave, each thought a link in the chain of loving servitude. In the van
rode Huzim, singing softly in his native tongue; behind him came Menon
and Semiramis, hand in hand, while, still again, as a rear-guard of the
march, the wise, untroubled Habal trotted at their heels.
* * * * *
On the hills of Syria the shepherds built their fires against the chill
of night; and many a youth looked long amongst the flames for the eyes
of Shammuramat--strange eyes that peered from the embers impishly, half
veiled in coils of smoke. They danced! They mocked! Now laughing when
some green young twig was burned; now falling into darkness with its
blackened ash. How sad they were, these ashes of a dream--as sad as the
bleat of a wandering sheep as the cry came floating down the wind. And
yet--what, then, should a goddess have to do with the herders of
browsing beasts, or they with her? Should an ox lick salt from off the
stars? Nay, not so!
Thus wisdom came to the watchers of the fires, till peace was brought by
drowsiness, and the shepherds slept.
* * * * *
In the home of Simmas an old man paced the silent rooms and found not
peace nor rest. How bare and desolate when a loved one came no more!
How pitiful they were, these homely things that her hand was wont to
touch--a broken spear--a quiver cast aside--a sandal old and worn!
He fled to the housetop from the ghosts below, but they followed,
clutching at his robe with the hands of memory. He had hunted through
the desert for a grain of sand, and found it not, for, lo! his sand was
dust. Then Simmas fell upon his knees and stretched his withered arms
toward the stars.
"_Oh, Ishtar, Ishtar,_" he cried aloud, "_fling pity to a weak old
man!_"
CHAPTER IX
THE EAGLET NURSED BY DOVES
In troublous times the government of Syria was not a game at which a
child might play; and, albeit Menon dwelt with his wife at Azapah, he
needs must circle round about through many a restless tribe. From
Nineveh came an endless call for grain wherewith to feed the multitudes
of labourers, for oxen, asses, and the water buffalo, whose strength was
now employed in the drawing of heavy loads. Train on train of lowing,
braying beasts were driven from out the land; and so soon as their tails
had ceased to switch in Syria, a cry went up for more. Thus the Syrians
whispered amongst themselves, as others muttered far away at Nineveh;
and soon the whisper swelled, till each man spoke his thoughts aloud,
and thought was bitter against the Governor.
So Menon journeyed forth and back again, chiding, soothing, punishing.
His hand was heavy when the rod was lifted of necessity; and when it
fell, the back of the smitten wore a mark. Throughout he was honest,
just, and unafraid in all things save one alone--Semiramis. He dare not
suffer her to share the perils of the road, nor did he desire that
tidings should leak abroad concerning his wedded state; for of all swift
messengers, both of earth and air, not one keeps pace with the babble of
an idle tongue--and the ears of the King were sharp.
True, Menon might have wedded both Sozana and Semiramis, together with a
score of other wives, yet the mate of a daughter of the King must
cherish one wife alone. And still again, that man who would divide his
love betwixt some other and Semiramis had best go down at once amid the
raging fires of Gibil to seek his peace of soul. So Menon, as he rode,
was wont to ponder upon these things, and was troubled because of fear.
Semiramis fretted in the absence of her lord, till her heart was rife
with a clamorous unrest. She loved him as a tigress loves its mate, and
knew no peace till he came to her side again.
Huzim, too, was left behind for a watch-dog in the Governor's house, a
servant who vied with Habal as a sentinel against alarm. If the Indian
loved his master, to the mistress he gave idolatry, and naught was there
which he would not do to bring her happiness. In the chase which she
loved he taught her arts of the jungle-hunt, when the tracker's hand is
brother to his eye, and the eye must sweat because of its constant
roving to and fro. He taught her to use her bow, not in the manner of
Syrian archers who sight along the shaft, but to shoot from the hip,
with vision fixed upon the mark alone, thus giving a quickness following
hard upon the heels of thought. Above all other arms he schooled her in
the use of a heavy-headed spear on which to receive the body of a
pouncing beast; and for his patience Huzim found good cause to thank his
gods.
On a certain morning they trailed across the hills, the Indian and
Semiramis, while Habal snuffled joyously for any breed of mischief that
he chanced to find. Long they hunted, but without a kill, till at
mid-day, of a sudden, the dog set up a furious barking in a deep ravine.
Semiramis, who chanced to be in the valley's neck while Huzim hunted far
above, came first to the point whence the angry uproar told of game. At
first there was naught to see, save Habal dancing in his rage, his lips
rolled back, his thick hair bristling; yet, presently, through a tangled
screen of thorn and vine, she spied a lion crouched upon the body of a
goat, the blood of his victim dripping from his jaws. A mighty beast
was he, ill pleased at being thus disturbed; and now, at the sight of
Semiramis, he roared his wrath and leaped upon his enemies.
As the lion sprang, the heart of Huzim was like to stop its beat in
fear. With a cry of anguish from above he plunged down the steep
declivity, heedless of stones and thorns that tore his flesh as he
rended a pathway through the interwoven shrubberies. He saw his
mistress crouch, and brace the butt of her hunting spear behind her on
the earth. He saw a tawny body hurtling through the air, to land on the
waiting spear point which, by reason of the brute's own weight, sank
deep into his neck; then the monster shot in a curve above the woman's
head and, snarling, fell among the rocks. With all her strength the
huntress clung to her weapon's haft, striving to hold her prey upon his
back, while the cautious Habal, with that over-plus of noise which
sometimes covers a lack of pluck, snapped viciously at the brush of the
lion's tail.
Panting, breathless with his toil, the Indian raced toward the spot,
notching an arrow as he came, yet Semiramis would have none of him.
"Hold, Huzim!" she cried. "On thy life dare loose a shaft! The kill is
mine!"
So Huzim stayed his hand, though it irked him sore to watch while his
mistress gripped her spear and was tossed like a rag upon the wind; but
at length the lion ceased to struggle, sighing, as he stretched his
splendid limbs in death.
Then Huzim--that trail-tried hunter, of many a fight more terrible than
this--did a thing which was full of strangeness in a man. Trembling, he
cast himself upon the earth, to clasp the feet of Semiramis, to kiss
them, and to weep as a child might weep; but his mistress laughed, and
patted Huzim's head, even as it was her wont to fondle Habal for a deed
of love.
Homeward they journeyed across the hills, Semiramis proud of the pelt
which Huzim bore, while Habal pranced before them, with the air of one
who had done this deed alone, and cared not a pinch of wind if the whole
world knew and marveled because of a most uncommon dog.
So the hunts went on, for Menon now was much abroad in quelling troubles
which arose on every hand; though often in his leisure hours he joined
the sport, and this Semiramis loved best of all.
Then the Kurds arose in fierce revolt, and the Governor needs leave his
wife for a longer space, though many a bitter tear she shed, in that he
would not suffer her to go. She was mad for a taste of war, mad as when
with kisses she had urged him on the temple steps at Ascalon; yet Menon
closed his ears alike to prayer and subtle argument. And thus it came
to pass that she dried her eyes and watched him depart alone.
Now the Kurds were a wild and valiant race of hillsmen dwelling among
the rocks, bold men who ceased to long for battle only when vultures
picked their carcasses; so Menon and his army journeyed forth and
laboured unto that end. He tracked them through wastes of sand, through
gorges where torrents rushed, and monster stones came thundering down
the pass; yet after a space he lured them to the centre of a plain and
sought to give them one more taste of Assyria's scourge. He screened a
strong reserve behind a hill, and then, in seeming disarray, marched
down upon the enemy, while the Kurds looked on and were overjoyed
because of the greater number of their warriors.
The Kurds awaited not the enemy's attack, but, shrieking in their
barbarous tongue, poured down the slope to catch him in a dip between
the hills.
In sooth the case of Assyria seemed evil, yet at a low command the
disorder vanished utterly. As if by magic warriors sprang into the
close-ranked form of a crescent moon, its curving front a line of
bristling spears, its long horns tipped by horse, while in the rear and
on either flank a cloud of bowmen waited for their prey.
In the hush before the storm a rider came spurring down the hill, to
fling himself from his winded steed and to fall at Menon's feet.
"Huzim!" breathed the Governor, in a nameless dread. "What now?"
"Forgive, my lord," the Indian begged upon his knees, "and slay me if
thou wilt. The lady Shammuramat--hath gone!"
"_Gone?_" cried Menon, whitening to the lips. "In the name of
Belit--where?"
"Nay, lord, I know not," Huzim, in his grief, protested wildly. "In the
hours of night she slipped away unseen. At morning, Habal, Scimitar and
she were gone. I tracked them hither, lord, and now--"
His speech was drowned in a rush of howling Kurds, their first line
breaking as a wave is shattered on a rock, their second crumpled,
bleeding, tossed back in heaps of slain, while the third for an instant
glared across the spears, then died as their brothers died. Yet more
came on, and more again, an endless stream of madmen, delirious in rage,
each caring naught for life so be it that he dragged a foeman down.
They hacked at lance heads with their clumsy swords and wormed their way
through the legs of the heaving front, till the crescent swayed and was
like to burst in rout. And still they came, like waves from out the
sea, to strike and fall, roll backward, rise and strike again.
The Governor had held the temper of his enemies in contempt too light,
and now repented of his rashness in giving them a vantage ground. He
looked for his horsemen screened behind the hill, but Kedah, their
captain, was not the man to charge without an order from his chief; so
Menon's soul was troubled for his army's fate.
"The reserve!" he roared into a courier's ear. "Ride on the wings of
hell! Nay, look! By the grace of all the gods, they come!"
Of a truth it was so. A cloud of horsemen swept along the ridge in the
form of a solid wedge, its sharp point aiming full at the foemen's
flank. To the front, three lengths ahead, a steed of Barbary ran low
against the earth, on its back a wild-eyed imp of war, unhelmeted, her
red hair whipping out behind. In her hand she waved a hunting spear, and
urged her men in a high, shrill scream that rang above the battle's
din--and the men came on as evil spirits drive. Downward they plunged,
to strike the Kurds with the shock of a thunder-bolt, to bore a ragged
pathway through the seething ruck; then turned and bored back again.
And now the hearts of the Kurds grew faint, and a scrambling rout began;
yet ere they could flee, the horsemen battered through their flank once
more, circled, and took them in their rear. The crescent steadied,
formed its line again, and spread to cut the Kurds' retreat; but Menon,
shouting words that were hoarse and strange, flung wisdom to the seven
winds, and charged.
Destruction dire might have come upon the enemy, but so long as he saw
that flaming head that rocked on a surf of reeling, blood-mad warriors,
he knew no thought save one--to reach Semiramis and be her shield. With
Huzim close behind he won his way through a tangle of plunging steeds
and men, but paused at last, to battle vainly at a human wall which he
might not pierce.
As it chanced, the Kurds were caught between two closing jaws which
pinched them as in a vice; yet full a third swarmed out at right and
left, to scurry away among the distant crags where none but snakes might
follow after.
The battle was done at last. A silence fell where the crash and roar of
carnage had resounded through the hills. The Assyrian footmen were
drawn in triple lines, and Menon recalled his horsemen who galloped far
and wide, impaling stragglers on their points. At last they came,
Semiramis in the lead, while behind her rode a soul-sick horseman, his
chin sunk low upon his breast. Kedah was he called, the captain in
whose command the reserve had been entrusted, and he who had charged
without his chieftain's word. In silence he dismounted; from his saddle
he produced a rope which he looped about his neck, then gave the end
into Menon's hand.
The Governor frowned darkly and his rage was deep; not that the officer
had charged without command, but because this underling had dared to
bring Semiramis into a raging, blood-bespattered pool of death.
"Speak, Kedah--the truth! Be brief!"
"My lord," replied the man, who thought himself about to die, "my lips
speak truth, as Belit watcheth me. I sat behind yon hill and waited for
the word to ride. I heard the tumult when the battle joined, and though
I yearned to come upon the dogs, I held my will in leash." The offender
paused, glanced backward at Semiramis, smiled, and spoke again: "Of a
sudden, my lord, this goddess dropped upon us from the clouds, for I
swear I saw her not till her grip was on mine arm and she cursed me in
mine ear. 'Fool!' she cried, 'why dawdle here when the great lord Menon
sweateth in the toils. At them, ye swine, or by the living gods I
charge alone!'"
Kedah paused, to shrug and spread his hands, palms upward.
"My lord, I came. I know not why I came--but came."
Another silence fell. The angered Governor looked from Kedah to
Semiramis. She sat her steed in the glory of a beauty dear to him; her
cheeks were flushed, her eyes aflame with battle-fires, her red locks
tumbling on a breast revealed, for her robe was rent and torn. Still
Menon's lips moved not; then Kedah raised his head, his fingers toying
nervously at his noose.
"My lord, I do perceive no tree in sight, yet, haply, further on--"
He stopped, for Semiramis loosed a ringing laugh and vaulted from the
back of Scimitar, to approach the chief without a sense of fear or
shame.
"My lord," said she, and pointed with her hunting spear, "if, in truth,
this sturdy warrior must hang, then first shalt thou hang Shammuramat."
She snatched the noose from Kedah's neck and laid it about her own.
"And harken, O Prince of Justice," she cried aloud, "in his throat this
fellow lieth! Aye, even to spare me thy reproof! It was I who
disobeyed, not he, for I told him I came at thine own command."
Now the lady had spoken no such thing, and, truly, it was as Kedah said;
yet the sweet lie joyed the hearts of the horsemen mightily, and a smile
ran rippling down the line. Presently Semiramis spoke again, humbly,
sadly, with her hands clasped tight, in the manner of a slave condemned
to die:
"My lord, I do perceive no tree in sight, yet, haply, further on--"
Then a roar of laughter burst from every rank, and even as it broke, so
yearned these men to break from their ordered lines, to hoist a
war-queen up and bear her on their harnessed backs, to shout her praise
aloud.
So Menon ceased to frown, for how could he hold his anger at a conqueror
of enemies and friends? Had she not saved his army and his very life
itself? What now! So he took her to his heart, though his heart was
sad. In a little space the tidings would leak abroad concerning this
warrior queen who was his wife, and because of love his soul grew dark
within him and was afraid.
On the homeward march Semiramis sought by many an art and wile to chase
away his gloom, but ever he would sigh and shake his head.
"Ah, love," he murmured, "now have we cut a link from out our chain of
happiness, for when my master learneth of this thing--"
"_Poof!_" she laughed. "'Twas worth a link or two of love; and even
though King Ninus naileth me against his wall, still will I have
thundered down that slope and tasted once of the wine of war. Smile,
Menon mine!"
And Menon smiled--in that she bade him smile.
CHAPTER X
THE LIFTING OF A TAX
The army marched swiftly back to Azapah, for the place was sore in need
of the Governor's fist. In his absence the people, growing bold, had
stoned his agents, slaying many in their hatred toward Assyria's King.
So Menon straightway rode from tribe to tribe, advising patience until
Nineveh was builded, when peace and plenty would once more lay upon the
land. Where wisdom and cunning failed to pacify, there Menon employed a
rod of force, even as Ninus held the growling hordes of Egypt beneath
his thumb. The King had grown vexed at reports from Karnak that the
children of the Nile were chafing beneath their yoke, so he sent swift
messengers, saying that upon the day when Egypt flew to arms, that day
would he crucify their Prince Memetis on the walls of Nineveh. And
Egypt ceased to growl.
In all his dealings with the tribes of Syria, Menon soon learned that
the wit of Semiramis was sharper than his own. When his strings of
policy grew twisted into knotted snarls, she would lay her fingers on
the hidden ends, pull deftly, and the skein was free again. Thus, more
and more, the Governor leaned upon the shoulder of his wife's advice,
till there came a time when, stricken by a fever, he gave the rule of
Syria into her hands.
Tenderly Semiramis nursed her lord through the life of a summer moon,
and yet not once did her eyelids close on the troubles beyond her house.
From there she sent her agents forth with oil upon their tongues, or
planned with Kedah, in whose command she placed the Assyrian force of
arms; for Kedah loved her with such a love as Habal gave, albeit he
rarely snapped at the brush of a lion's tail. In her best appointed
room she received the headmen of every tribe, who came with grievances,
or for favours great and small. To each she listened thoughtfully,
while scanning his face for flaws beneath the skin, then she dealt with
the man in accordance with his flaws. With the bold she was bold; with
the timid, gentle in her speech; with the sullen she soothed away the
temper in their hearts and made them whole again. On the vain she
smiled, nor recked the issue to his soul, while she laughed with the
gay, and was sober before the wise. Thus each man came and went,
rejoicing at departure because of his own uplifted understanding, yet
knowing not that the swaying of mortal flesh, to Semiramis, was a
master-art of arts.
"The juice of flattery," said she, "must needs be mixed with bread--not
honey-cakes--for an over-sweetness cloyeth and is vain."
Now it chanced, that among the dwellers at Azapah, there were those who
starved, alike on the bread of flattery and the little left them by the
grasp of tax; so they met in a secret place and contrived a plot to
destroy the Governor's house with fire, while those who slept therein
should come not forth alive. With the army close at hand they dare not
move; yet when Kedah led his force away to fall upon a certain band of
malcontents, the plotters over-powered the guards who were left behind,
slew them, then came to make their evil works complete.
At the hour of midnight Semiramis sat by Menon's couch, albeit the fever
now had passed and his body was on the mend; yet it joyed her thus to
mother him and to watch him while he slept. Habal lay yawning at her
feet, but of a sudden the bristles rose upon his back and a rasping
mutter trembled in his throat.
"Peace, Habal, peace!" his mistress urged, fearful lest the growls
disturb her lord; yet the dog would not be stilled. Crouched at the
stout-barred door, he growled afresh, and Semiramis knew full well that
Habal snuffed a trouble in the air; so, calling Hazim, she mounted to
the roof.
To the left she saw the tents of her guard in flames, while through the
night came a close-packed throng, their ugly visages alight in the glare
of many a torch. A hideous crew they were, the scum and evildoers of the
plains, half clothed, and armed with staves and stones. At the sight,
the heart of Semiramis grew cold within her breast--not for her own
alarm, but for him who slept below, and, shrinking with Huzim behind a
parapet, she waited, pondering hard and fast.
On came the crowd, full twenty score, who, if they would, might override
the Governor's feeble strength in the twinkling of an eye, dash down the
doors and drag the inmates forth to butchery. Yet ere a torch could be
set against the walls, the plotters saw a woman leap upon the parapet
above, to smile upon them and raise her hands in glad surprise, as
though they bore her precious wedding gifts.
"Greeting!" she cried. "What seek ye of Shammuramat?"
Now a murderer's liver is a cousin to his slinking mind, and these who
came were murderers. Of a certainty, had they reached the house by
stealth, they would have burned it to the earth, showing no mercy to the
Governor or his wife. Yet when this vision stood upon the housetop, not
as one who pleads for life, but as a master knowing them for the cattle
which they were, then the plotters faltered in their course and paused.
A silence fell, and for a moment no man found his tongue.
"What seek ye of Shammuramat?"
"The Governor!" cried a voice amongst the throng. "The Governor! Give
him into our hands!"
"Ah!" said the lady upon the roof, as she nodded pleasantly. "Ah, I
see! Right gladly would my lord come out to you, but my lord is not
within." She raised her hand to check a murmur of dissent, and smiled.
"If friends would speak with him, I pray them wait for a little space,
for even now he returneth with his men-at-arms. Harken!" She placed a
hand behind her ear and gazed toward the north, whence Kedah and his
force would come at dawn. "Harken to the clatter of his cavalry and the
beat of hoofs upon the plain. Patience, good friends--he cometh!"
They listened, tricked for an instant by her words, but only the croak
of frogs and the hum of insects sounded on the breeze; then the cowards'
muttering swelled into a roar of rage. A volley of stones was flung
against the house, one missile striking her upon the temple, causing her
to totter on the roof's edge dizzily, while a trickle of blood ran down
her cheek. Huzim had marked the man who hurled this stone, and, cursing,
he set an arrow on his bow; but the mistress stayed his hand.
"Down, Huzim! I yet may deal with them. Be not a fool!"
Once more she turned to the scowling men who had stopped their rush when
they saw the wound to one on whom their vengeance lay not so heavily;
yet they hung in the balance now, and the weight of a hair might tip the
beam.
"Perchance," she called aloud, "ye have a grievance, just, and one which
I might quickly mend. What, then, would ye have of me?--I who have ever
kept my promises, even though it brought me wounds, as I now am wounded
at your hands. Speak! If it lieth within my power to grant--"
She was checked by a babel of discordant cries from the tongue of each
who sought above the rest to air a separate woe; and Semiramis smiled
within herself, though she frowned upon them with the dark displeasure
of a queen.
"Be silent, dogs!" she commanded, fiercely. "What! Would ye burst my
ears with the yelpings of your pack? Have done!"
They stared. She had them marveling now, and would keep them marveling,
lest idle thought breed mischief ere she clipped its wings.
"Let one step forth!" she called. "Your leader. What! Is there not one
man in all this valiant throng?" She paused to raise her eyes and
hands. "Dear Ishtar, pity them!"
A mighty murmuring arose, when each man nudged his fellow, urging him to
speak for all, till at last a hairy-chested, black-browed villain pushed
toward the front--the same who had flung the stone, and Huzim's fingers
curled about his bow, and he whimpered in restraint.
The leader spoke. He made his charge against the Governor who pressed,
he said, upon the people till their children cried aloud for food. He
lied; yet he lied with a certain air of honesty; and as he marked each
point, the rabble applauded him, while their fury was like to bubble up
afresh. He told of his nation staggering beneath the load of an unjust
tax, when Ninus built him palaces wherein to squander wealth in wild
debauchery. His people, he declared, were overjoyed to obey the King
and pay him tribute according to the law; but when he sought to starve
them by the right of might, then Syria bared her teeth. Justice they
asked--no more--and received the lash.
"Stay!" cried Semiramis, seeing that the crowd was pushed by frenzy to
the danger line. "If your hearts are hot against the King alone, why
then would ye seek to harm my lord who standeth between the wrath of
Ninus and your worthless carcasses?"
A reckless speech it was, and well she knew that she laid her finger on
an open sore.
"Why?" the leader thundered. "Why? Because we would strike the master
through the man! A Governor shall be no more in Syria, save a Governor
dead!" Amid hoarse shoutings he lifted up his voice again: "If Menon
would plunder bread from the mouths of women, let Menon come forth
alone, to reckon with their sons--their brothers--and those who love
them as they love their land."
A tumult now arose. The torch-lights flickered on a sea of upturned
faces, black with wrath, distorted by the passions of ferocious men full
ripe for a deed of blood. They gathered for a rush; great stones were
raised aloft, and flaming brands were whirled in eager fists.
But Semiramis had one shaft in her quiver still, and, setting it upon
the string of craft, she let it fly. She flung her arms toward the sky,
and laughed--a shrill, derisive peal that echoed far beyond the
outskirts of the band and for an instant checked its charge; then, from
the housetop, she pointed a scornful finger at the black-browed chief.
"Thou child!" she cried. "Thou suckling babe! Thou fool! to whom the
asses of the wilderness are as oracles! What! Hast thou, then, not
heard?" She paused, to give her listeners the space of an indrawn
breath, then full in their teeth she launched a master-lie.
"Harken!" she cried, "and bend your knees in gratitude. _King Ninus
hath lifted his tax from Syria--and no man needs must pay!_"
A hush of wonder fell upon the throng, and in the silence Semiramis
heard a rustling at her side. Turning, she looked into Menon's eyes,
grown large in fear, and seeming larger still against the pallor of his
pain-drawn face. He had heard the tumult and had risen from his couch,
to crawl to the house-top, trembling in the weakness of his state.
"_Belit!_" he gasped in hoarse dismay. "What madness wouldst thou do?"
"Nay, wait!" she whispered. "Huzim, hold thy master, that these madmen
see him not." Then she turned to the crew below. "Oho!" she scoffed.
"I see that ye are filled with shame; yet hear the end. At the prayers
of my lord the Governor, King Ninus harkened to your murmurings, and
giveth unto Syria what he giveth no other land. Not only doth he lift
the burden of your tax, but commandeth that no man pay a sum which he
payeth not of his own desire; wherein the King would measure generosity,
not by force, but love. Moreover, he offereth a high reward in the
nature of a prize. To the tribe which may aid his needs by the largest
store, that tribe will Ninus set above all other tribes in riches and in
power, receiving its headmen as his honoured guests at Nineveh." Once
more the speaker paused, till the meaning of her words had sunk into
wondering ears. "What now," she asked, "is the King a tyrant, or your
Governor a beast to slay?"
For a moment more a silence held the marveling men, then they broke into
a mighty roar, shouting while they stamped upon their torches, weeping,
cheering lustily for Menon and the King. Yet Semiramis was not yet done
with them. She raised her hand for silence, pointed to the smoking
ruins of the camp, and spoke in her sternest tone:
"For what ye have done this night, my lord forgiveth you because of your
swinish ignorance. Yet have a care, for every evil face amongst your
pack is chiseled on my memory. Once, not twice, the Governor may
forgive, and a rope there is in Syria for each offending neck. Now go!
and thank the gods for the little wisdom ye have learned."
So the murderers dispersed, and, silent, scattered far and wide to seek
their homes, while a priestess of guile, who lingered on the housetop,
looked after them and laughed.
"Menon mine," she murmured, filled with glee, as she smoothed the
pillows on his couch, "by Ishtar I swear 'twas keener sport than a dash
against the Kurds!"
* * * * *
Menon and Semiramis took thought together, long and earnestly; for now,
when the Syrians learned how they had been deceived, the ashes of murder
would burst again in flames. Menon was for hanging every man who had
sought to burn his house, but Semiramis said nay.
"By craft have we sown a seed; by craft will we nurture it and eat the
fruit."
Thus it came to pass that a cunning proclamation was sent throughout the
land, and the simple peoples rejoiced and sang songs of praise because
of the lifting of their tax. Moreover the many tribes began to vie with
one another for the prize which Semiramis had offered in the name of
Ninus, till unto Azapah they brought such stores of metals and of food,
that Menon reaped a harvest far beyond his dreams. Where tribes were
wont to dole their tribute out through doubled fists, they now came
swiftly and unbidden, with treasures on their backs--for men look not
where their footsteps fall when chasing swamp-flies to a goal of greed
and power.
And now to Nineveh came mighty stores of grain and wine, long lines of
sheep and cattle, asses, goats, and the water buffalo. Metals came
likewise, silver, gold and brass; fruits were there also, and honey in
earthen jars. Whatever dry Syria owned, that Syria sent, till Ninus,
seeing this stream of riches pouring through his gates, sat down upon
his stool both suddenly and hard, in the grip of profound amaze.
"Now by the great lord Asshur," he muttered in his beard, "these eyes of
mine have never looked upon the like before! In thought have I wronged
my Menon grievously, for in truth he loveth me with a love that is rare
amongst the sons of men."
CHAPTER XI
THE SANDAL AND THE STRAWS
And now came a day when Nineveh was Nineveh at last, and Ninus stood
upon his palace roof and was glad because of the Opal of the East. At
his feet a vast brown city lay--a city builded by his heart--each brick
a monument to other hearts that broke in rearing temples to Assyria's
gods. In the streets a busy hum of trade arose, where marts and booths
were opened to the sale of a thousand wares; where citizens in gala
dress swarmed in and out of unfamiliar doors; where troops of children
danced in wreaths of flowers, or white-robed priests filed past,
chanting their deep-toned songs and bearing loads in sacrifice to the
temple of Nineb and up its winding ziggurat.
From the palace steps a broad, smooth road ran down to the western gate
and was lined by effigies of stone, great winged bulls, and lions
crouching as for a spring. Around it all the mighty wall lay coiled,
its top of a width whereon three chariots might be driven abreast, while
above rose a thousand and a half a thousand towers.
The army still encompassed Nineveh around, yet the King was not for war.
He looked on his work and sighed a sigh of peace, then stretched his
mighty limbs and prepared a lion hunt. For three long years his heart
had yearned for sports afield, with a yearning which hunters alone may
know; yet, because of his vow, the bow and spear were left untouched by
the monarch's hand.
Consulting his oracles, and likewise the prophet Azet whose arts
foretold great deeds of wonder to his arms, the King appointed another
Governor in Syria and commanded Menon to join him on the banks of the
lower Euphrates. Here game might be found in plenty where Ninus had
known rare pleasures of the chase in former days; so, smiling, he set
him forth.
When the messengers had come to Azapah, Menon bowed to the master's will
and departed with a heavy heart, first sending Semiramis with Huzim back
to Ascalon, to dwell for a little space till chance might bring him into
Syria again. He reached the banks of the Euphrates and waited the royal
hunter till a moon had waned; but Ninus came not, because of the
slowness of his journey to the place.
The King, in sitting much upon his tower while Nineveh was being
builded, had laid a deal of fat upon his bones, and tedious travel irked
him; moreover, in the hunt his breath was shorter than of yore and his
thews less strong. Yet the mind may ofttimes entertain a zeal beyond
the body's power, and in this King Ninus brewed a trouble for
himself--but the trouble was yet to come.
* * * * *
Semiramis, at parting with her lord, wept bitter tears; yet she, too,
bowed where wisdom left no loophole of escape, and journeyed with Huzim
and Habal back to Ascalon. And here her grief must find another stab,
keener, deeper, more sad than the parting from one who would come again;
for in the house of Simmas an old man lay asleep--a woman's sandal
pressed against his beard.
They buried Simmas far out upon the hillside, where in years gone by a
babe was mothered by a flock of doves. The babe was a woman now, who
loved her foster-father tenderly and above all others save her lord
alone; so she wept beside the grave for many days.
"A dove was he," she whispered to her lonely heart, "so fond, so gentle
in his ministries--a dove that winged his flight and left me, only
because of Ishtar's yearning cry."
In her two long years of absence Semiramis had oft'times dreamed of
Ascalon, longing to roam its hills once more or to swim in its cool,
green lake; yet now it all seemed strangely poor and small. The shores
of the lake had shrunk together in the night; the hills were not so high
as the hills of yore, nor the trees so green; the vault of the very sky
itself seemed pressing down to smother her, and the smell of the very
earth was not the same. Ah, if she were like to Habal who could see no
change in the march of time; yet Habal was but a dog!
Now, concerning this dog, the mistress erred and grievously. Not only
did he mark the change in Ascalon, but a greater one within himself. He
swaggered through the village with his tail held high, in the manner of
one who had done large deeds abroad, passing old canine friends without
a sniff or wag, yet eying interlopers scornfully. On these he would
fall at the slightest wink of provocation, and leave his memory marked
upon their hides; so his name became a wonder unto other dogs.
Semiramis was not of Habal's stamp, nor did she boast of her deeds
abroad; yet still their memory beckoned, till her soul was full with a
great unrest. At home she was idle, grieving for the things so changed,
wandering through a house made desolate by the flight of those she
loved. Old friends would come--gaunt shepherds, gazing on her beauty
with the eyes of cattle that rove the hills--to linger, then slink away
to hide the passion in their hearts.
"Home! Home!" she cried. "No longer is it home, for the dove hath
flown, and my lord is not beside me in the gloom!"
Through the hush of night there were whispers on the wind--relentless
ghosts that glide from the outer world to mock us with their sighs; to
bring on their garments odours of the days that were, and the hopes of
other days to come; to haunt us, till we harken to their murmurings and
know not peace.
They called to Semiramis, these whispers, in the name of love, whence
Menon seemed to stretch his arms in loneliness. They called through a
shattered fringe of Kurds who screamed and struggled under hoof and
heel; they called in the tongues of madmen whirling torches round and
round, their evil faces yellow in the flame and smoke. They called her
to deeds of arms--to work--to power. Oh, Ishtar, if she might ride
under whip and spur to Nineveh, and pit her wits against the King! To
play the thirsty game, with life the stake, its hazard on a single cast!
Ah, if she might glide, as these ghosts were gliding through the night,
far out beyond the rim of solitude, to the teeming battle-ground of
hearts and men!
For days she wandered, silent, yearning to be gone, while the faithful
Huzim dogged her every step. His master had admonished him to watch his
charge with a winkless eye, lest spirit override her reason and tempt
her to a recklessness. It troubled Huzim thus to be a jailer to one he
loved, yet the master's will was law, so the Indian followed ever on her
trail.
Semiramis knew no peace nor rest, and at last she came to Dagon's temple
down beside the lake, to lay her sorrows on the fish-god's knees and ask
a sign.
All day, all night, she prayed, yet when the dawn came oozing from out
the east, the face of Dagon was as a face of stone. The suppliant sat
upon the temple steps, weary, warring with despair. With listless eyes
she watched a beetle crawling at her feet, then, of a sudden, hope rose
up and lived. She grasped the bug between her thumb and finger, holding
it above the surface of the lake, while she closed her teeth as a
gambler might at the whirl of his last remaining coin.
"Now this," she murmured to herself, "shall tell me of Dagon's will. If
the beetle swim, I go! If he sink, I rot in Ascalon!"
She cast it in, smiling, for she knew right well that the bug must
float, yet turning her back lest Dagon mark her knowledge of such
things. For an instant the victim struggled pleasingly with leg and
wing, while the smile of Semiramis broadened in its reach, to flicker,
to fade, to die. A monster carp came upward with a rush. One snap, and
the tempting morsel disappeared, thus making the fish-god's judgment
clear, beyond the very hem of Redemption's robe.
Semiramis sat upon the temple's steps, her chin upon her hands, her eyes
on a wheel of ripples that widened away from its hub of swift calamity.
She pondered long, her thoughts like cats in trees, with Habal barking
furiously below.
"He sank," she sighed. "Of a certainty he sank. I may not make it
otherwise. And yet"--she paused to steal a glance at Dagon's face--"and
yet the fool _did_ swim for a _little_ space. Mayhap--" Again she
paused, then spread her hands and raised her eyes appealingly. "In
truth my beetle proveth naught at all. For a space he swam. For a
space he sank. Dagon, Dagon, what meanest thou in this?"
No answer came. Once more she pondered, her fair brow puckered with the
lines of deep perplexity; till, presently, the truant colour raced to
her cheek again and her great eyes lit with the flame of understanding.
"Ah!" she breathed. "Ah, now I see. Thou meanest, O wise and radiant
one, that, _sink or swim_, must I do this thing. What!" she cried,
"hast thou, thyself, not said it? And, lo! I am but a weak and foolish
woman in thy power. Ah, Dagon, Dagon, thou art a crafty god, indeed!"
In haste Semiramis left the temple door, and, singing loudly, tripped
toward her home. Her god had sent a sign. She was free to journey now
as her heart desired. Free! And yet, a doubt came prowling after
her--a watchful, sleepless doubt that dogged her steps, even as Huzim
slipped upon her trail from his hiding-place behind a stone. On the
hill she paused, to mutter to herself in a soothing tone:
"The sign is clear. Did I linger on in Ascalon, some evil might befall
me, even as that carp arose to snatch my beetle in his greedy maw. Did
Menon know, he would urge that I fly to him without delay."
She went her way and took up her song again, but paused to reason with a
small brown toad that hopped across her path.
"Little beast," said she, "thou comest as a warning of some ugly chance,
the which, I confess, hath filled me with the juice of fear. Therefore
will I hasten out of Syria in time."
She walked around the toad with care, and, singing, journeyed on till
she reached the house where the old dove Simmas dwelt in days gone by.
At the door she lingered, ere she raised the latch, for one last
argument in the cause of a heart's desire.
"Now Dagon," she reflected, grieving at the thought, "is in truth a
careless god in the matter of his signs. Had Ishtar cursed me with a
simple mind, I might have misinterpreted, alas!"
Semiramis then slept, to dream of Menon till the shades of night wore
on, and in her dreams found weightier reasons which she laid on the
fish-god's judgment scale.
"Huzim," she asked, when the Indian had brought the evening meal, "did I
seek escape from Ascalon, what course would thy duty run?"
"Mistress," he answered her, "like an arrow in my heart is the thought
of force with one whose happiness is held above my hopes of peace; yet
the master's will is the master's will, and a servant must obey."
"Ah," she nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, I see! Yet if, by chance, I slipped
away in the gloom of night, as I did at Azapah--what then?"
The Indian cast a troubled gaze upon the floor, and heaved a sigh.
"I would follow, mistress, as before I followed, till I fell because of
weariness."
"Then follow!" said Semiramis, "for I go to join my lord at Nineveh--and
to tickle the lion's nose with straws."
CHAPTER XII
THE SORROWS OF A KING
King Ninus, lord of all Assyria, lay cursing in his royal litter, while
slaves and attendants bore him northward on the banks of the Euphrates.
Presently they left their course, struck eastward till they reached the
Tigris and again turned north, whence, with many rests and long, forced
marches in the cool of night, the stricken King at length was placed
upon his couch at Nineveh.
Full many a grievous matter rode upon the monarch's mind, and the pale
attending leech wrought vainly to quell his patient's fever, one
augmented by a sleepless, boiling rage within. By day the King would
fret; by night he rioted throughout his dreams and found no rest.
First there was his wound, a ragged, half-healed gash, laid open by a
lion's claw and running from a point beneath his arm-pit to his hip. It
was not the wound itself, nor the pain thereof, which fired the hunter's
wrath, but rather the truth that he, Raman-Nirari--the greatest hunter
since beasts and hunters were--should miss his kill and seek his life in
flight. Of witnesses there were only three: Shidur-Kam, a warrior whom
the King might trust to entrench his tongue behind his teeth, and a
slave who was safer still, for Ninus had cast his body into the
Euphrates; but, then, there was a girl--a red-haired girl--who perched
in the boughs of a citron tree and laughed as the King sped underneath,
a wounded lion leaping at his horse's haunch.
At another time the monarch might have held this face, and the echo of a
bubbly laugh, in pleasing memory; yet raillery, directed at a royal
personage in the stress of flight, begets a recollection of a different
breed. So the mocking laughter haunted Ninus through all the day and
caused him to wake at night and grind his teeth in fury.
"Argol," said he, to the faithful leech beside him, "give order that a
thousand horse repair to the region of our lion hunt. Command them to
scour the country round about in a circuit of thirty leagues and bring
me every red-haired wench they may chance to find. By Gibil's flame! I
have a pressing need of them!"
The leech sighed sadly, tapped upon a gong of bronze, then waited in
silence till an officer strode in, saluted, and sank upon his knees.
The order given and the soldier gone, Argol administered a sleeping
draught and sat once more at his weary post.
Yet the King slept not, for still another matter lay heavy on his heart.
There was a certain man called Azet, the venerable seer who had
prophesied with lies. Before the hunt he had opened the carcasses of
seven cranes, finding in the entrails of each and all an omen of
success. Full thirty beasts, said Azet, should the King o'ercome,
returning unto Nineveh triumphant and sound of limb. Was not this
prophet, then, to blame for the ills which had come to pass? Wherefore
should he prophesy unto evil ends, or cause witch-women to laugh from
the boughs of citron trees? Could virtue not be found in the vitals of
seven sacred cranes? or was this holy man but a monster and a fool?
The King's dark brow grew darker still with troublous thought, as he
questioned his leech for the hundredth time in fretful tones:
"Argol, good Argol, tell me, I pray thee, man, how in the name of Asshur
may I teach this wretch to mend his auguries?"
"My lord," the leech replied, as he raised his drooping lids and gazed
out dreamily to where the Tigris flowed, "my lord, the breath of man
ariseth from his breast, but in his throat are shaped his evil
prophecies."
"Eh--what?" the King demanded. "What manner of speech is this, and how
doth it run with Azet and his seven cranes?"
"Hang him, my lord," said Argol, drowsily, and turned away.
A slow smile lit the features of the King, while for a space he
pondered, plucking at his coverlet; then, summoning an officer, he gave
an order in a weak but cheerful voice, at the same time causing his
couch to be removed to a shaded spot upon the palace roof. Here, with
his watch-worn leech beside him, he could lie at ease and feast his eyes
on the glory of completed Nineveh. Across his terraced gardens where
fountains sparkled in the sun, he could see the temple of Asshur and of
Ishtar upon their hills; likewise the temple of the fire-god Gibil,
above whose dome a wreath of smoke hung low, belched upward from the
flames beneath. He could see his streets, his marts, his mighty gates
and the tawny plains beyond where the Tigris and the Khusur ran. He
could see his wall--that shield of his heart's desire--which made his
city a fortress against the world; yet the thoughts of Ninus were not
for walls and shields.
He watched a thousand horsemen pass the western gate and gallop swiftly
down the river bank, then disappear from Nineveh for the space of many
days. The chief was a man of little love beyond his sword and steed,
one, who would give short shift to devils with flame-hued hair, and the
heart of the King was glad.
Of a sudden a tumult rose from the streets below, while a concourse
gathered, and a sound of weeping ascended to the palace roof. Through
the surging throng a band of soldiers fought their way, leading the
prophet Azet toward the wall and beating back the populace with the
butts of their heavy spears.
The western gate was spanned by a monster arch, on the shoulder of which
sat the highest tower of all, and thither the soldiers led their victim
by a winding stair. When at last they appeared on the turret's edge, a
wail of anguish rang out afresh, while the multitude gazed upward,
swarming to and fro.
"Now truly," chuckled Ninus as he watched, "this fellow hath a wondrous
following, who, because of their ignorance, grieve at things they may
not understand."
From the turret the soldiers thrust a wooden beam; from the end thereof
they hanged the prophet by a noose, and, according to a writing set
above the gate, "The prophecies of Azet ceased to be throughout the
land."
Argol then bound his master's wound in a healing salve, and the sufferer
straightway slept for many hours; on waking, his fever had departed
utterly, so he mended in body and in mind. He appointed another
prophet, one Nakir-Kish, a wise and observing man whose promises of good
and ill were the like of kites, the strings thereof being held within
his hand till his eye had marked the temper of all heavenly winds. Thus
Nakir-Kish endured.
King Ninus now sent for Bobardol, a sculptor of high renown, the same
who had carven a famous bull that had, in all, five legs. This extra
limb might at first seem strange and at odds with Nature's own design;
yet, even so, it had its marked advantages. An observer gazing on this
masterpiece--no matter where he stood--might always perceive four legs;
"And that," said Bobardol, "is Art." So Ninus was pleased, and retained
the sculptor in his service.
The King gave order for a monster _stele_, whereon should be carven a
scene from the lion hunt, the monarch being pictured, not in wild
retreat, but faced about and causing great discomfiture to a mighty foe.
True, the attitudes of the King of Assyria and the king of beasts would
be quite reversed, yet Ninus was a god whose front was more imposing
than his back; moreover it _would_ have been as pictured had Azet not
prophesied with lies. Shall a King be held to blame where foolish
servants err through ignorance? Not so!
The sculptor Bobardol now set to work, while Ninus commanded a sumptuous
feast to be prepared, whereby he might celebrate his triumphs in the
chase. His soldiers and populace should pass in lines through the palace
hall and gaze in awe upon this unveiled tablet, set up to the glory of
the high lord Asshur--and to the glory of the King.
While waiting this work of art, and at the same time resting so that his
wound might heal, Ninus was wont to recline within his litter which was
borne along the top of the city wall. Here he could watch at will, or
give directions in the order of another enterprise which dwelt in his
mind and heart. Three years had now passed by since his warriors turned
tail from Zariaspa; and the time approached when Ninus must seal his
promises to rake the ashes of this city into sacks and with them feed
the waters of the sea.
The army encamped within and without the walls of Nineveh was twice so
great as that which had failed in the former siege, and Ninus gave much
thought to the plans of his second war. On the plain a wall had been
erected, in height and thickness measuring that of Zariaspa, and here
the Assyrians practiced methods of assault. Great carts they had, with
platforms twenty cubits above their wheels, propelled by slaves who were
hidden underneath, while above the platforms ladders rose and slanted
toward the wall. Up these the men-at-arms would clamber rapidly, to
grapple with defenders at the top; and so great was their zeal in this
mimic war that many lives were lost because of it. There were tall
machines which worked on pivots, whose swinging buckets could set a
score of men upon a parapet; there were towers faced by armor-plates of
brass, from the crests of which wide bridges might be flung, while
warriors swarmed across to engage the enemy. Huge catapults were built,
of new design and hurling power, some casting single rocks, and others
to rake a battlement with a volley of smaller stones. Full many a
strange machine of cunning workmanship was thus devised and stored
against departure, when the King would once more lead his armies to the
East.
In the lowgrounds and on the rolling slopes beyond the river Khusur
which flows between the mounds of Koyunjik and Nebbi Yunas, myriads of
oxen and beasts of burden were set to graze upon the pasture-lands.
These had been employed in the building up of Nineveh, and now were
resting for a further need, for their final strength would be utilized
in hauling the traps of war through desert lands and toilsome ways, on
spongy forest roads to the hills beyond, up heavy mountain slopes to
gorges between the peaks of Hindu-Kush. Thence they would scramble down
into the plains of Bactria, to become at last the food for a hungry
host; and thus the cattle served unto many ends.
The waiting army was under sole command of Menon, whose heart was now
divided between two loves. To prepare for war would have joyed him
vastly, except for his vow to wed Sozana when Zariaspa fell before the
King; and this he might not do because of Semiramis, of whom he dreamed
as resting peacefully in the valley of Ascalon. Had Ninus spoken aught
to him of the red-haired imp who laughed from the bough of a citron
tree, Menon's heart might then have borne a double weight; but the
happening was not that quality of jest on which a monarch is pleased to
regale his chiefs.
It chanced on a certain day that Menon was summoned to the palace for a
council with the King, and, striding through the gardens, he came with
suddenness upon Sozana, who sat alone. Fair was she, with the beauty of
a childish maid; yet in her green simar, and the silvery veil which was
wound about her throat, Sozana was a princess, from her raven hair to
the jeweled sandals on her tiny feet.
Since returning from Syria Menon had found no opportunity for speech
with her, and now he came forward joyously, his hands outstretched. At
the sound of footsteps Sozana had risen from her seat, but, on seeing
him, she gave a little cry of disappointment and of pain, flushed
crimson and turned away without an answer to his greeting; and when he
sought to question her concerning such treatment of an old-time friend,
she sank upon a bench, to weep as though her heart would break.
For a moment Menon stood irresolute, then, as he began to speak again, a
hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, turning, he looked into the eyes
of Memetis the Egyptian, a youth whom he loved as he might have loved
his mother's son, but who now refused his greeting coldly, spurning the
proffered hand and placing his own behind his back.
"How now," asked Menon, "is this the manner of Memetis to his friends?"
"Nay," returned Memetis, frowning as he spoke; "true friends I greet in
love and tenderness; the false may rest with Hathor ere I take their
hands."
Then it came upon Menon that Memetis and Sozana knew of the mandate of
the King, and were bitter in their thoughts of one who came between them
and their happiness.
"Memetis," the Assyrian asked, "is it, then, to the walls of Zariaspa
that thine eyes are turned, fearing lest a friend hath juggled with thy
trust as a traitor might?"
The Egyptian's black eyes glowed in anger which he vainly strove to
check, while his fingers played about the hilt of a dagger at his belt.
"Aye," he answered bitterly, "to the walls of Zariaspa do I turn mine
eyes, for with their fall falls every hope which Isis dangled before my
foolish heart. And thou!" he cried, "the false! The treacherous! who
would tear Sozana from mine arms, aye, even as the hawk would swoop upon
a nest of doves!"
Menon strove to speak, but the Egyptian would not harken to his words.
The Assyrian faced Sozana, stretching forth his hand, but Memetis sprang
between them, drawing his dagger, and in a low, fierce whisper spoke his
wrath:
"Lay but a finger on this maid, or speak her name again, and as Osiris
liveth, will I take thy life!"
Menon looked into the lover's eyes, and slowly spread his arms.
"Strike!" he murmured sadly. "Strike, and learn from other lips than
mine that Memetis is a fool."
He waited, but the Egyptian made no move, because of the sorrow on the
face of one who had been a cherished friend.
"And dost thou dream," asked Menon, pointing to the girl who wept beside
him, "that I would willingly bring sorrow to this child? Nay, listen,
both, then judge me when ye know the truth."
The Egyptian's hand sank down beside him, and his blade was tossed upon
the earth.
"Speak on," he begged, "but, oh, my friend, I pray thee show me no
mirage of hope that melteth when a thirsty traveller would drink."
So Menon sat between them on the bench and told them of Semiramis. He
told of the artifice by which he sought to gull the King, in a firm
belief that Zariaspa would not fall; and yet, should chance prove
otherwise, he would fly with his wife into Arabia, where Prince Boabdul
offered them a safe retreat. He spoke of his life in Syria, of the
wonder of his love for her whom he left behind; and as the tale went on
Sozana dried her tears and held the teller's hand in both her own, for
she and Memetis knew at last that Menon betrayed no trust in him, and
their hearts were glad because of a hope restored.
"Forgive," Memetis pleaded as his friend arose; and Menon smiled, bent
down and kissed Sozana as a brother might, then left them with a heavy
heart to seek the King.
Ninus still reclined upon his couch--for his hurt was yet unhealed--and
rested beneath the shade of a canopy on the palace roof, whiles he
waited in impatience for Menon's coming till the hour was past. Now it
is not good to linger when a wounded monarch waits, so Ninus fretted,
combing at his beard as was his wont when matters troubled him or anger
rose.
"How now," he asked, when Menon came at length with a hasty step, "am I
the master, or do I sleep, to awaken presently and find myself a
servant--_thou_ the King?"
"Forgive, my lord," begged Menon, falling on his knee; "King Ninus
sleepeth not. 'Twas the servant who drowsed beside the way. In the
garden below I chanced upon Sozana with whom I have held no speech
since--"
"Ah!" said the King, his anger fading, while a smile began to play about
his mouth. "So the eagle needs must wait when pigeons peck at love.
Speak on, my son."
Menon flushed and cast his gaze upon the floor.
"I--I sat with her, my lord, and spoke of many things, taking no thought
of how the moments flew, till--"
"Hark!" said Ninus, as he raised his hand. "Can it be that I hear Sozana
singing from the garden there?" Menon listened, nodded, and the King
went on: "Strange!" he mused. "For days she hath tasted lightly of her
food, and sighed and drooped her head; yet now at thy coming she hath
straightway plumed herself, and pipeth a saucy song. Look thou, master
fox, what miracle is this?"
Menon flushed again and smiled a foolish smile; yet he answered
cunningly, with a lingering grip on the slippery skin of truth:
"My lord, I--I whispered into the maiden's ear."
"Oho!" laughed Ninus. "Now by my beard, I'd give a goodly sum to learn
thine art. But come, what chanced to be the burden of this pretty
speech?"
"As to that," said Menon boldly, in a manner which ever pleased his
lord, "my whisper is a secret in the keeping of discretion's tongue and
the maiden's ear alone."
"U'u'm!" mused Ninus. "How many men-at-arms are now prepared to take
the field against our good friend Oxyartes?"
For a space the two discussed their plans for a second war against the
Bactrians, then Menon saluted his master's hand and took his leave.
Alone, the King lay thinking on his war, when of a sudden his thought
was disarranged by the notes of another song, no longer Sozana's voice,
but that of a man, deep, tender, and pleasing to the ear:
Like Love is the fragile Lotus bud,
When kissed by the gleaming, golden flood
Of light from shining Ra;
It blooms 'neath the warm, caressing beams
On the Nile of Life, and its blossom seems
To shine as a milk-white star.
But lo! when the fateful season turns,
And the tawny desert glows and burns,
Shimmering, parched, and dry--
As the vanquished foe to the victor stoops,
All faded and shriveled the Lotus droops--
And, withered, it falls to die!
"Strange!" mused Ninus, combing at his beard. "The Egyptian sitteth with
Sozana in the gardens down below and singeth a song of love; albeit I
mark that his song be sad.... Yet--why should he sing at all, the fool!
Doth he, too, whisper into the maiden's ear, and--"
The monarch paused abruptly, to call to his faithful leech in a tone of
petulance:
"Argol! come stroke my side in the region of my wound; for I tell thee,
man, it itcheth damnably."
CHAPTER XIII
THE SKIN OF A ONE-EYED LION
The throne-hall of the palace was of lofty pitch--and of spacious depth
and width. In its rear, through arches, lay an open portico, while
beyond could be seen the Valley of the Tigris and the reaches of the
river on its journey to the sea. Within were carven pillars of marble
and of stone brought hither by utmost toil from foreign lands; likewise
other pillars of malachite, of silver, and of hammered gold, draped with
hangings of purple and embroidered stuffs from the treasure-stores of
far Phoenicia. There were curious arms, the trophies of chase and war,
rare gifts from conquered princes sent to Nineveh through love or fear,
and the mounted heads and skins of beasts which had fallen before the
King's own spear and shafts.
The entrance was set with chiselled lions, and winged bulls in miniature
of those which guarded the western gate, while the walls were lined with
_steles_, whereon were pictured the battles of the King, his deeds of
prowess in the hunt, his sacrifices at the altars of his gods.
On the ceiling stretched a tessellated emblem of all the deities wrought
cunningly with bits of tinted stone and precious gems, a work of art so
fabulous in price that even the spendthrift Ninus drew his breath when
the cost thereof was known to him. In the centre sat the great lord
Asshur in his godly robes, his breast adorned with the winged disk
designed in pearls and sapphires on a base of lapis-lazuli. Before high
Asshur King Ninus knelt, obedient to the heavenly will alone, while
around them were grouped the lesser deities--Raman hurling forth his
lightning forks, Bel in his horned cap, red Gibil peering out through
sacrificial flame and smoke, Belit princess of the dawn, Shala, Nebo,
Nineb, and Nerga of the chase, Shamashi-Raman, father of the King--a
heavenly litter of divinities, each dear to the heart of his special
worshipper.
On a sumptuous throne sat Ninus, with Sozana at his side, for the queen
had passed away ere Nineveh was complete; so now his daughter held the
highest place in the monarch's heart. The hall was thronged with
chieftains, priests, and the king's good friends. At the feet of Ninus
sat Menon, and at his side the Arabian Prince, Boabdul Ben Hutt, whom
the king had urged to grace his festival. There were kings of Tyre and
Sidon, from beside the Sea of the Setting Sun, whose cities sent their
caravans of tribute and of tax with muttered curses trailing after them;
and likewise came the sons of Canaan, giant Khatti chiefs still restless
beneath their yoke, princes of Babylon, Syrians, lords of the desert and
the sea; grim mountaineers who had fought like rats in the caverns of
their rocky homes; governors, rulers, and a swarm of wives and daughters
of these men, all now unveiled at the mandate of the King.
From behind a pillar Memetis looked upon Sozana's face, his hope an
oasis whence his soul might drink the waters of his love; yet now must
he sip lest Ninus mark his thirst and be aggrieved thereat. So, with
his eyes, the Egyptian looked out upon the throng, yet with his heart he
saw one maid alone.
A goodly gathering it was, in rich attire, in armor and robes of state,
the warriors of a hundred wars, the proudest beauty of the court,
assembled now to view the monster tablet carven in honor of the King. It
was newly set within the wall, hidden from sight by crimson draperies,
and on either side stood the sculptor Bobardol and the High Priest
Nakir-Kish, the one to draw the cloth aside, the other to bless the
_stele_ in the name of Asshur.
A breathless silence fell upon the courtiers; King Ninus gave a sign,
and the sculptor drew the draperies aside. On the _stele_ was pictured
in _bas-relief_ a wondrous exploit of the King, who, mounted on a
rearing charger, battled with a king of beasts. This lion was springing
upon the withers of the steed, seeking to drag the hunter from his seat
with teeth and claws, while Ninus gripped its throat and crushed its
skull with a haft of his broken spear.
A triumph of art it was, bespeaking valor spirited and rare, rather than
exactness of the facts concerning this glorious happening, and a murmur
of admiration rose to every lip because of the daring monarch and the
skill of Bobardol.
Below an inscription told the story of the deed, in language employed by
Assyria's Kings, wherein they laid aside the robes of modesty and spake
for the world to hear:
"I, Raman-Nirari, son of Shamashi-Raman and mightiest of all Assyria's
Kings, by the will of Asshur, lord of earth and sky, fared forth to
conquer lions in this the twentieth year of my resplendent reign. Much
game I slew, my horse bestriding, likewise upon my feet alone with
arrows and with spear. Thus it came to pass that I, Ninus, to whom no
other may compare in skill and lack of dread, joined battle with a
mighty, one-eyed lion in the thickets along the Euphrates. Terrible in
rage was he, this lion, because of the wounds I gave, roaring till my
servants fled in fear away. Yet I, alone, took hold upon his throat and
smote him thrice, in that his roaring ceased and went out of his belly
with the death of a so great beast."
"To the high lord Asshur praise! To Ninus praises greater still, for
Asshur watched while Ninus wrought the deed!"
Amid rejoicings the _stele_ was blessed by the High Priest Nakir-Kish,
while the wine cup circled and a chant was heard from a train of hidden
priests--a chant which now was taken up in the temples throughout vast
Nineveh, and the gods smelt sacrifice from a thousand altar stones. A
jingling tinkle then arose, when from right and left two lines of
dancers tripped into the hall, to bow before the King, to rise and glide
in rhythmic steps through the measures of their dance. A score they
were, of beauties picked from many lands and climes, arrayed in gauzy
robes, rich head dress and bangles of bronze and gold. They swayed to a
pace of slow monotony, with the sad, melodious strain of citherns and of
flutes of quaint design; then, suddenly, at a crash of cymbals, the
dancers woke to life, whirling, tossing high their arms, leaping through
a swift, bewildering maze, with gleaming bodies, crimson lips and
pleading eyes. Louder and louder rang the music's call to passion and to
love, while faster and faster the pink feet fell in velvet kisses on the
floor of tinted brick; till, at last, with a scurrying rush, the maidens
left the hall, while a shout of applause and noise of clapping hands
rolled after them down the corridors.
A silence followed, wherein the courtiers waited eagerly for a signal
that the feast was spread, when an officer stepped toward the throne and
bowed before the King.
"Thy pardon, lord," he faltered, "but a woman clamoreth at the palace
door. She would enter without delay and will not be denied."
So strange was the man's demeanor that all who heard him marveled at its
cause, yet Ninus spoke impatiently:
"Bid her begone, lest my servants scourge her from the city gates!"
The officer, with downcast eyes, retreated toward the door where every
eye was turned in sharp expectancy of a stranger unbidden to the feast.
From without the audience heard a murmur of protest cut short by a firm,
imperious command; then the officer came slinking back into the hall.
"Lord," he quaved, trembling before the King, "thy high commands I gave,
bidding the woman depart in peace, yet--yet she will not go."
"_Will not!_" King Ninus roared. "By Gibil's breath, what manner of
wench is this to defy me in my teeth?"
"Lord," the soldier stammered in confusion, while his cheeks went white
and red by turns, "lord, no mortal wench is she, but a spirit from the
outer world, so fair to look upon that--"
A roar of laughter checked him, and even Ninus joined therein, yet
presently the King spoke sternly, striving to hide his smile:
"Go, ape, and bring her hither! Yet mark you, man; if she be not fairer
than any woman of my land, I swear to hang you from the highest roof in
Nineveh!"
A titter arose and the blushing officer retired, to presently return
with--not one stranger in his wake--but three. In the lead a woman
strode, yet such a woman as the court of Ninus had never looked upon.
She was clothed in a skirt of lamb's wool whose border touched her knee,
her limbs encased in doe skin lashed with thongs; across her breast was
flung a leopard's silky hide, and head dress had she none save a crown
of flame-hued hair. In her hand she held a hunting spear, and at her
back was slung her bow, together with its quiver and a sheaf of shafts.
Behind her walked an Indian, of lowly mien but of mighty strength, who,
besides his spear and bow, bore a half dried lion's skin, while at his
heels a shepherd's dog came swaggering in as though the palace were some
kennel of a lesser dog--and, strangely, the woman's bearing seemed the
same.
On the assembled court the effect was varied and most strange. The
women raised their brows in outward scorn of this stranger and her garb,
yet in their secret hearts they knew a rival who outstripped them far;
therefore they hated her and yearned that some swift calamity befall;
but their husbands looked with a kindlier gaze. The warriors, the
statesmen, aye, even the priests themselves, for a moment stood in
silent awe, each face revealing what each soul would hide--wonder,
worship, base desire--for the passions of men are tuned to divers keys
when beauty strikes the chords.
To Menon the woman came as a fevered dream from which he longed to wake
and know that she was safe in Ascalon; yet the dog was there--and
Huzim--Huzim who looked into his master's eyes and dropped his own. It
was true! She had come into the lion's very lair, and the voice of Fear
cried out aloud that Folly had claimed its own.
"_Shammuramat!_" breathed Menon, leaning limp and white on the shoulder
of Boabdul. "May the gods lend aid, where I may give her none!"
"Courage, friend!" the Arab whispered, "for in this, as in all things,
my scimitar is brother to thy sword."
The King leaned back upon his throne, with folded arms, with eyelids
narrowed into slits beneath his frown, with fingers that combed his
beard, while the heart of him rejoiced. At last it was she! The
red-haired devil who had perched in a citron tree and mocked him as he
fled before a wounded lion. Ah, now should she pay the price of
laughter in the coin of tears!
A hush had fallen on the company, each waiting with bated breath for the
King to speak; but the King spoke not. At length Semiramis, wearying of
the pause, stepped forward without the royal word of sufferance.
"My lord," said she, and pointed to her servant and the gift he bore, "I
bring a lion's skin from the thickets of the Euphrates. A mighty
one-eyed lion which--"
"Hold!" cried Ninus, leaping to his feet, his hard hands clenched, his
neck veins standing out to a wrathful rush of blood. For a moment he
stood, regarding the woman with a dark, malignant frown, then he turned
to a man-at-arms beside his throne: "Go down with this wench to the keep
below and let her taste the lash!"
To those who heard, this deep injustice came like a thunderbolt, for
naught had the woman done save to bear a present to the King and speak
without his leave. A murmur of protest sounded throughout the
gathering, and Menon half arose with his hand upon his sword; yet the
Arab checked him by a warning word and a grip upon his arm, for the time
was not yet ripe to place a life in jeopardy.
The man-at-arms, obedient to his master's will, strode forward and laid
his hand upon the prisoner's arm; but at his touch Semiramis took a
backward step, then with her doubled fist she struck him fair upon the
apple of his throat. With a grunt of pain the fellow sprawled full
length, his armor clanging on the floor, while Huzim lowered his spear
point threateningly and Habal crouched beside the prostrate man, his
lips rolled back, his eye upon his mistress, waiting for a sign.
Again fell silence, to linger till one might count a score, while all
looked on in dumb amaze at this queen who dared the rage of Ninus,
meeting his eye with an eye that knew not fear and his scowl with a
reckless smile.
"My lord," she began once more, her low voice smooth and even as though
the stretching of a warrior on his back were but a pleasing courtesy,
"my lord, I bring a lion's skin from the thickets of the Euphrates. A
mighty one-eyed lion which leaped upon thy horse's neck and--"
"Have done!" stormed Ninus. "What witch's foolery is this of lions in
the thickets of the Euphrates?" He paused to laugh derisively.
"Perchance it was even thou who slew the brute--thou with thy puny
might."
"Puny?" smiled Semiramis, pointing to the fallen man-at arms. "Nay, ask
this grimy dog who dared to pollute me with his touch. And as for the
lion, good my lord, I have his skin. Mayhap I slew him, and again
mayhap he laid aside his coat in the manner of a wrestler, eager for
another bout with Ninus, who, alas, receiveth gifts with but a sorry
grace." She smiled once more and again took up her interrupted speech:
"My lord, I bring a lion's skin--"
"Peace! Peace!" cried the King, then turned to glare about him
savagely. A laugh had broken from some hidden soldier's throat, and, as
a flame is kindled from a spark, so mirth ran riot up and down the hall.
The King, whose temper had been weakened by his wound, was placed in a
grievous pass. Should he suffer this witch to tell her damning tale of
disaster in the chase, it would brand the royal hunter as a braggart and
a liar--a case far out of tune with a king's desire to be thought a god.
On the other hand, should he check her speech by force, there were those
who would hold displeasure for a deed they could not understand.
Therefore Ninus swallowed down his spleen and sought to meet guile with
guile.
"Princess," he laughed, as he once more took his seat, "with anger
assumed did I test the mettle of a huntress at my court, and my heart is
glad because of the spirit she hath shown. Speak then, fearing naught,
and if thy tale prove true and pleasing to our ears, demand what thou
wilt from Ninus in exchange for this one-eyed lion's skin."
Semiramis bowed low and was about to speak, when the monarch checked her
with a lifted hand.
"Nay, a moment," he begged. "Now perchance I might tell this tale
myself, and thereby lose no shred of its palatable meat." He smiled to
his court amusedly and once more bent his glance upon Semiramis: "A
lion's skin is borne me from the thickets along the lower Euphrates--a
one-eyed lion, fierce and strong, that leapt upon my charger's neck and
pressed me hurtfully. I, Ninus, in my terror of a beast so strange,
then flung my weapons down, turned tail and fled for safety in my
distant camp, whilst thou--all praise to Asshur for the deed--came after
me and slew my enemy." Again the monarch laughed and stretched his hand
toward the huntress: "Speak, pretty one, is this the tale of Ninus and
the one-eyed lion?"
The King, in painting with a brush of truth, had spread his colors
artfully, for it came to him that to steal the thunder from an accusing
tongue was better far than a shield of defensive lies. So the courtiers
whispered among themselves and smiled at the pleasing humor of their
Song. This joyed the monarch vastly, for his vanity was large, and now
that his wit had given him a vantage ground, he turned to Semiramis,
ready for attack, but was ill prepared for his subtle enemy.
On her face came a look of childish wonderment and pain, while her hands
were raised in protest of a thought so wrongful to the King. She stood
with her back toward the _stele_ which pictured the lion hunt, yet, on
entering the hall, her eye had marked it, and memory served her well.
"Ah, no, my lord," she answered timidly, as she slowly shook her head,
"of a truth thy words are the words of jest, for I saw thy battle from
the bough of a citron tree wherein I had climbed in my wish to gaze upon
the King."
She paused to drop her eyes, but raised them again at a smile and a word
from Assyria's lord.
"Speak," said the King, "and fear not, for we fain would hear this tale.
"O radiant one," returned Semiramis, "small skill have I in the telling
of a deed so great, and yet each day my prayers of praise go up to
Ishtar, in that I saw this glorious battle of a god."
The King breathed easy and ceased to comb his beard, and Semiramis began
her story, of the hunt. At first her voice was low, melodious and calm,
yet presently it rose to the fevered pitch of an orator whose audience
is but a harp beneath his hand, each string a heart to thrill and quiver
at a master-touch. Her listeners seemed to see the hunter charge the
king of beasts, his stout spear shivering with the impact of the blow.
They heard the lion's roar of fury as he leaped on the shoulder of the
rearing steed, to tear at his enemy, while the two tossed to and fro in
a grip of death. They heard the rip of armored garments at the stroke
of raking claws, while the blood of Ninus dyed his vestments red and his
arm rained blows upon the skull of a maddened beast. They saw its
mighty jaws relax, the tawny body heave in agony, to drop to the earth
at last in death. Then the conqueror strove to staunch his wounds and,
failing, rode for succor to his distant camp.
Semiramis ceased to speak, and those who had listened drew a long, deep
sigh of wonder at the King's escape and at her who told the tale so
truthfully. King Ninus likewise heaved a sigh, but of peace and sweet
content, for never since his reign began had he looked upon so glorious
a liar.
"Behold!" cried Nakir-Kish, and pointed to the _stele_.
Semiramis turned, to stare in seeming wonder at the carven miracle. One
fluttering hand was drawn across her eyes; her lips moved slowly, giving
forth no sound, and all save two who watched her felt that here, indeed,
was truth. King Ninus raised his hand to check a tribute of applause,
and spoke in a voice of gentleness.
"What more?" he asked. "How came it to pass that a woman beareth the
lion's skin to Nineveh?"
Semiramis spread her hands in the manner of one who does a deed too
small for the waste of words.
"O mighty one," she answered simply, "of a truth my tale is told. When
the beast lay dead I descended from out my tree to watch while my
servant removed its skin." She took the lion's hide from Huzim and laid
it at the monarch's feet. "My lord, I bring this simple token of my
love to Nineveh, in trust that the King of all the world will grant my
small desires."
"Say on," cried Ninus, "and by the sword of Asshur do I swear to make a
just reward. Speak, then, for we harken to thy wish."
Semiramis spoke not. She raised her eyes to his in the wondering
innocence of a little child and smiled.
"Nay, lord, why now should I name desires which Ninus in his wisdom
knoweth well?"
"True," returned the monarch thoughtfully, once more combing at his
beard and wondering if some trap were being laid, "true, and yet 'twere
well to name thy wish aloud, in that these my friends may ever bear a
witness to the promise made. Speak, for Ninus heedeth."
"Forgiveness!" begged Semiramis, kneeling upon the lion's skin. "This,
O Father of the Land, I ask alone."
"Granted!" cried the King, "though I swear I know not--um--though thy
sin be great or small."
Semiramis pressed the fingers of the King against her lips, then,
rising, turned with a joyous cry and flung herself into Menon's arms.
A gasp of wonder rose from those who saw, while Menon flu
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