Babylon the Great had pranked herself out in holiday attire, like some loyal and splendid dame arrayed to welcome her lord. From the Gates of Brass in her southern wall to the temple of Baal towering in her centre, squares, streets, and terraces were hung with scarlet, blazing with gold, and strewed knee-deep in flowers. Her population were shouting by tens of thousands on either bank of the Euphrates, which ran through the heart of the city, while even the broad river was dotted with boats of every shape and colour, fantastic, gaudy, and beautiful as the exotics on the tanks of those paradises or gardens which formed her distinguishing characteristic and her pride. Myriads of women waved their veils and scarfs from roof and balcony in endless perspective, while countless children added a shriller echo to every cry of welcome as it rose.
It was remarkable, however, that, contrary to custom on similar occasions, none of the weaker sex were to be seen in the streets. Such had been the decree of the Great Queen; a decree enforced by the presence of so strong an array of warriors as denoted the mighty resources of an empire, which could thus furnish a formidable army at home to receive an army of comrades returning from the frontier.
Besides these champions of bow and spear, masses of white-robed priests occupied the porches of every temple and every open space dedicated to sacrifice throughout the city; while others, chosen from the servants of Baal, and therefore under the immediate influence of Assarac, were scattered through the crowd, conspicuous amongst the gay dresses and glittering arms of their countrymen by their linen garment and the lotus-flowers in their hands.
Of these, Beladon seemed the busiest and most voluble, gliding from group to group with plausible words and impressive gestures, which nevertheless left on his listeners a nameless sense of dissatisfaction in the pageant, the victory, and general results of the Egyptian campaign.
Amongst the warriors perhaps this discontent was most apparent, amounting indeed to a sentiment of insubordination, which lost nothing in strength and bitterness from the observations of the priest.
"A feeble war," said he, addressing himself to the captain of a band of spearmen who occupied one of the Brazen Gates—"a distant country and a doubtful success. Few captives, I have heard, little spoil, and the frontier remains where it was."
"Not much to boast in the way of fighting," answered the other, a stalwart warrior curled and bearded to the eyes. "Look at the vanguard passing even now. Scarcely a dinted shield or a torn garment in their ranks; every bowman with a whole skin and a quiver full of arrows at his back. It was not thus we marched in from Bactria, when I myself could count three scars on my breast, and one on my face that you may see there even now; ay! and bore on my spear the head of a giant whom I slew in sight of both armies with my own hand. Ninus laughed, and swore I hewed at him like a wood-cutter at a broad-leafed oak in the northern hills. I wonder if he will remember me to-day."
"The Great King hath forgotten many a stout blow and faithful service since then," answered Beladon. "The lion grows old now, his teeth are gone, and his claws worn down. Ere long he will take his seat among the Thirteen Gods, my friend, and Ninyas, his son, will reign in his stead."
"He is a leader of promise, I have heard," said the other, "who can set the battle in array; ay, and strike hard in the fore-front too, despite his slender body and winsome woman's face."
"Winsome indeed," replied Beladon, pointing upward to where the queen sat in state on the wall amidst her people. "Is he not his mother's son? and has he not inherited her very eyes and smile?"
"She would make the noblest leader of the three," swore the captain of spears. "By the serpent of Ashtaroth, she has more skill of warfare than the Great King himself; and I have seen the Bactrians lay down their arms and surrender without a blow, when she drove her war-horse into their ranks. You are a priest, and priests are learned in such matters. Have you never heard that she is something more than woman?"
"The gods will take her to dwell with them in their own good time," answered Beladon gravely, but smothering a smile as he reflected on sundry feminine weaknesses and caprices of the Great Queen, freely discussed by the priests of the inner circle in the temple of Baal. "More than woman," he muttered, moving away to another group of spectators—"more than woman in cunning, more than man in foresight, more than the lion in courage, more than a goddess in beauty! The day must come when she will rule the world! Assarac is her chief adviser—Beladon is high in the counsels of Assarac—and so, what matters a gash or so before an altar, a little reserve amongst the people, compared with the prospect that opens before us, if only we were rid of this fierce old unbeliever, who fears neither gods above nor men below?"
Then he moved a few paces on, and bade a listener mark how the queen had turned the course of a stream out of her gardens round the royal palace to fill the fountains of the city, wondering in the same breath how Ninus would relish the alteration—Ninus, who a few years back had levelled walls, streets, and temples to enlarge the borders of a paradise for his game. This observation having won sufficient attention from the crowd, he proceeded to discuss the value of provisions, a subject of interest to all, reminding them that grain had been strangely cheap during the king's absence from his dominions, and marvelling why millet should have gone up in price as the conquering army advanced nearer and nearer home. Were they better or worse for the Great King's presence, he wanted to know; had they been athirst or ahungered while Ninus was far away making war on the frontier; and why was it that now, on the day of his return in triumph, they began to feel scarcity and to be sparing of the children's bread? Men looked blankly in each other's faces, and shook their heads for a reply; but such seed is never sown on barren ground, and it dawned on many minds that their city, which after all was not of his own founding, but his queen's, would have been none the worse had the Great King never come back from the war at all.
A hundred priests prating to the same effect in a hundred quarters produced no contemptible result. Discontent soon grew to disloyalty, and men who at daybreak would have asked no better than to fling themselves in adoration under the king's chariot-wheels were now prepared to receive him in sullen displeasure, and, as far as they dared, with outward demonstrations of ill-will.
Yet, like clouds before the northern breeze, all these symptoms of disaffection were swept away by the first glitter of spears in the desert, the first trumpet blast without the walls giving notice of his approach—to return, when the triumph and the pageant should be over, when the shouting and the excitement should have died away.
There was one, however, who watched the alternations of temper in the multitude as a steersman in shoal water watches the ebb and flow of the tide. Assarac's keen intellect penetrated the wavering feelings of the people, while his daring ambition aimed even at the overthrow of a dynasty for the gratification of its pride. He had long dreaded the return of Ninus as a check to his own power over the populace and paramount influence with the queen. The old lion loved neither priests nor priestcraft, and would have had small scruple in putting all the servants of Baal to the sword, if he suspected them of treachery or revolt. Had the army marched back from Egypt weakened and disorganised by the fatigues of its campaign; had the numerous force within the walls showed stronger symptoms of impatience and discontent; in short, had his materials seemed but inflammable enough to take fire at a moment's notice, Assarac would not have hesitated that one moment in applying a torch to set the whole Assyrian empire in a blaze.
But the priest, though swift to strike his blow, was also patient to abide his time. The Great Conqueror's army marched home as it had marched out, strong in numbers, in courage, in supplies—flushed moreover with an easy victory and a sufficiency of spoil. Warlike enthusiasm is of all excitement the most catching, and the hosts within the city were fain to greet their brethren-in-arms with at least the semblance of cordiality and good-will. Not thus on the day of his triumph was the old lion to be taken in the toils. Assarac, in his place of honour as high priest, standing near the queen, watched every turn of her countenance, and bethought him that the stars in their courses afforded no such difficult page to read as the text of a woman's heart.
Semiramis was attired with a magnificence that, enhancing her own unrivalled beauty, seemed to envelop her in splendour more than human. When she raised her veil to look down on the crowd, an awe came over the people, so that they forbore even to shout. It seemed as if Ashtaroth, Queen of Heaven, had descended in their midst; but a single voice finding vent at last, such a pent-up burst of cheers rose to the sky, that her fair face turned a shade paler, and to him who was scanning it with eager gaze of curiosity and admiration, it seemed as if a moisture rose in her deep dark eyes.
The shouts of the people were caught up again and again. Clad in a robe of golden tissue, crowned with a diadem of rubies and diamonds set in gold, wearing the star-shaped ornaments round her neck that denoted her divine origin, and on her breast the most precious jewel in the empire, representing a cock and a crescent-moon, emblems of that homage to the Evil Principle which she had herself inculcated on the nation; wrapped besides in the halo of her own surpassing beauty, it was scarce possible to believe she was only a woman after all, of the same mould, the same nature, the same passions, with the drudges they had left pounding corn and drawing water at home. From gilded warrior to naked slave, from the captain in his chariot to the leper at the wayside, not a man, as he looked on that lovely face, but would have felt death cheaply purchased by a kind word or a smile. And these were lavished on one who was asked to encounter no danger—scarcely to perform an act of homage, in return.
Sarchedon, flushed, dazzled, bewildered by the position, found himself installed at her right hand, chief officer and prime favourite, placed there ostensibly as bearer from the camp of the Great King's signet; in reality, something whispered to his astonished senses, because he had pleased the eye and taken captive the fancy of the queen.
Many a stolen look had he intercepted that could but be interpreted as of high favour and approval. Once she fixed her eyes on the amulet, which, in ignorance of its ownership, he wore openly round his neck, and seemed about to speak, but checked herself, sighing languidly, and turning with impatience to Assarac; while she questioned him about the details of the pageant, wondering why the vanguard, already marching in, should be thus far in advance of the main body and the Great King. "Was the army so encumbered with spoil? Had they so many captives? Were there beautiful women among them? She had heard much concerning the daughters of the South—Sarchedon could tell them—was it true the women of Egypt were so dangerously fair?"
Once more she bent her eyes on the young warrior, and was not displeased to mark the colour deepen on his cheek, while bowing low he answered, with his looks averted from her face.
"I thought so till I returned to Babylon from the host. But a man who has once seen the glitter of a diamond is blind thenceforth to the lustre of meaner gems."
"Your eyes must have been strangely dazzled," replied Semiramis with exceeding graciousness; "and the diamond that so bewildered you—was it rough from the mine, or cut and set in gold? Did it sparkle in the zone of a maiden, or in the diadem of a—" She stopped short with a faint laugh, adding in a more reserved tone, "She was no Egyptian, then, but one of our own people, whose beauty thus reached the heart at which Pharaoh's bowmen have been aiming in vain? Shall I press him to name this victorious archer? Kalmim, do you plead guilty? Is it you? or you? or you?" She looked round amongst her women while she spoke, and one after another, trying hard to blush, bowed her modest disclaimer with glances of admiration, not unmarked by the queen, at the warrior's handsome face and figure, set off by the splendid armour and apparel in which he stood. Even Semiramis, proud, conquering, almost omnipotent, liked him none the worse that it was obvious the other women would have liked him too, if they dared. But Assarac, ever watchful, ever jealous of his own interests, which centred in the dignity of the Great Queen, now interposed.
"The land of Shinar has been the land of beauty ever since the sons of heaven came down to woo her daughters on the mountains beyond the two rivers," said the priest. "Even before the days of the Great Queen, has not Ashtaroth the beautiful reigned ever goddess of the Assyrians? Ashtaroth, with her golden crown, enrobed in streams of light!"
"Ashtaroth trampling the lion beneath her feet!" added Semiramis, with a curl on her lip and a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
"Ashtaroth with the serpent in her hand," retorted Assarac, lowering his voice to a meaning whisper. "The emblem of cunning, stratagem, and true wisdom. Think not it is her star-like beauty, her golden crown, her lustrous robes, that dominate the world. No; it is the counsel of the serpent she carries in her hand!"
The queen flung up her head. "I require no counsels," said she, "from priest or serpent. When I spear the wild bull, I ride my horse freely against his front. When I shoot the lion, I aim mine arrow straight at his heart. Warriors bolder than the wild bull, fiercer than the lion, must needs go down before the weapons of Semiramis!"
It had been an ungraceful boast, but for the sweet smile, the soft glance, that accompanied her words, causing them to convey a loving invitation rather than a warlike defiance.
Sarchedon's heart was thrilling and his brain burning. The sweet intoxication of vanity possessed the one, the fiery spark of ambition kindled in the other. He muttered low, that "to be slain and trampled under foot by the Great Queen was a nobler lot than to drive a war-chariot over prostrate nations," and was raising his eyes to learn how the humility of such an avowal would be received, when his face turned pale, and he started like a man who leaps to his feet at the approach of danger.
Not half a bowshot off, looking fixedly towards him, was the gentle troubled face of Ishtar, on the terrace of her father's palace, watching for the chief captain's return.
The queen did not fail to detect his agitation and its cause. Her eyes flashed, her delicate mouth shut close on the instant as if with a clasp, her features set themselves like a mask, a beautiful mask, but of the hardest steel. So looked she when she rode the lion down and pierced him to the heart; so looked she when she urged her chariot through the ranks of an enemy, over heaps of slain; so looked she when she administered justice from the Great King's tribunal, and turned pitiless from a suppliant pleading hard for life. The glance she shot at the daughter of Arbaces was that of an unhooded falcon eyeing the gazelle upon the plains.
And at the same moment glances, pleading, passionate, longing, as of that same gazelle when she nears the desert-spring, were directed towards Ishtar from a gorgeous chariot passing slowly in pompous march of triumph through the Brazen Gate, while veils were waved, steel brandished, and the acclamations of ten thousand voices rose higher and higher; for in that chariot stood their future king, the young Ninyas, a living reflection of his mother, bright, delicate, and beautiful as the queen herself.
She marked her son's admiration of the pale fair girl; she marked Sarchedon's uneasiness; but whatever thoughts were busy in her royal and lovely head, she looked abroad into the desert and held her peace.
As the glittering procession defiled in proud array through the gates of that imperial city, Babylon might well be proud of her children. The most warlike nation on earth had assembled to greet the flower of its army returning from conquest; and the warriors of the old king bore themselves like men who are conscious they deserve the meed of triumph accorded to their fellows. Each black-browed spearman, so bold of feature, so open-eyed, so curled and bearded, stalwart of limb and stately of gesture, marched with haughty step and head erect, as though he felt himself the picked and chosen champion of a host. Archers and slingers assumed the staid dignity of veteran captains, while the very horses that drew the war-chariots champed, snorted, and swelled their crests as if they too were conscious of the reputation it behoved them to uphold.
Far as stretched the triumph—so far indeed that its van had already reached the temple of Baal, while its rearguard was yet below the sky-line of the desert—every link in that chain of victory afforded some object of interest, admiration, or pride to the spectators. These were the bows that had been bent to such purpose in their first pitched battle with the ancient enemy, when Egypt was worsted and driven back upon the Nile. Those strong and stately spearmen, so bronzed, so scarred, so splendid in dress and armour, were the very warriors who had withstood the fury of all Pharaoh's chariots and horsemen, nor yielded one cubit of ground, though sore out-numbered and beset, while they covered the Great King's passage of that famous river. Close in their rear, with clang of trumpet, clash of steel, and ring of bridle, came trampling four abreast the famous horsemen of Assyria; and men told each other, with kindling eyes and eager gestures, how the steeds that drank from the Tigris and the Euphrates had charged to the gates of Memphis and been stabled in the temples of the Stork.
Next, with horses gorgeously caparisoned, trapped, plumed, and stepping daintily under the rein, rolled on the terrible war-chariots of iron, that, with their scythes of steel, mowed down the ranks of an enemy in broad swathes of slaughter where they passed. Each car, besides its charioteer, held a heavily-armed warrior under shield, with bow and arrows, sword and spear; three horses plunged abreast, two of which were harnessed to the chariot, while a third, linked only with its fellows to the bridle, was driven along-side in readiness to replace a maimed or fallen steed. This formidable array, which struck with awe even the accustomed senses of the bystanders, was compared by them to the chest and body of the army, while the horsemen represented its limbs and feet.
Immediately in rear of that moving mass of metal rode the captain of the host, less distinguished for splendour of array than personal dignity of bearing and such a noble face as must have been beautiful in youth. To please his fierce old master, he followed the example of Ninus, and abandoned his chariot for the back of so goodly a steed as could only have been bred in the plain between the rivers. If a thousand acclamations rent the air while this stately veteran came galloping on, managing his war-horse with all the grace and pliancy of youth, they were increased tenfold when he drew rein beneath the terrace where stood Ishtar and her maidens, halting for a moment, while he looked fondly upward at his daughter and his home.
With the gesture of a child, she stretched out her arms towards him, as if she would fain have leaped down into his embrace. Sarchedon, looking on her from the wall, was but one of many thousands who felt her innocent beauty thrill to his very heart. Nevertheless, Assarac, narrowly watching Semiramis, observed her cheek turn a shade paler, while the hard pitiless expression came back to the queen's unrivalled face.
Arbaces made no long delay. Waving his hand towards his daughter, and glancing proudly round on his applauding countrymen, he paced slowly on, while a whisper ran through the crowd:
"Stand close—here they come! Welcome to the golden helmets! Honour to the guards of the Great King!"
Two by two, mounted on white horses with scarlet trappings, arrayed in silks of white and scarlet, with shields and helmets of burnished gold, came flashing on this picked and chosen body—every man of whom, selected for strength and beauty, must also have distinguished himself by an attested act of daring in the field. In their centre floated their standard, likewise of scarlet, and on its folds was embroidered in gold the figure of Merodach, god of war, standing on a bull with a drawn bow in his hand. The arms of these champions were bare to the elbow, their legs to the knee; but their persons were otherwise defended by close scale armour, thickly inlaid with gold; precious jewels studded the belt and pommel of each man's sword, and the shaft of his spear; the fringes of their gowns were inordinately long, their beards and hair elaborately curled and perfumed. It was evident that these guards of royalty esteemed themselves no less ornaments than champions of the Assyrian host.
Sarchedon's eyes flashed, and his cheek glowed with pleasure while they passed. He was proud to think that these were his own special comrades and brethren-in-arms; that it was from their glittering ranks he had been detached with the royal signet and tidings of the Great King's return.
The queen marked his enthusiasm; and, bending kindly towards him, demanded in a soft voice, scarce above a whisper:
"Who are these, Sarchedon? To my eye, they seem the goodliest and best-favoured men in the armies of Assyria."
"They are my comrades," he answered proudly; "the guards of the Great King: the meanest of us holds himself equal to a leader of ten thousand. Arbaces Tartan[3]is our captain, as he is captain of the host."
"And Sarchedon would look nobly at their head," she answered, with one of her bewildering smiles. "It may come to pass yet for him who knows when to strike and when to forbear. Hush! there are higher destinies written in the stars than the posting of a few tinselled spearmen to watch the slumbers of a king!"
He was equal to the occasion. O, heart of man! so strong and bold when beset by danger or privation, so weak and untenable when assailed on the side of vanity! He replied in a low and trembling voice, "It is honour enough for me. Yet is there one post I would rather hold—one watch I would give my life to keep, if only for a day!"
"You shall not pay so dear a price!" she answered gently. "Take a lesson from the amulet on your own breast. See how that loving bird follows the arrow's flight. So long as her career is upward, the shaft can never pierce her heart. 'Tis a fair and precious jewel—let no temptation lead you to part from it. I will examine it more closely hereafter."
"It is my queen's!" he exclaimed. "As is my life, and all I have."
"Keep it till I require it of you," was the answer. "And now tell me, Sarchedon, amongst these goodly warriors, whom think you the fairest and the comeliest?"
"There are none in all the host to be compared with him now passing beneath us in his chariot," said Sarchedon boldly. "None other face of man or woman half so fair—but one!"
Such words conveyed no mental reservation—though his own heart told him he had over shot the truth. But punishment for his duplicity followed quickly on the offence.
Another of those rare smiles stole over the queen's face, as the acclamations of the multitude rose higher than before to greet him who must hereafter be their king; and Ninyas, reclining in his chariot, accepted with indolent good-humour that loud and boisterous welcome. His shield and spear were laid aside—his bow and quiver hung at the back of the chariot. On his head, from which the dark curls were combed back so daintily, he wore no helmet of defence—only a light linen tiara bound by a circlet of gold. Robes of violet silk floated loosely round his exquisite shape and womanly roundness of limb, while he carried a jewelled drinking-cup, long since emptied, in his hand. It was the attire—the attitude—the appearance of a votary of pleasure hastening to the banquet, rather than of a tired warrior returning from the field. Nevertheless, it may be that a character for prowess, cheaply earned enough by a king's son in battle, lost nothing of its value among the thoughtless crowd, for an affectation of effeminacy, only excusable in one of such youth, beauty, and reputed valour. The queen, looking down on him well-pleased, could not refrain from exclaiming:
"My son is indeed comely! Yet is it the comeliness of a woman rather than a man."
"There is but one woman on earth more fair," whispered Assarac in her ear. "Nevertheless, were she down yonder in male attire on a war-chariot, and he sitting amongst us here in the royal robes of a queen, I doubt if the change would be suspected by one of all that countless multitude now gazing in admiration on both."
She started, not expecting to receive her answer from the priest, and bent her brows in deep thought, mingled with displeasure, as she observed the uneasiness of Sarchedon, eagerly watching certain movements going on below.
Guiding the horses, by the side of Ninyas, sat Sethos, the king's cup-bearer, who being in high favour with his young lord usually accompanied him in his chariot, both to battle and to the chase. Perhaps not entirely without a purpose, he drew rein immediately under the terrace where stood Ishtar and her maidens, at the instant when a posy of flowers, projected innocently enough by the damsel herself, came whirling down at the feet of her future king.
Ninyas looked up quickly; and even in that moment of vexation Sarchedon could not but remark the winning smile, that, brightening all his face, enhanced her son's extraordinary resemblance to Semiramis.
The young prince lifted the flowers, and put them to his lips with a graceful salutation. Then he bent his head to Sethos, and the latter, taking the cup from his lord's hand, flung it deftly upward so as to light on the terrace within a cubit of where the damsel stood.
"Keep it for the sake of Ninyas," called out the giver, as he bowed his head once more; whispering in the ear of Sethos, while the chariot moved slowly on, "That comely maiden, pale and tender like a lily in a paradise, is better worth the taking than all the beauty of Egypt, captives of our bow and spear."
"And my lord has won her with an empty cup," answered laughing Sethos. "When he flings aside the maiden, like the goblet, may I be there to catch her ere she falls!"
Though the populace applauded loudly, as it was natural they should applaud such an action of mingled gallantry, condescension, and insolence, a shudder crept over Ishtar from head to heel, and she moved the skirt of her garment to avoid touching that gift of a future monarch, as if it had been some noxious reptile in her path.
Semiramis did not fail to note how the daughter of Arbaces shot more than one imploring glance at Sarchedon, that seemed to deprecate a jealousy of which she was aware, while conscious of not being answerable for its cause. It was perhaps more in character with the spite of a woman than the dignity of a queen that she should have leant towards the young warrior, and addressed him with such marked demonstrations of favour as could not fail to be observed by Ishtar, whose perceptions and feelings were now strung to their highest pitch.
She might even have shown him greater condescension than was either royal or prudent, but for the renewed intervention of Assarac, who once more took possession of her ear, speaking so as to be heard by the queen alone.
"My directions have been carried out," he whispered, "and of every hundred men assembled in the streets, ten are warriors and four are priests. The people admire, but partake not in the triumph; they shout, but their hearts go forth less freely than their voices. There is discontent abroad, and even displeasure, relating to this conquest of my lord the king. The men of war who have gone down with him to battle are like to be ill-satisfied with their share of spoil. Those who have remained within the walls already jeer and point the finger at the unhacked armour and whole skins of their returning comrades. Our own followers, servants of Baal and prophets of the grove, whisper strange auguries, and the stars themselves declare that Ninus is destined ere long to take his place among the gods. Caution, Great Queen! caution! I must away on the instant, to be in readiness at the head of a thousand priests who will receive the king on the steps before the temple. He loves not such receptions, and holds but little with offerings and sacrifices to the gods; nevertheless, even Ninus must not,darenot, beard the whole host of heaven in this their very stronghold. He will make the ceremony short and simple as he can, however, and every priest that ever laid knife to his own flesh before an altar will feel outraged and aggrieved. You have the Great King's signet. Keep it safely. That jewelled toy is worth ten thousand chariots of iron and as many horsemen. Behold, the guards have now passed on. See what a handful of priests are pacing with his chariot—an empty chariot, too; and look how few in number and scant in metal are the molten gods that go before him to battle. He comes. I say again, Caution, Great Queen! caution! and for a space forbear!"
Pointing his warning with an expressive glance towards Sarchedon, Assarac bowed reverently and withdrew.
Semiramis turned a shade paler, and for one moment a shudder seemed to creep from her brow even to her feet. The next she stood forth to mark her lord's approach, erect and beautiful, the stateliest queen, as she was the fairest woman, in the world.
Immediately in rear of the royal standard passed on the war-chariot of the Great King, containing his charioteer and shield-bearer. Sargon's lowering brow was black as night, and to the vociferous greetings of his countrymen he returned but a silent scowl. In the brief space that had elapsed since the cruel slaughter of his son, the man's nature seemed wholly changed. His very beard, formerly so black and glossy, was streaked with grey, and the dark eyes now dull and downcast, glowed with lurid light as though from some inner fire. Few, however, remarked this alteration in the aspect of the shield-bearer; for with the first glimpse of Ninus, shouts of jubilee rose once more from the people, and in that moment of enthusiasm, assembled Babylon could not have afforded a fuller, fairer welcome to mighty Nimrod himself.
The Great King came on at a foot's pace, reining his steed with that craft of practised horsemanship which outlasts failing sight, lost activity, and bodily powers impaired by age. His large, gaunt frame, though bowed and tottering, swayed easily to every motion of his steed; his broad loose hands, though numbed and stiff, closed with unimpaired skill on spear and bridle; while ever and anon, with some vociferous cheer or stirring trumpet-call, the drooping head went up, the dim eye sparkled, and for a space in which bow might have been drawn or sword-blow stricken, Ninus looked again the champion warrior of the world.
The king had abstained from all outward pomp of attire or panoply; he wore neither diadem nor tiara, but a steel helmet, much dinted and battered, guarded his brow. Save for the lion's head embossed in its centre, his shield was the plainest, as it was the most defaced, that passed into Babylon that day; while neither his horse's trappings nor his own accoutrements could compare in splendour with those of his guards who preceeded him on the march. But his sword was a span longer, his spear some shekels heavier, than any other in the whole Assyrian host, and none, looking on that renowned conqueror, so formidable even in decay, but would have recognised him for the bravest and mightiest fighter of his time.
Slowly, sternly he came on, receiving the homage and acclamations of his people with a royal indifference not far removed from scorn. The press of chariots, the clash of steel, all the wild tumult and fierce music of battle, could scarcely now call the light to his eye, the colour to his visage. What was a mere peaceful triumph but an unmeaning pageant, a protracted and somewhat wearisome dream? His grim old features sank and lowered till it seemed to the nearer bystanders that they were looking on a corpse in mail.
But once the Great King's face brightened, the blood rushed redly to his cheek, and his strong hand shook so on the bridle, that his good horse, accepting the signal, bounded freely in the air. Then he turned ghastly pale, drawing his breath hard, and trembling like a maiden or a child.
Beaming down on him from the wall with her own bright smile, he saw the face that had haunted him in those long night-watches for many a weary month—the face that, of all on earth, had alone made itself a home in his fierce old heart.
The wild joy of battle was indeed over, but for him the calm of peace had come at last. From his saddle where he sat to the wall whence she smiled down on him, not a score of spear-lengths divided him from Semiramis, looking fonder and more beautiful than she had ever appeared even in his lonely dreams.
On the first night of his return from conquest, it was customary for an Assyrian king, his captains, and chief officers of state to be received by his consort with a banquet, offered to their special entertainment. The stars were already out, the moon was rising from the desert, when a thousand torches, flaring on the summer night, lit up the central court of the royal residence with a fierce red glow, vivid as the light of day. It brought out in strange grotesque relief the gigantic sculptures on the wall, till winged bull, man-faced lion, and eagle-headed deity seemed but fleeting flickering shadows, that moved, threatened, and retired as the night breeze rose and fell. It played in variegated hues on the columns of porphyry and jaspar that supported the upper story, blackening the remote recesses of its lofty chambers, while marble pillar, shaft of alabaster, carving, cornice, and capital blushed in crimson flame. It shed a ruddier lustre on wine, fruit, and flowers, the rich profusion of a royal table, glittering from massive chalice and ancient flagon, blazing in jewelled cup and vase of burnished gold. The brilliant gems, the costly robes, the stately figures of those noble guests, were enhanced tenfold by its power; while the king's wan face showed paler, fiercer, ghastlier than ever, in that strong searching glare.
The procession had been long, the triumph protracted and wearisome; sacrifices offered, not ungrudgingly, to the gods, had delayed him with observances he loathed, ceremonials he despised; and Ninus had been in the saddle since daybreak. It was not strange then that Arbaces, his chief captain, sitting over against him, should have felt his heart sink while he looked on the ashy war-worn face, from which he had so often gathered counsel and resource, picturing to himself that he saw a dead monarch presiding, stark and grim, at his own funeral feast.
The king sat for a while with his head sunk on his breast, to all appearance thoroughly out-wearied and overcome; but after Sethos had filled his cup more than once, a feeble light came into his eyes, while he glared around with a haughty air of inquiry, that seemed rather to threaten the absent than welcome those who were present at his festival. He looked sternly satisfied, however, with the number and importance of his guests—men who formed the props of his throne and the very bulwarks of his empire. There was Arbaces, captain of the host, firm in position as in character, a sage counsellor, a skilful leader, and a stout man of war in close fight, hand to hand; there was Sargon, his shield-bearer, who slew before the gates of Memphis, in single combat, seven Egyptian champions, one by one, and vowed in the hearing of both armies, that as he had sacrificed these to the Seven Stars, so would he take life after life from the host of Pharaoh till the Consulting Gods, the Judges of the World, and each of the Assyrian deities, had been propitiated with a victim. Scowling and silent, Sargon sat apart at the banquet; and a keen eye, scanning him warily and by stealth, noted the seal of murder set upon his brow.
There was Assarac too, the scheming priest, unwarlike indeed in form and nature, yet owning a more daring spirit, a more enduring courage, than the fiercest archer who ever drew bow from a war-chariot—Assarac, present in virtue of his office to pour out drink-offerings, to peer into the divining cup if required, above all, to watch with jealous supervision the temper and opinions of those who surrounded the king. Though aware that Ninus disliked, suspected, and would have put him to death without scruple, his eye never quailed, nor did his speech falter; and when he raised his goblet, filled to its brim, the eunuch's hand was firm and steady as a rock.
These last-named persons, with the older leaders and captains of ten thousand, were placed near the king; but scores of younger warriors, rising in fame, comely in person, and splendid in apparel, thronged the lower and more noisy extremity of the board. Over these, amongst whom Sarchedon was not the least remarkable, presided Ninyas, distinguished no less for his beautiful face and magnificent attire than for his deep draughts, reckless hilarity, and boisterous freedom of discourse.
"Once more in Babylon," said he, "after months of toil and heat, and worst of all, that torturing thirst! After those weary marches by day, those endless watches by night, welcome to the land of palm and pomegranate, peace and plenty, women and wine! What say you, Sarchedon? Well, I trow that, being of his guard, your duty bids you echo the Great King. The old lion cannot hear you where you sit; you may speak the truth freely as if you were reading the Seven Stars. Confess, now. None but a fool would go forth in warfare who could stay to revel and sleep at home."
Sarchedon, though familiar with camps, was also no stranger to the usages of a palace.
"My lord did not seem of so peaceful a mind," he answered, "while he drove his war-chariot through the archers who lined her vineyards when we invested the city of Pasht, or it had cost us a weary siege ere we broke in pieces the idols of the Cat!"
"Well said, Sarchedon!" was the vain-glorious reply. "Why did we not push on, as I advised? By the gods of my fathers, I swear to you, that if Ninyas had been your leader but for one week, rather than the Great King, he would have left the Ethiopians to lose themselves amongst the marches in our rear, fought a pitched battle on the plain by the sweet river, and you and I would have been drinking wine of Eshcol in the palace of Pharaoh at this moment."
It may be that Sarchedon had his own opinion of the strategy which should have conduced to so triumphant a result. He answered gravely enough:
"My lord confessed even now that he was far better in the palaces of Babylon. Is he not satisfied with the spoil, the captives, and the cheers of the people? They lifted up their voices when he passed to-day as it had been great Nimrod himself."
"The lazy drones!" laughed his well-pleased listener. "When I come to rule, they shall have something more to do than shout, I promise them. Reach me that flagon, I pray you—nay, hold! I am like my scoffing old sire, in one respect at least—I pour all drink-offerings down my own throat! No; what pleased me best to-day was neither spoil nor glory nor the voices of fools. It was the face of a maiden sweeter than the honeysuckle and fairer than the rose. Did you not mark her Sarchedon? or were you so busy in attendance on the queen, my mother, that you had eyes for none beside?"
Stifling the hideous misgivings that rose like a flood in his heart, Sarchedon answered with forced calmness:
"My lord must have passed to-day under the glances of a thousand damsels, and every one his handmaid. The comeliest of all were standing behind Kalmim, in attendance on the Great Queen."
"You are blind! by the beak of Nisroch, you must be blind!" exclaimed the excitable young prince. "Take Kalmim herself—for when she has tired her head and painted her eyes she is the best of them, since the queen loves not too much beauty so near her own—but take Kalmim, I say, and tell me whether she shows not like a camel beside a courser when you compare her with the daughter of Arbaces. O! never bend your brows and look so scared towards the chief captain. He cannot hear us up there; and, by the belt of Ashur, the king's voice raised in anger is enough to deafen a man in both ears! What can have chafed the old lion to make him roar so fiercely, even over his food?"
In truth, the deep harsh tones of Ninus, loud and overbearing, were heard above the ring of flagons, the clatter of tongues, all the din that accompanies a feast—even above the vibration of the lyre, the roll of the drum, the soft sweet music floating on the night air from an unseen gallery, far off amongst the pillared corridors that surrounded the open court.
Like the lion to which his graceless son compared him, Ninus was lashing himself into rage. His theme was the rapacity of priests, and, to use his own words, the extortions of the gods.
"Ten thousand of you!" roared the old warrior, turning fiercely on Assarac, of whom he had asked a question relating to certain details of the day's pageant. "Ten thousand demons! and for Baal alone. By the beard of Nimrod, he should be better served than any of us his descendants, who must needs feed the hungry swarming brood. And you would have me believe that there are gods as many as stars in heaven? Hear him, Arbaces! You and I have set armies in array ere this, so strong that our trumpets in the centre carried no sound to the horsemen on the wings; but if we are to have a thousand gods, and every god ten thousand priests, it will pass your skill and mine to devise how such a multitude may be ranged in order of battle. And one company of my bowmen would put them all to flight ere you could ride a furlong! Ten thousand priests of Baal! Ten thousand vultures tearing at a dead carcass! I trow there will be little left for the desert-falcon that struck the prey. You read the stars, forsooth, and can foretell the future easily as I can forget the past! Go to! Will you compute me the share of spoil I am likely to assign to-morrow for your entertainment and the altars of your gods?"
Without compromising one jot of his own dignity, the wily eunuch's answer was yet temperate and respectful to the Great King.
"My lord is himself the child of Ashur and of Baal—the father gives freely to the son, requiring only honour and reverence in return."
"Fill my cup!" thundered the king to Sethos, who ministered hastily to his wants. "I have not found it so," he continued, harping still on the theme that thus chafed him. "The honour and reverence I pay them willingly, though they keep me standing long enough in their temples, and, perhaps because they sit so far off, it seems hard to make them hear. But if honour and reverence are to signify, sheep and oxen, wine, jewels, raiment of needlework and heaps of treasure, they have had their share from Ninus—henceforth I will follow the example of those poor slaves we found in Egypt, the captives of our captives, who worship but one God, and offer him neither silver nor gold!"
"Therefore are they but servants to the servants of my lord the king," replied Assarac, unabashed by the frowns of Ninus and the open derision of certain veterans, who took their creed from their leader, as they took their orders—without comment or inquiry.
"Prate not to me!" was the angry answer; "I have scores of them down yonder bound in the outer court amongst my Egyptian captives. I cannot tell, Arbaces, what hinders me now, this moment, from sending you with a handful of spearmen to clear his temple of its white-robed locusts, and drive in these strangers, Egyptians and all, to worship Baal in their stead."
The chief captain, who to certain scruples of religion added those of custom, policy, and propriety, would have ventured on expostulation; but Assarac interposed.
"The gods, thy fathers, who look upon us to-night!" said he, in a stern loud voice, that awed even Ninyas and the younger revellers into attention while he pointed gravely upward where the stars were shining down in their eternal splendour on all the royal magnificence and glittering profusion of that feast in the open court.
At the same moment, sweeping round the outer walls of the palace, vibrating through its long corridors and lofty painted chambers, there rose a cry, so wild, so pitiful, so unearthly, that it arrested the goblet in each man's hand, froze the jest on his lip, and curdling the blood in his veins, caused him to sit mute and petrified, as if turned to stone.
The Great King started, and bade Arbaces summon up his guard; but Assarac's voice was heard once more, solemn and majestic in its notes of warning and reproach.
"The gods, thy fathers!" he repeated, looking Ninus sternly in the face, "who have spared the blasphemer, but visited his sin on the innocent cause thereof. Hear those Egyptian prisoners mourning for a comrade this moment passed away, wearied and out-worn by a toilsome march to the house of his captivity, stricken and thrust through by the iron that has entered into his soul!"
It was indeed such a wail of bereavement and despair as was to rise hereafter through all its length and breadth in the land of the South, because of the terrible punishment that visited her people, "from Pharaoh that sat on the throne to the captive that was in the dungeon"—on that awful night, the climax of successive judgments, when "there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was not a house where there was not one dead."
As these long-drawn notes of woe swelled, sank, and swelled again, the king's first emotions of horror were succeeded by a fresh outbreak of wrath. It might have gone hard with the sorrowing herd of captives, and perhaps not one had been left to mourn for another, but that the old lion's fury, redoubled by its momentary check, was at this juncture wholly diverted and appeased. A burst of music, so loud, so full, so jubilant, that it drowned all other noises in its grand triumphant swell, announced the entrance of Semiramis; and like the Queen of Heaven rising from the dark back-ground of night, this Queen of Assyria, blazing in jewels, and robed in the light of her incomparable beauty, stood forth a shining vision from the black shadows of the gateway, to move with stately step and slow through long lines of admiring revellers, ere she made her royal obeisance before the throne of gold, where sat the Great King. While she traversed the lower end of the court, Assyria's chosen warriors, the goodliest men of all the East, rose from the board and bent them low in courtly reverence, like a bed of garden-flowers doing homage to the south wind as it passes by. With a mother's love and a queen's dignity, she laid her hand on the shoulder of her son Ninyas, while he bowed himself before her; but it was a feeling stronger than the one, and but little in accordance with the other, that bade her pause by the side of Sarchedon and whisper tenderly in his ear.
He started, colouring to his temples—two or three young warriors glanced enviously at their favoured comrade; but it was dangerous to observe too narrowly the motions of royalty, and each man fixed his eyes in deep humility on the hem of her garment as Semiramis moved proudly on.
Ninus stirred uneasily where he sat. He would fain have risen to meet his queen, and taken her in his gaunt embrace to the fierce old heart that knew no other want; but such an innovation was not to be thought of even by the conqueror of the East, and he could only reach towards her the golden sceptre that lay on a cushion at his feet.
While she pressed it to her fair white brow, there came a light in the old king's haggard face that told of the loving spark too often kindled but to be quenched in sorrow, the blind trust born to be betrayed, the fond unreasoning pride in another that goeth before a fall.
This final ceremony broke up the banquet. With loud peals of music, the king and queen, waited on by their personal attendants, betook them to their respective dwellings, between which ran the Euphrates, though under the broad river a tunnelled passage afforded free communication from one to the other. Arbaces and Sargon followed closely behind their lord, as Kalmim and her group of women accompanied the queen. Ninyas, pushing round a mighty flagon, called Sethos to his side, and swore he would not stir till midnight; an intention loudly applauded by many of the younger revellers, who gathered joyously round their prince. In the change of places that ensued, Sarchedon made his escape from the banquet, hastening through the outer gates to cool his brow in the night air, while he communed with his own perplexed aspiring heart.
The queen's soft breath seemed still upon his neck, her whisper thrilling in his ear. What could she mean? "Follow the shaft! Fly on, fly upward!" Was it possible? Could the stars have written for him such a destiny as these words seemed to imply, or was he deceiving himself like a fool? And how was this upward flight to be accomplished? A thousand wild impossible longings and fancies filled his brain, but shining calmly through them all, like the moon amidst clouds and storm-wrack veiling a troubled sea, rose the gentle image of the girl he really loved. Could he give her up? Must it so soon come to an end, this dream, so short, so sweet, so cruel in its hour of waking? At any risk he was resolved to see her once again; that very night, that very hour, before the gods had time to cast his lot for him without recall. He hurried, like a ghost, through the shadows of the silent courts towards the palace of Arbaces.
But Ninyas, while he filled cup and emptied flagon, by no means lost sight of those interests and pleasures which, in his royal opinion, constituted the chief advantages of his station as a prince. Sarchedon had not moved ten paces from his seat to leave the revellers, ere the king's son whispered to the king's cup-bearer, "Follow him, Sethos. A wise hunter never loses sight of his hound till he pulls down the deer."
Deep in his own thoughts, and wholly unconscious he was watched, Sarchedon hurried through the outskirts of the palace, traversing, with one passing glance of curiosity and compassion, an open space in which the Israelitish and Egyptian captives lay bound. The voice of mourning was hushed at last among these sufferers, save where some weeping woman, waking, as it were, to a sense of intolerable misery, pressed both hands against her throat, and thus enhanced the long vibrations of that dismal wail—so piteous, so keen, so thrilling, that it stirred the very jackal in his lair amongst the vineyards without the city walls.
Groups of these prisoners sat or grovelled on the ground, in attitudes expressive of the utmost sorrow and desolation. Here was a wounded archer, one of Pharaoh's choicest marksmen, gnawing his bonds in impotent rage and shame, while he cursed the javelin that disabled him—the comrades who had fled and abandoned him to be taken captive—the gods in all their different earthly shapes of goose, bull, falcon, stork, and locust, whom he had worshipped faithfully by the Nile, that they might leave him here in Babylon to die. There was a cluster of children, the elder sleeping the calm lovely sleep of youth, the youngest prattling, laughing, stretching its little arms towards the stars. And beside them, on her knees, their tawny mother, with head bowed down, dark eyes fixed, dim but tearless, and thoughts far away in the South, by a rude hut raised on props above the river, where last she saw him stark, motionless, and gashed from brow to breastplate, the lover of her girlhood, the husband of her heart, the father of those dear ones, dragged, without hope of return, into the land of their captivity. Wherever grieved a dark-skinned mourner, from brawny warrior to tender maiden, there seemed to be embodied the very abandonment of woe; while a few Ethiopians, surprised by hazard amongst Pharaoh's auxiliaries, before they had time to run away, wept and bemoaned themselves, with a force of lungs and vehemence of gesture, so unbridled as to border on the grotesque.
But somewhat apart, treated, as it would seem, by their Assyrian conquerors with less rigour than the rest, a handful of prisoners had disposed themselves, with scrupulous attention to decency of attitude and bearing. Conversing little, and only to each other, their low tones were forcible and expressive; their demeanour, grave and gentle, was marked with a certain sad dignity and grace. Though dark of beard and hair, they were far less swarthy in complexion than their fellow sufferers, and while nobler of stature and fuller of limb, lacked the sinuous ease and pliancy of movement so remarkable in the slender Egyptian. Their high features, kindling eyes, and curved nostrils partook of the peculiar beauty general amongst their present masters; but they showed none of the haughty self-assertion, the lofty warlike bearing, of the fierce Assyrian race. Such kin they seemed to their conquerors as the dog to the wolf, the ossifrage to the eagle, the patient ox in the furrow to the fiery wild-bull of the fell.
Presently silence came over them, and taking advantage of the laxity of their fetters, one and all rose to their feet and stood erect. Then he who seemed eldest and gravest spoke a few words in a loud solemn voice, to which the others listened attentively, responding at intervals, with heads sunk on their breasts. Sarchedon, hastening past, had yet time to observe their motions, and marvelled, in his own mind, if this could be a religious ceremonial, thus divested of all pomp and outward form; no sacrifice of blood, nor drink-offering poured out, nor altar raised,—only deep awe and reverence impressed on every face, courage, love, and trust beaming in each worshipper's eyes. The white robe of a priest of Baal flitted through the darkness round the circle; but Sarchedon's heart was filled with a sentiment that left no room for interest or curiosity, save on one subject, and he sped towards his goal, longing only for the moment that should bring him face to face with her he loved.
The moon was low in the sky, yet gave light enough to have guided him on his way, even had not every step of it been familiar as the handle of his sword. Was it strange he should have found so readily a path that led to the home of Ishtar? that he should have had access to the roof of a dwelling adjoining the palace of Arbaces? that the girl herself should have been restless, unable to sleep, and fevered with a desire to spread her carpets and cushions under the sky in the cool night air by the parapet of her father's house?
No, it was not strange; and the reason seemed simple enough as explained in a low measured chant, by a rich sweet voice—richer and sweeter that it was toned down and suppressed—which thrilled and scorched through every fibre of the young girl's being, while Sarchedon poured forth his heart in passionate pleading conveyed through the fanciful imagery of the East.