The fugitives pressed on apace, Sarchedon's horse, though wavering and exhausted, vindicating nobly the purity of its lineage, a race of which none ever failed to answer the rider's hand and voice, ask what he would; but when they stopped, they fell stone dead. Nevertheless, the foremost Egyptians gained ground too surely, and ere the Assyrians came under the protection of a friendly city, the swiftest of their pursuers had already halted to bend their bows.
A volley of arrows whistled round Sarchedon's head, who arrived last within the welcome shelter of the walls, bristling with bowmen, prepared to defend it against a host. As the great gate closed behind him, he heard the war-cry of Ashur swelling to a shout of triumph; while the baffled Egyptians, making the circuit of the place at a gallop, wheeled round and withdrew into the desert, as though content to abandon their prey.
"I never wish to look on Pharaoh's face again," said Sethos, drawing a long breath of relief, while leaping nimbly to the ground, he loosened the girths of his panting steed. "I have fronted the Great King in his wrath, and it seemed like passing through a burning fiery furnace, that scorches the beard and blisters the skin; but under the cold eye of Pharaoh, I could feel the chill of death creeping into the marrow of my bones."
Sarchedon did not answer. His heart was beating fast, and all the blood in his body seemed surging to his brain; for amongst the spectators looking down from the housetops on the entrance of their countrymen, he had caught sight of a veiled figure, that had in it something of her air and gestures who was never absent from his mind—the object of his search, the desire of his life, the woman he had loved and lost.
It was but a momentary glimpse. The figure disappeared almost as soon as seen. Nevertheless, for Sarchedon there was henceforth but one aim, one interest, in the whole city of Ascalon.
His progress through the streets reminded Sethos, though on a less splendid scale, of the Great King's return after his successful Egyptian campaign, with its greetings, its enthusiasm, its shouts of welcome, and casting down of flowers on the warriors' heads, though the numbers were scanty, compared to the population of imperial Babylon, the height from which the garlands dropped but mean and humble, measured by the pinnacles and terraces that crowned the City of Palaces, throned on her mighty stream.
Long before it could arrive beneath her walls, the watchman at the gate of Ascalon had espied this scanty troop of his countrymen advancing through the desert, pursued by an enemy from that south on which it was his duty to keep a sleepless eye. Ere Sarchedon became satisfied that he was making for a tangible stronghold, and not an illusion of the sandy wilderness, the city had been alarmed, and its Assyrian garrison, tried warriors all, were at their posts. Scores of bowmen therefore lined the streets through which the little party passed. Many a broad hand tendered its grasp of welcome and good-fellowship to the comrade who had baffled yet one more danger, foiled the hated Egyptian with bow and spear yet once again. Agron, the Captain of the Gate, a young warrior in whose company Sethos had often emptied the wine-cup, spending days and nights of revelry amongst the material joys of his beloved Babylon, himself accompanied them to the stronghold of the city, now brightened by a certain appearance of luxurious indulgence, added to its usual aspect of defence and grim security.
"Here," said Agron, "you shall be brought into the royal presence, with the rising of to-morrow's sun. You shall be sped on your way to Babylon under such a guard as may laugh Pharaoh and all his chariots to scorn, if indeed they dare thus pursue their venture into the land of Shinar. Fear not, my friends; you shall ride out of Ascalon almost as swiftly as you rode in, and I wish it had been the will of Nisroch that I might be permitted to accompany you."
"Are you then so weary of the City of Towers?" asked Sethos, smiling gaily on a group of women who were pelting him with flowers from an upper story. "It seems to me that here, as elsewhere, Ashtaroth shines down in light through the eyes of these southern damsels, and that Agron may bask in her beams no less pleasantly than at home."
"Ashtaroth!" repeated the other scornfully, "and the City of Towers! Say rather Shamash and the City of Fire! Where shall you find a palm's breadth of shade in the whole town at noon, or a green thing within a day's march of the walls? There was a fountain here over against us when we arrived; but the sun licked it up ere we saw him rise three times, dry and clean as a dog's red tongue licks a platter. For duty, it is watch and ward day by day, with your headpiece scorching the very hair off your brow, and alarms throughout the night, every time a camel tinkles its bell within or a jackal howls for hunger without. As to pleasure, if you care not to fly your hawks over a plain so barren that the very wormwood refuses to show a twig, or to follow a lion as sulky as yourself for lack of food, who burrows into a cave when you come up with him, you must be content to tie knots in your bowstring, and so keep count of the days of your captivity, as they pass by and bring no change."
"But you hold a high post," said Sarchedon absently, for his thoughts were still with the veiled figure that vanished so quickly from his sight. "You have a noble command, and great honour amongst men."
"And receive gifts from travellers entering in," added Sethos. "Caravans out of Egypt, merchants from the coast, spoilers of the desert, who must needs replenish quiver and sharpen steel, none can pass through without doing homage to the keeper of the gate, and his hand is never empty whose beard brushes the dust. Tell me, Agron, are there not bales of silk piled in thy dwelling, myrrh, spices, inlaid arms, and talents of gold, ay, and a captive maid or two, fresh and rosy as the dawn on those eastern mountains from which she comes?"
Agron laughed loud.
"How long would she abide with me at the gate, think you, after the prince had heard of her white skin and ruddy cheeks? No, my friends, wayfarers are driven from our walls as if they brought a pestilence in their very garments. For recompense, I have stern command and scornful look; for food, camel's flesh and dried locusts; for handmaiden, an Ethiopian wench, black and rough as a goat's-hair tent; and for drink—well, for drink—you are a king's cup-bearer, Sethos—I can give you, as you will presently confess, a skin of wine equal to the richest you ever pressed at dawn for thirsty old Ninus. May he live for ever! Hush, man! we are now within the royal gate, and none speaks here above his breath who values the safety of his tongue."
Thus cautioning his companions, Agron guided them through a massive portal, into the central fortress of Ascalon, constructed to hold a foe at bay even in the last extremity, were the outer walls destroyed, and the town itself razed to the ground.
As a bulwark against Egyptian aggression, and a check to the excesses of those wild tribes that, from the earliest period of history, seem to have made the desert their home, Ascalon had been fortified with all the appliances of defence which the experience of Ninus could suggest; and perhaps, as the birthplace of the queen whom he loved so dearly, had acquired in his eyes a fictitious value that caused him to regard it with jealous and constant supervision. Its central fastness was therefore in proportion to the strength of the whole place, nor did it fail to impress both Sethos and Sarchedon with feelings of awe and wonder, quite incomprehensible to the light-hearted captain of the gate. For Agron, this lowering fortress seemed but a dreary prison, only preferable to the tomb, because of the hope that he might at last resume life and light amidst the luxuries of Babylon the Great. Ascalon, as the queen remembered it, was a glittering city, beautiful in architecture, pleasant with verdant bowers, and ripening dates, and voice of rushing waters. As Agron found it, shorn of beauty to enhance its strength, it was a grim solemn citadel, denuded of palm and paradise to make room for frowning rampart and threatening tower, drained of its bubbling streams that they might fill its moats and ditches, retaining nothing of its ancient loveliness but the blue sea and the silver lake, that continued to mirror its rugged features in age truly and faithfully as the smiling freshness of its youth.
Making signs to them of silence and discretion, the captain of the gate led his comrades through a succession of massive portals and vaulted passages, to a chamber lined with cedar wood, taken, as it were, out of the wall itself, and lit but sparingly by an aperture communicating with the roof.
"The prince will not see you," said he, "because he sits at the banquet of wine, and he holds by our ancient custom of Ashur, which forbids the clashing of cups and counsel; but you are fasting men as yet, and you may seehim!"
Thus speaking, he drew aside a heavy curtain that had hitherto darkened their hiding-place, and disclosed a sufficiently sumptuous banqueting-hall, in which feasted some twenty or thirty guests, of whom at least half a score were women, unveiled, with flushed cheeks, disordered raiment, and garlands of flowers clinging to their loosened hair.
Keen as the desert hawk's, Sarchedon's eye took in the gay assemblage at a glance. There was less of disappointment than relief in the deep breath he drew to miss the woman he loved amongst these restless, lavish, and alluring forms.
Ninyas sat in their midst, gorgeously attired as was his wont, with a jewelled drinking-cup in hand, pledging his male guests at the lower end of the board with loud hilarity, or whispering softly in the ear of one of those fairer companions by whom he had surrounded himself. The good humour of princes is contagious. To the royal challenge, men raised their goblets full and set them down empty; to the royal jest, women replied with peals of laughter and protestations of disapproval; while the royal whisper was answered by blush, and smile, and smothered sigh, more flattering than the wildest outbreak of mirth.
"I told you so," said Sethos in his friend's ear. "He was anxious about our embassy and could not remain in Babylon, but removed here to be nearer the land of Egypt."
"His mind seems easy enough now," answered Sarchedon; while Ninyas, taking a lotus-flower from his own garland, and steeping it in wine, twined it through the flowing locks of a free and laughing damsel, leaning across a comrade, till her head almost reclined on the prince's shoulder.
As she suffered him to fasten the flower in her hair, it was evident to those watching above that she made some vehement though mirthful declaration, accompanied by many gestures of affected reluctance and denial; presently, on a remark of the prince, her retort called forth an over-powering burst of laughter, and Ninyas, taking the collar of gold from his neck, wound it as a bracelet round her arm.
In the meantime goblets had been emptied freely, eyes began to shine, voices to rise, and the confusion of tongues became every moment more and more unintelligible. The captain of the gate, though a stout warrior, possessed, like his two comrades, a leavening of that discretion which, even if laid aside in camp, cannot be dispensed with at court. He judged it time to retire.
"Those are full men down yonder," said he, with a meaning smile, "and ye up here are fasting from all but desert air, and mayhap a mouthful or two of desert sand. Had you taken your places at the banquet amongst the others, with your feet washed, your locks combed, and garlands on your heads, there would have seemed no shame in all this revelry, because you too would have been merry with wine. That which is but decent mirth to one who rises from a feast, looks like rank folly to another who is about to sit down. Let us go hence, and you shall comfort your hearts with bread ere I show you the place of your repose. To-morrow Ninyas will speak with you face to face, in the light of the rising sun."
He conducted them accordingly to the lodging he himself occupied when not actually on duty at the city gate, placing before them such fare as, notwithstanding his protestations of its unworthiness, was exceedingly acceptable to their sharpened appetites, and producing a measure of Damascus wine, that even Sethos, in his official capacity, pronounced irreproachable. It proved, indeed, of so tempting a quality, that Agron seemed well inclined to let the gate take care of itself, while he assisted his guests in its consumption, expostulating earnestly with Sarchedon on his insensibility to the merits of the matchless vintage—"ripened," as he boasted, "in the brightest beams of an Assyrian sun, pressed by the whitest feet that ever danced under a mountain-maid, stored in royal cellars, and worthy, if ever wine was, to be placed before the cup-bearer of a king."
Sethos admitted its flavour, comparing it to that with which he had been regaled in Egypt at Pharaoh's own table, not disparagingly, yet so as to enhance in his listeners' esteem his own importance as a man of pleasure, a man of counsel, and a man of action.
"Their feasts," he observed gravely, "are spread more fairly than ours, their dishes are more sumptuous, their attendants more numerous. There is not the profusion of fish, flesh, and fowl that we waste in our land of Shinar; but dainties are brought at any cost from the extremities of Libya and the other side of the southern mountains. They would be ashamed to hear the heifer lowing in the court for her calf smoking on the board at which they sit, with knife in hand. Is it not so, Sarchedon? You tarried longer as a guest of Pharaoh than I did myself."
"My own experience is chiefly of prison fare," was the answer; "nevertheless, though the lodging was somewhat strait and gloomy, I can in no wise complain of the food. The bread of my captivity was meat and wine, not to mention a barley-cake and a bunch of onions thrust into my hand by the archer who led me to my cell."
"Barley-cake and onions!" exclaimed Agron. "They fight passing well—I pray you suffer me to fill your cups—passing well, indeed, these nimble friends of ours, for men who fare no better than that!"
"Fight!" repeated Sethos, in high disdain. "Call you it fighting, forsooth, to set the battle in array, advancing in countless columns with levelled spears and waving banners, only to halt in orderly line, sound a trumpet, and retire discomfited before the sons of Ashur have time to bend their bows? Fight, comrades! I tell you, that for real fighting, man to man, hand to hand, foot to foot, and buckler to buckler, there is but one nation on the face of the earth."
"And but one champion in that nation," observed his host, with a covert smile at Sarchedon.
It was not lost on the merry nature of Agron, that his good wine already sang in the brain of the king's cup-bearer.
"You are my friend, and judge me too favourably," replied the latter, in perfect good faith. "I am no boaster, by the quiver of Merodach! yet I may say, that this belt of mine girdles a man who never shrank from buffets with the Egyptian at a score, ay, a hundred to one! The sun has scarcely set since the chosen host of Pharaoh, his chief captains, his chariots and horsemen, surrounded me in the desert, as—as I surround this goblet in my grasp. Did I yield? Did I fly? No. I retired to—to draw them on, as it were, and loosen their array. What! thou art a warrior—thou knowest my cunning of defence—my skill—"
"In retreat?" asked the other, laughing outright.
Sethos gazed on him angrily, and tried to rise; but resuming his seat, burst out laughing too.
"In retreat, in advance," said he, "in press of battle—when and how you will. They came on at a gallop, with their spears down. I reined-in, and stood like a rock, with my wine-cup—I would say, with my bow—laid across my arm thus. Then I fitted an arrow to the string, and Sarchedon will bear me witness—Is it not so? Why, where is he? Surely he was here not a moment ago. Sarchedon, I say, will bear me—"
But turning round for better summons of this additional testimony to his valour, he found himself so unsteady, that he was fain to give up the search and the subject together, fixing his attention rather on the flagon, which he and his host finished in company ere they sank into a sound and not entirely sober repose.
Sarchedon in the meantime, anxious and sick at heart, had risen from the revel unobserved, and retired to his assigned resting-place, where, notwithstanding the day's exertions, sad thoughts and burning memories banished sleep from his eyelids, peace from his troubled heart.
A lover's perceptions are not easily deceived; neither veil nor mantle can hide that subtle, mysterious idiosyncrasy which makes the one woman, while wholly distinct from the rest, a type and ideal of her sex. It was indeed Ishtar whom Sarchedon had seen amongst the spectators of his entry into Ascalon, nor is it necessary to add that she had recognised him almost ere he passed through the gate. In those long weary days since they parted, how many drink-offerings had she poured out, how many prayers had she offered to Baal, Nebo, Merodach, all the host of heaven, especially to Ashtaroth, Queen of Love and Light! Behold them accepted and answered now! Her lover was in the same town with her; all the cunning she had practised to keep him at bay whose ardour she so loathed—her assumed fatigue, her feigned sickness, her feminine arts of defence—were to be rewarded at last. Doubtless she would meet Sarchedon in the streets—on the wall—what matter where?—before another sun had set; and to look in his face, if only once again, would be happiness enough for Ishtar. Her influence over the volatile young prince gave her authority in his household, so that she could roam unquestioned through all parts of the town and fortress where he reigned supreme. Sarchedon, tossing uneasily on his couch, little thought whose hand had trimmed the lamp by his head, strewn the rushes on his floor, and filled with the purest coldest water in Ascalon the pitcher that stood ready to his hand.
During the first watch of night, Ishtar paced to and fro in her own chamber, restless, perturbed, fevered with a wild joy far too keen for happiness, her whole being, sense, heart, and brain, filled with the image of the man she loved. When the archers had been relieved on the wall, and the spearman's echoing tread had died out among the ramparts, a well-known footfall passed along the gallery to her chamber: she recognised, with indescribable fear and loathing, the step of the man who lovedher!
Ninyas, weary of a banquet too late prolonged, of wine poured out too freely, tresses unbound too readily, smiles lavished ere he provoked them, and favours offered that he had little inclination to ask, broke up the sitting with less than his usual cordiality, and flung his festive garland under foot with something of the petulance shown by a spoiled child, that destroys its playthings because of the one unattainable gaud it has been forbidden to possess.
His male attendants discreetly emptied their goblets and held their peace; but some of the women showed signs of displeasure and discontent ere they withdrew; Rekamat, indeed, a comely dame from the northern mountains beyond Nineveh, who deemed her own ruddy cheeks and amber hair too rare beauties thus to be wasted in Ascalon, spoke her mind freely enough.
"My lord is wrath," said she, "with his handmaidens, because, forsooth, we grudge neither word nor deed, dance nor song, to do him honour. Shall we not rejoice in the light of his countenance, as the golden fruit of the palm deepens under the rays of a southern sun? When the date is ripe it should be gathered ere it fall."
"The dates are musty, and the palm-tree bare," answered Ninyas; "I am weary of it all!"
"Let not the anger of my lord be kindled," replied Rekamat in a voice that betrayed considerable irritation, "while I tell him he is plunging his hand through the thorns to pluck a cluster of wild-grapes; he is pouring streams of fair water on a growth of bitter wormwood, and yoking a team of oxen to plough the desert sand. O, my lord, have you not free choice among all the birds of heaven? and cannot you refrain from the poor gray linnet that sits sad and moulting in her cage?"
"The linnet's plumage is sleek, and her song pleasant to hear," retorted Ninyas with a mocking laugh. "The vulture's neck is bare and peeled, her voice an ugly croak."
"I thank my lord for the comparison," replied Rekamat, now quivering with vexation. "He used not to think so when he hunted the lion under the walls of Nineveh: the vulture had bright eyes and sweet tones when she flapped her wings in Babylon before the Egyptian campaign, and my lord seemed well-pleased to find her hovering over him in Ascalon when he arrived with half-a-score of attendants, and a maiden swaddled up in sere-cloths on a dromedary. O that I had never come here! never seen this hideous, hot, and hateful town! never, never,neverlooked on the face of my lord!"
Skilful in the science of such warfare, Rekamat burst into a storm of sobs, veiling her bright face with her delicate hands, to hide the tears, which were not perhaps forthcoming so freely as she could wish.
It was no part of the prince's nature to soften at sight of a woman's distress, real or simulated. He laughed heartily now, and she turned on him like a tigress.
"My lord has yet to learn the first lessons of manhood!" she exclaimed. "What do I say? Am I not a fool to look for a warrior's beard on a boy's chin? Out on the smooth cheek and the white skin! Give me the heart, I say. As bright Ashtaroth is my witness, I would I were Prince Ninyas but for a single day!"
She was very handsome with her burning cheeks and flashing eyes. It may be, that all the evil in her listener's disposition woke up at her petulance and audacity; but his countenance remained unmoved, his voice seemed unusually gentle, while he asked, "Why?"
She looked in his face scared, dominated by the quiet tones that to her feminine apprehension seemed more threatening than the loudest outbreak of wrath.
"Why?" she repeated. "Because I would cherish the faithful heart that beats only for me, while the stubborn slave who dared to mock my power should be thrust out with scorn into the wilderness."
"Have you done?" asked Ninyas, still in the same placid tones, with the same hard unchanging smile.
She fell at his feet now, and her tears began to flow in sad earnest. In her anger, she had been ready enough to run the risk of offending him; but she shrank from paying the penalty.
"I am but as dust in the sight of my lord," was her reply. "It is for the prince to command, and for his handmaid to obey."
"To-morrow, at dawn," said Ninyas, "you will sit in the gate of the city, with your garments rent and ashes scattered on your head. In the sight of archers and spearmen, and all the people of Ascalon, you will draw water from the well to wash the feet of Ishtar, as she takes her place of honour, doing homage to the beauty of her who is the chosen of your lord. I have spoken."
Then he turned coldly away, leaving the prostrate beauty cowed and defeated, though maddened with the bitter prospect of her humiliation.
Notwithstanding his self-assertion, however, Ninyas proceeded on his undertaking with feelings of considerable annoyance and ill-humour. To be baffled by one woman was bad enough, but to be flouted for his failure by another was irritating in the extreme. He resolved that this trifling must be borne no longer, that the royal favour he offered must be accepted forthwith. What! the girl was in his power, after all! He had not wavered when her father lay slain on his own hearth; why should he hesitate now? She must be taught her lesson, here in this grim lonely fortress, and learn to accept with becoming gratitude the honours thrust upon her by the gods.
Bold, reckless, unfeeling, he possessed the chief elements of success; but he was young, and left out of his calculations the thousand wiles and stratagems through which, in all encounters of their wits, a man is invariably out-manœuvred by a woman.
While he entered her chamber, the girl felt her heart stop beating and her whole frame tremble like a leaf. She dropped her veil, nevertheless, with a steady hand, standing erect, to all appearance calm and motionless as a statue.
A flaring torch of pine-wood, dipped in pitch and fixed in a ring of bronze against the wall, shed its wavering glare on these two comely figures, playing over the sparkling jewels and festive garments of the one, while it deepened into gloom and mystery the shrouded outline of the other. Costly articles of furniture were scattered about the apartment, such as ivory couches, dressed skins of beasts, silken cushions, and tables of elaborate Egyptian carving. On one of these stood two jewelled cups, and a flagon sparkling with amber wine from the south.
Ninyas paused at the threshold; then advancing on that silent inmate, took her hand, and passed his arm round her waist.
"I have quitted lighted hall," said he, "and circling wine-cup, because of the Lily of Ascalon, without whom there seems no savour in the feast, no mirth in the revellers. My lily is drooping here in solitude—lo, I come to transplant her to a fairer garden and a richer soil."
Quick as thought she flashed one glance into his beautiful face, and made up her mind even while she looked.
"His servant felt cruelly disappointed that my lord bade her not to the banquet," was the deceitful answer. "It is to my shame and sorrow, if I have in any way displeased my lord."
Thus speaking, she disengaged herself gently from the encircling arm, and fell at his feet in an attitude that expressed the utmost humility, but made it exceedingly difficult for Ninyas to embrace her again.
"You know," said he, "that you are always welcome to your prince. Come when she will and how she will, he only desires to lay the lily in his bosom, and place Ishtar beside him on a throne."
"Then my lord is no longer wroth with his handmaid," said she, unveiling and rising to her feet, while she called into her beautiful eyes a look that thrilled her admirer to the core. "I have sat here silent and sad, thinking that the cloud between us was never to pass away. Lo, my lord looks favourably on his servant, and she is glad in the light of his smile once more."
Rejoiced, no less than surprised, by the happy turn matters seemed to have taken, pluming himself also on his own wisdom in having left her for a space to herself, all the heart Ninyas possessed flew to his lips while he exclaimed:
"I love you, Ishtar! love you better than power, riches, a warrior's fame, a king's throne, the wine I drink, the very air I breathe! O, I love you so, my pure and precious pearl, that I sometimes think the pleasure can never pay me for the pain!"
Fickle, self-indulgent, unstable as he was, yet in the fierce impulsive ardour of his youth he meant it—honestly and heartily—for the time.
Ishtar could not repress a sense of triumph in the consciousness of her power—a power that should serve to baffle the gaoler even now, and unlock the prison door.
His eyes followed her with fond glances, while she moved to the table and filled a wine-cup to the brim. It must have been a colder nature than his that could resist the winning grace with which she offered him to drink.
"My lord will not refuse to pledge his handmaid," said she, "in token of forgiveness and good-will?"
He emptied the cup at a draught; for indeed to this impulsive young prince there was a keen zest in every phase of luxury and indulgence: the lust of the eye, the pleasures of the senses, feast and frolic, wine and women—he loved them all too well. It was the strongest vintage of the South, and succeeding his previous potations, its effects were apparent at once. His cheek paled, his glance wandered, there came a thickness in his speech, while he sank among shawls and cushions, inviting Ishtar to sit beside him on the couch. Though it sickened her, she suffered him to caress her hands, her arms, the fragrant wealth of her flowing hair. Once more she filled for him. Once more he drank to her beauty, her promotion, her coming happiness.
She had ceased to fear him now; for the strong wine, though it blazed in his eyes and inflamed his senses, fastened his limbs, like a chain of iron, to the couch.
Stretching his arms back to embrace her with the caressing gesture of a child, he looked up in her face, betraying even more of mirth than either love or longing in his own.
She watched him, as the physician watches the sick man about to die; and though an icy cold crept over her, she never smiled more sweetly than while she took his beautiful head in her hands and pillowed it on her own beating heart.
In that fair smooth bosom thoughts of agony and horror were lurking, as there are foul monsters and hideous secrets, wrecks and remnants and dead men's bones, hidden beneath the smiling surface of the sea. She longed for the wine to work its office—all the more wildly that he wore a dagger in his girdle—and she prayed with her whole heart she might not be driven to use that.
Softly, sweetly, she sang him a drowsy lullaby, not a quiver on her lip nor tremble in her voice, while she soothed him with tender care, like a mother hushing off her child.
"Sleep, my love, sleep; rest, my love, rest;Dieth the moan of the wind in the tree,Foldeth her pinions the bird in her nest,Sinketh the sun to his bed in the sea.Sleep, sleep—lull'd on my breast,Tossing and troubled, and thinking of me.Hush, my love, hush; with petals that close,Bowing and bending their heads to the lea,Fainteth the lily, and fadeth the rose,Sighing and sad for desire of the bee.Hush, hush; drooping like those,Weary of waking and watching for me.Peace, my love, peace; falleth the night,Veiling in shadows her glory for thee;Eyes may be darken'd, while visions are bright,Senses be fettered, though fancy is free.Peace, peace; slumbering light,Longing and loving and dreaming of me."
"Sleep, my love, sleep; rest, my love, rest;Dieth the moan of the wind in the tree,Foldeth her pinions the bird in her nest,Sinketh the sun to his bed in the sea.Sleep, sleep—lull'd on my breast,Tossing and troubled, and thinking of me.
Hush, my love, hush; with petals that close,Bowing and bending their heads to the lea,Fainteth the lily, and fadeth the rose,Sighing and sad for desire of the bee.Hush, hush; drooping like those,Weary of waking and watching for me.
Peace, my love, peace; falleth the night,Veiling in shadows her glory for thee;Eyes may be darken'd, while visions are bright,Senses be fettered, though fancy is free.Peace, peace; slumbering light,Longing and loving and dreaming of me."
At last! He would not wake now till dawn. She kept her eyes from his dagger, lest she might be tempted to make too sure; then disengaged herself with cautious sinuous dexterity from the undisturbed sleeper, and, slipping the ring off his finger, stole noiseless as a shadow from the place.
Hurrying through the corridors of the fortress, she passed the chamber where Sethos and Agron, who had assiduously emptied their flagon, were sleeping that sound and dreamless sleep, from which men are with difficulty aroused until the draughts they have swallowed cease to affect the brain.
Neither had taken much thought in bestowing himself decently to rest. The cup-hearer, stretched on the floor, still grasped a goblet in his hand; while the captain of the gate, retaining, as it seemed, some vague consciousness that his duties demanded unceasing vigilance, remained seated at the table, his head pillowed on his arms, his whole faculties so steeped in slumber that an enemy might have stormed the walls and penetrated to the heart of the fortress, yet scarcely disturbed his repose.
With womanly foresight and precaution, Ishtar snatched a loaf of bread and a handful of dates from the board, lifted mantle, bow and quiver from the corner where these had been flung aside, and went her way.
Sarchedon, tossing restlessly on his couch, courted sleep in vain. To no purpose had he quaffed draughts of pure cold water, extinguished his torch, and resolved to force his faculties into repose.
The veiled figure he had seen on entering the gate thrust itself on his senses. It might have been—it must have been—Ishtar! She was in the same town, perhaps under the same roof. And if so, what had been her fate since they parted? How came she in Ascalon, but by a violence and treachery that could only have the basest object, the cruellest results. Each after each, these maddening thoughts seemed to goad and sicken him, like successive stabs, when their current was suddenly arrested by a light step on his chamber-floor, the faint rustle of a garment at his side.
Starting to his feet with an exclamation of defiance, it was smothered ere spoken by a soft hand laid to his lips, while the dear familiar voice murmured in his ear,
"Sarchedon my beloved, it is I—your own Ishtar! Hush, for your life! Be silent, be obedient, and follow me."
Was he dreaming? Was he in his right senses? This, at least, could be no illusion of fancy. The glowing form panted in his arms, the sweet lips were glued to his own. Even in that crisis of danger and suspense she could spare him a moment of rapture, in her clinging close embrace. If these were dreams—he prayed to Ashtaroth—let him never wake again!
But despite of, perhaps because of, her affection, the woman retained all her faculties, her common sense and presence of mind, while the man was lost and bewildered in the tumult of his unexpected happiness. She girded the sword on his thigh with her own hands, buckled Agron's bow and quiver at his back, whispered caution once more, and so led him through gloomy passage and vaulted archway to the outer court.
Here the starlight showed him the loving eyes, the fair, fond face, he had thought never to see again but in his dreams. Looking down on that pure open brow, angry suspicions, hideous misgivings fled from his troubled spirit, as evil dreams and phantoms of the night vanish with dawn of day.
"I am happy now," she murmured, "and I am safe. To-morrow it would have been too late."
But for this timely avowal, he might have urged her with a thousand ill-advised questions, productive only of delay. Now he pressed the hand that guided him gratefully to his lips, and she knew that he thanked her from his inmost heart.
"We have not a moment to lose," she whispered, as they made for one corner of the court, where a continuous chewing of provender, and an indistinct mass topped by two or three swan-like necks and motionless heads, denoted that certain camels were at rest. "By to-morrow's dawn we must be many leagues from Ascalon, and it is now the middle watch of night. The dromedary that brought me here is the fleetest in all the land of Shinar. He laughs at the wild ass, and scorns the desert wind in its wrath. Sarchedon my beloved, if you and I were mounted on him, a single bowshot outside the gate, we should be safe!"
"They have fleet steeds," he answered, thinking of Merodach, and wishing the good horse stood ready saddled for him now.
"Steeds!" she repeated. "The fleetest that ever spurned sand would labour, after that ill-favoured beast, like gorged vultures after the long-winged hawk of the desert. Rouse him, Sarchedon, and fasten our provender to his side. Beware! he is surly and savage; but he can travel far and fast, untiring as a ship on the sea, swift as a bird in the air."
Thus speaking she helped him to secure the trappings of the unwilling dromedary, disturbed from its repose, not without many angry protestations, couched in discordant screams and fierce attempts to bite. It was not long ere he had mounted and placed her behind him on the creature's back, which then rose slowly to its knees and feet, stretched its long neck with an inquiring gesture into the darkness, blew the dust out of its nostrils, and shuffled with awkward sidelong gait into the town.
Those soft spongy feet roused no echo in the streets. The dromedary passed on under its burden, like an ungainly ghost, without disturbing spearmen in the fortress or archer on the wall.
When the gate was reached, however, the fugitives found it too well guarded. In Agron's absence, his subordinate was prepared to be unusually vigilant and alert.
The watchman challenged from the rampart, the archers mustered by scores, bending their bows; a single torch shed its light on the officer's warlike face and weapons, the clamps of the ponderous doors, Sarchedon's bow and quiver, the dromedary's sullen head, and the feet and hands of Ishtar, as she sat exalted over all.
"None can pass out after nightfall," said the officer, levelling his spear. "Turn back your beast and go your way. You can come hither again at dawn."
Sarchedon felt the hand of Ishtar press his shoulder as though to inculcate silence and caution. Trusting to her resources he held his peace.
"Where is the captain of the gate?" said she, in a tone of anger deep and imperious as a man's. "I demand to see Agron; we do not speak with a common spearman of matters pertaining to the Great King."
His instincts of discipline bade him screen his commander, while he obeyed an appearance of authority so well sustained.
"Let not my lord be wroth," said he, peering up into the darkness, in hope of recognising the high official with whom he spoke. "The captain of the gate is even now visiting his watchmen on the wall. At his return he will doubtless give my lord liberty to pass out. In the meantime the royal orders are strict. May the King live for ever!"
Whispering to an archer, he bade him run with all speed, and apprise Agron of the difficulty, but showed no disposition to relax his own vigilance at the gate.
"Fool!" exclaimed Ishtar, in the same deep tones. "Will you wear your head to-morrow at sunrise? or do you wish it set here over the gate, while your body is flung from the wall to make a morning meal for the jackals? Know you not this token? Do you dare disavow the signet of Ninyas in his own royal abode?"
She held out the ring stripped from the Prince's finger in his drunken sleep, and was not surprised to see the Assyrian officer prostrate himself humbly before the jewel. He thought the manner of its forthcoming unaccountable and irregular, the hand that tendered it strangely white and delicate; but that was no affair of his. The Prince's signet, here in Ascalon, conferred supreme authority on its bearer, and he must simply obey.
He lowered his spear; the archers unstrung their bows; the heavy gate swung back; the dromedary paced leisurely through; and Sarchedon was alone with Ishtar in the desert—free!
They made but little haste while within bowshot of the walls. To arouse suspicion would have been fatal. The stars gave light enough for a practised archer to make sure of his mark. But when they had traversed a few furlongs, Sarchedon could not resist a smothered cry of triumph, while he urged the dromedary to its speed. The air from the sea blew fresh and pleasant, lifting his locks and cooling his temples as he hurried on, while every sense seemed sharpened, every muscle strengthened by the rapidity of his flight. Behind him was sorrow, outrage, and imprisonment; before him freedom, love, and joy. He could scarce control his feelings; for was not Ishtar leaning on his shoulder? and had he not gained all he desired in the world?
Looking back in the beloved face of her who was to share his future, it startled him to see it so pale, that in the starlight it was like the face of a corpse.
She had borne up bravely through difficulty and danger; but when the crisis was past, and she knew her lover in safety, the strength that self-sacrifice and devotion afford a woman at her need failed her without warning; and she sank heavily against Sarchedon, faint, helpless, inanimate, but clinging round him to the last.
So the stars paled, the sky brightened, turning to pearly gray, and clear faint green, primrose, orange, crimson, and molten gold. The sun rose in his glory, bathing earth and heaven in floods of dazzling light. The sand glowed, the waste widened, and still the dromedary travelled on with free, unfaltering strides, swift, straight, and noiseless like an arrow from a bow.
Ninyas, waking out of his heavy slumbers, looked about him in a dim confusion of thoughts that gradually resolved themselves to a sense of irritation tinged with shame.
The voice of Ishtar still seemed ringing in his ears, signs of her presence—jewels, garments, articles of feminine luxury—were strewed about the apartment; but she who made the charm of all was nowhere to be found. He called, he clapped his hands, he rose, yawned, stretched himself, and observing his finger bared of its accustomed jewel, the whole truth flashed on him at a glance.
He actually trembled with rage and self-contempt. To have been put off so long, and thus outwitted at last! He could have inflicted on her the severest punishment in all the code of Assyrian cruelty, and laughed her to scorn the while, had she been within reach. His perceptions, especially where self was concerned, were vivid enough; and the loss of his signet showed him too clearly that not only had the bird escaped from his hand, but that she was beyond the walls ere now, flown out of reach for evermore.
He had as yet vouchsafed no audience to the fugitives from Egypt, and had indeed taken little notice of their arrival, reported during his protracted carouse; so he was ignorant that Sarchedon had been his guest for a night, and thus repaid his hospitality. It was maddening enough, however, without this aggravation, to reflect that the woman he proposed so to honour, should have preferred to his royal favour the danger and hardships of a sudden flight into the wilderness. Ninyas felt he must avenge himself on anything and everything that came to hand.
The captain of the gate was obviously the first person to be interrogated, brow-beaten, and disgraced.
Agron, collecting his faculties after his debauch, and learning with some anxiety from the report of his subordinate, that the gate had been opened by royal order before the morning watch, was in no wise reassured when he received a summons to attend the Prince forthwith. Bold as he had proved himself many a day in battle, his cheek paled, and his fingers trembled, so that he could hardly draw the buckle of his girdle, or straighten the quiver at his back.
Ninyas had bathed his temples, combed out his abundant locks, and adjusted his apparel. Not a trace of his late excess was perceptible save a slight flush, which perhaps rather enhanced the beauty of his delicate cheek; and only those who knew him well could have detected in the mocking calm of that fair womanly face signs of a storm that would burst anon.
Agron, however, while he prostrated himself before his lord, felt that he was a doomed man.
"I missed you from the banquet yesterday," said Ninyas, with exceeding graciousness; "was it that my trusty captain remained to handle bow and spear at the gate, rather than wine-cup at the board?"
"The Prince hath spoken," answered Agron, steadying his voice by an effort.
"Not a mouse could have crept through, then, without your sanction," continued his lord. "O, I know your vigilance, and shall reward it richly as it deserves."
Agron could but listen and tremble.
"The fleetest dromedary in the land of Shinar was tethered in the court of the fortress when the sun set yesterday. I have heard it passed out of Ascalon, bearing a double burden, before the morning watch. Are these things so?"
It was obvious that the Prince had already made himself acquainted with the truth. Agron only faltered out,
"The rider bore the royal signet. What am I, that I should canvass the commands of my lord?"
The voice of Ninyas grew softer, his manner more gentle every moment.
"You are an Assyrian captain," said he, "a trained man of war from your youth. Rehearse me, lest I forget them, your duties as chief watchman at the gate."
Agron felt that the shadow of death was overtaking him fast, while he replied,
"Thy servant quits not his post on any pretence until relieved, but at the express command of my lord. He visits the walls."
"Enough!" exclaimed the Prince, bursting into fury at last, while his cheeks kindled, his eyes blazed, and he looked like an angel possessed by a fiend. "Coward! and slave! out of your own mouth you are judged, by your own words you are condemned! All last night you were absent from your post, passing the wine cup, striking the timbrel—what do I know or care? And the gate of Ascalon was left open and unguarded as the great market-place in Babylon. For such an offence there is a fitting punishment, never yet remitted amongst the sons of Ashur.—Cover his face, and lead him forth! I have spoken."
Then, while the archers in attendance seized on their late commander to fulfil the awful sentence, Ninyas turned with a calm brow and sweet smile to a stately official standing near, and said,
"Those fugitives from Egypt—I can attend to their matters now. Bring them into my presence."
The official seemed greatly troubled.
"Let not my lord consume me utterly in his displeasure," said he. "One of them hath escaped in the night, and there is but one left."
It was in vain to calculate the Prince's changing moods. He laughed aloud.
"The more fool he to stay in the town since the gate stood open," was his reply. "Put him in the fortress-dungeon, and keep him there on bitter waters and bread of affliction till I send to bring him out. Now lead the horses round, and unhood the hawks. I have done enough justice for one sitting. Let us ride forth into the wilderness to take a prey!"
The dromedary travelled fast; but its pace, rough and fatiguing even to Sarchedon's athletic frame, was especially trying to his companion. Anxiety and agitation had done their usual work; so that when Ishtar recovered from her swoon, refreshment and a short interval of repose seemed absolutely necessary, if she was to continue her journey through the night. Towards noon, therefore, her companion thought it wise to halt at a convenient resting-place, where a clump of palms flung their slender shadows over a desert spring; and while the dromedary, after drinking its fill, browsed on the few dried shoots afforded by the scanty vegetation of the wilderness, Sarchedon did all that a lover's care and a traveller's experience could suggest for her comfort who was thus confided to his affection.
"You were wise," said he, forcing on her a share of their provision, "to carry off this morsel of food from Agron's table. I know the stations well at which we can halt to drink, and that good beast yonder, though he will grow leaner and leaner, can journey on with unfailing strength till the sun has risen twice again. Eat, then, and spare not; for on the edge of the desert, when we have passed the bitter sea of the plain, there are cities of refuge, where we can obtain such food as we require for man and beast, ere we go on our way rejoicing to the country between the rivers and the cool mountains of the North."
"Your path is mine," answered Ishtar, with a fond smile; "I am not so faint and weak of heart now, but I am very weary, and would fain sleep."
He disposed his mantle so as to shade her yet more securely from the pitiless sun, pillowed her head on his own broad breast, and watched her slumbers with feelings pure and holy as his whose loving eyes are resting on the face of the dead.
Presently he became himself heavy with sleep, and strove in vain to keep his faculties on the alert. He could not move a limb without disturbing his charge, and it was not long ere his sight grew dim, his head began to droop: with keen searching glances he swept the horizon round, and then gave way, dropping at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The sun was low when he woke with a start that roused his companion also. The snorts and restless motions of the dromedary, straining at its tether, denoted danger. The sleepers sprang to their feet, and looked in each other's faces with anxious eyes.
That danger was indeed very near. A cloud of dust had approached within a furlong. Through its dusky veil could be heard and seen the tramp of horses, the glitter of spears.
"They must be Philistines!" "It is Ninyas!" were the exclamations that rose to their respective lips; while Sarchedon, snatching the broken loaf and few remaining dates from off the sand, released the dromedary, lifted Ishtar hastily to her seat, and took his own place before her on the animal's back.
Urging it to the utmost, he was painfully conscious that although swifter and more enduring for a long journey, it was not so nimble as a horse in an effort of a few furlongs. Ere it had attained its full speed, the enemy were within bowshot. Already an archer had halted and was taking aim.
Stung with the knowledge that, from their relative positions, he was shielded by the body of Ishtar, Sarchedon pursued his flight in an oblique direction, guiding the dromedary now to the right, now to the left, in such alternate curves and bends as he thought might baffle the hostile marksman. An injury to the beast on which their safety depended would, he knew, be only less fatal than the wounding of Ishtar herself.
The Philistine dismounted to draw his bow with exceeding care and precision. Sarchedon felt the dromedary wince beneath him. In a few more paces the animal's speed sensibly slackened; and, looking back, it sickened him to see certain red drops soaking in on its track through the sand. The successful archer had remounted to follow his companions, who were rapidly nearing the fugitives.
"It is hard," muttered Sarchedon, grinding his teeth in rage and despair. "But ten out of all the horsemen of Assyria would suffice to bring us through, and for the want of them we must perish. We are forgotten of Nisroch, and are doomed!"
Ishtar's face turned very pale, while she pressed her lips on his shoulder, and murmured:
"Better even here, my beloved, than in Ascalon! Behold, the time is come, and in death we shall not be divided!"
Their pace was now reduced to a walk: the arrow had sped deeply home, and the dromedary, pierced through its loins, tottered at every step. The Philistines gathered round, calling on their prey to halt.
Sarchedon glanced at his own weapons—a bow, some half-score shafts, and a short straight sword. Then he measured the strength of his opponents—fifty horsemen at least; champions of exceeding stature, fierce and terrible; children of Anak; objects of dread even to the warlike sons of Ashur—in arms against all men, holding their tenure of the wilderness by right of bow and spear.
The dromedary stopped, drooping its head, groaning and shivering in sore fear and pain. Sarchedon made signs of surrender by unstringing his bow and casting it on the sand. The tallest of the Anakim threw up the spear he had levelled, and reined his horse along-side of the dromedary; his tribe gathering round, hemmed in their captives with an armed circle.
Sarchedon was ordered to dismount. While he obeyed, Ishtar too alighted nimbly on the ground. She had scarcely touched it ere the dromedary sank to its knees, struggled, and turned over on its side. In the shock, that loaf of broken bread on which the ill-fated pair depended for support, rolled to the leader's feet, and he lifted it greedily from the earth. He had not tasted food for many hours, and instinctively began eating, even while he gave directions to secure their prisoners. Here and there, like a scurf of mildew incrusted on some prison-wall, a white saline crystallisation flecked the sand at their feet.
Ishtar, separated from her lover, sprang at the chief's hand, tore from him a morsel of the broken loaf, dipped it in these shining particles, swallowed it hastily, and seizing the hem of his coarse homespun garment, claimed the protection of her act.
"Bread and salt!" said she, "the host's honour—the guest's right! I demand the safeguard of bread and salt!"
It was unanswerable. To have renounced the duties such an appeal exacted would have been to forfeit rank, character, respect in the tribe, authority in his own tent. Had she been his deadly enemy, thirsting for his blood, who had slain his kindred, carried off his maidens, defiled his father's grave, there was no help for it—she had eaten of his bread and salt! Henceforth his relations with her must be those of courtesy, friendship, and support—even to drawing of sword and bending of bow in time of need.
"It is enough!" said the chief; turning to his followers: "Place the damsel on my own steed—I will myself lead it gently to our tents. For her companion, he at least is a captive and a slave. Disarm him, and bind him fast. Bread and salt is the only obligation I regard, and I swear, maiden, by your own comeliness, you were but just in time."
He laughed while the last morsel disappeared down his stalwart throat. Ishtar, casting longing looks at Sarchedon, could not refrain from tears.
The Anakim had taken his sword from his thigh, and bound him securely with his own bowstring. He learned by the chief's gestures that Ishtar was safe for the present from insult or ill-usage, and this was his only consolation. Standing, too, among his captors, he saw how hopeless would have been resistance, even had there ridden at his back those ten Assyrian horsemen he longed for so heartily but now. Himself a man of goodly stature and powerful frame, he did not fail to remark that the least of these giants towered fully a span over his own head, while their weighty limbs and fierce bearing brought to mind all the stories he had heard of their warlike prowess, their haughty defiance of Ninus himself,—who hugely admired, while he waged a war of extermination against them,—the many deeds of desperate courage for which they were celebrated, and the marvellous strength which made a common proverb of the question, "Who shall stand before the children of Anak?"
It was natural enough for these sons of the desert to show considerable interest in the dying dromedary. An animal of such extraordinary qualities, as their critical eyes told them it possessed, would have been a far more precious capture in the wilderness than a score of maidens beautiful as Ishtar, a host of warriors stalwart as Sarchedon. A creature that, travelling on without stint or pause, from rise to set of sun, could leave their fleetest horses panting many a league behind, was simply the most valuable property a robber by profession could possess. Therefore, not until the last resources of their skill and experience had been exhausted to preserve life, did they turn sorrowfully from its carcase to the rider who had fallen into their hands.
There seemed some difficulty in disposing of him. Two loose mares, indeed, followed by their foals, had galloped up with the troop; but of these the chief, twisting his bowstring into a halter, mounted one, while the cumbrous furniture of the dead dromedary was packed on the other. Sarchedon could hardly be expected to keep pace with his conquerors on foot, and they took counsel accordingly.
"Better slay the Assyrian where he stands," said a swarthy giant, coolly balancing the profit and loss of retaining an inconvenient prisoner. "The sand is hot, the way weary. It seems cruel to bid him walk, and men like us, my brothers, cannot ask their steeds to bear a double burden." He looked proudly round on his kindred, adding conclusively,
"Besides, we have mouths enough to fill in the tents where our wells are already dry, and there is no millet left to grind!"
"You have said it, my brother!" exclaimed his nearest comrade, tall and savage as himself, raising, while he spoke, the spear that Sarchedon felt another movement of that brawny arm would drive home to his heart. Nevertheless, his eye quailed not, nor did his cheek turn pale. A true son of Ashur, he could look death in the face without flinching. The striker paused with grim approving smile. His comrades, gathering round, expressed in hoarse gutturals their admiration of such manly courage.
Ishtar's looks had never left her lover. Riding beside the chief, she caught him by the garment, and claimed his interference.
"I am your guest," said she, "here in the open desert, even as under the shadow of your tents. All of mine should be sacred in your eyes, and I call upon you to save that man's life."
In two bounds of his lean active mare he was beside the prisoner, and his powerful grasp had seized the threatening arm.
"Hold!" he thundered out. "If I see fit, I will reserve that work for myself. And now, damsel," he added, turning to Ishtar, "you claim this man's body, and why?"
Trembling with fear, she could only think of one unanswerable plea.
"I am his wife," she answered, blushing, with downcast eyes.
"His wife!" repeated the chief. "Who is he, then?"
Thoughts of ransom, flight, freedom, flitted through her brain, all to be accomplished with less difficulty by the prisoner of humble grade.
"I will speak truth to my lord," said she, "and so find favour in his sight. His servant is but a simple archer in the hosts of the king of Assyria."
"What are you doing here in the wilderness," was the next inquiry, "many days' journey from the walls of Babylon and the footstool of the Great King?"
"The servant of my lord has been a prisoner in the land of Egypt," replied Ishtar; "he was taken by the spearmen of Pharaoh. I followed him into captivity, and ministered unto him till we found a fitting time to escape."
"But the dromedary?" pursued her questioner.
"We stole it," she answered simply; and the son of Anak became less inclined to doubt the probability of her statement.
"An archer?" he repeated, pondering, as it seemed, with all his might. "But for the damsel herself, the tale seems likely enough; yet must the wives of his captains be marvellously fair, when a mere bowman in the Great King's host can come by so white a skin as that! Nevertheless," he added, turning to Ishtar, "if he be in truth an archer, and you his wife, no doubt he can bend a bow to some purpose, and you are not afraid to trust his skill. We shall prove you both on the spot."
With these words, he halted his followers and gave them the order to dismount. Sarchedon's arms were then freed, and a heavy bow, requiring no slight strength to draw, was placed in his hands. Though surprised, they laughed to observe that he was equally master of the weapon with the tallest man in their tribe.
One of the band then measured out, spear-length by spear-length, the distance of a furlong on the desert sand. It seemed a considerable flight for an arrow; but every child of Anak was bowman from his youth, just as he was horseman, swordsman, spearman, and spoiler of all who came across his path.
The chief himself, lifting Ishtar from the saddle, led her to the spot his follower had marked out. Then, taking off his own belt, he buckled it so as to form a loop half a cubit in diameter.
"Hold this in your hand," said he, "and stretch your arm to the farthest. If an archer of the Great King is skilful as the Assyrians boast, he can drive me a shaft through that loop without risk to a hair of his wife's head."
In vain Sarchedon protested; in vain he entreated that he might be pitted against the fiercest champion of the tribe with sword or spear, foot to foot and breast to breast.
"No," said the Anakim; "the damsel told us he was an archer. As an archer he shall be proved. Surely it is the wife's duty to give life, if need be, for her lord."
Not a shade was on Ishtar's brow, not a tinge of fear in eye, mouth, or attitude, while she stood there over against him firm, erect, and beautiful; but Sarchedon felt his heart turn sick, his head swim, as he thought with horror of the result, should his hand fail him, or the desert wind divert the arrow but a cubit from its course.
He could not; no, he could not. Once, twice, he took aim—slowly, steadily, with true unfaltering eye—but the third time his powerful arm drew the bow to its utmost compass, directing its shaft at the sky, and sending it high over Ishtar's head, to quiver in the earth as far behind her as the marksman stood in front.
"An archer! an archer!" exclaimed the Anakim with one accord. "Not a man of us, with the wind against him, could have measured such a flight as that!"
"An archer, and a good one," assented their leader; "but the damsel is no wife of his, nevertheless. If he were indeed her lawful lord, he had not surely weighed the scratch of an arrow on her skin against his own freedom and his life."
Thus arguing according to his lights, the chief directed that Sarchedon should be secured once more, and, much to the dissatisfaction of the troop, that they should place him on their horses in rotation, journeying by turns on foot. Although Ishtar failed to make as good terms for her lover as for herself, she had in no way forfeited the protection she acquired so discreetly, and rode by their leader's side, at the head of the band, as an honoured guest rather than the captive of his bow and spear. Nevertheless, all her thoughts were engrossed by his welfare whom she so dearly loved; her whole mind was bent on forming some scheme for his security and freedom. Alas! it was to no purpose that she wrung her hands and racked her brain. Sarchedon had fallen into the power of men for whom human life and human suffering were of less account than the wormwood that lay bruised beneath their horses' feet. If a captive proved troublesome, what matter? It was but the push of a spear, and they were rid of him once for all.
Nevertheless, these children of Anak, though possessing themselves on occasion with the strong hand of whatsoever they desired, had yet, like other spoilers, peaceful relations with certain traders whose propensities for barter could be of inestimable value to men against whom every gate was barred, every wall guarded, through all the cities of the plain. With these merchants their dealings were honourable enough, the man of trade seldom failing to make exorbitant profit from his transactions with the man of war. This mutual barter comprised almost every one of the ruder articles required for support or destruction of life. Horses, arms, camels, dates, bread, honey, mare's-milk cheeses, even goodly raiment of needlework, were exchanged freely; while a fair-faced maiden to adorn the tent, a stalwart youth to keep the herds, were more than all other merchandise sought after and desired.
Thus it came to pass that Sarchedon, though out of favour with his captors—who, like most practised horsemen, cared not to journey much on foot—escaped a fate that seemed imminent each time some wrathful giant dismounted to make room for the prisoner, and swore freely, by his gods, that if this inconvenience was to continue through another day, he would take such order with the Assyrian as should prevent him from ever riding on horseback again.
Night was falling fast when the troop approached the encampment of their tribe; a temporary residence to be broken up and removed at an hour's notice, on the slightest occasion. Rude goats'-hair tents were scattered here and there, scarcely visible in the deepening gloom. Two or three camels lay at rest amongst half a score of horses, fastened by the forefoot, that neighed, screamed, and fought savagely, whenever the loosening of their tethers permitted them to approach each other within striking distance. A few giants, sauntering lazily about, took little notice of the new arrivals, and their tall stately women scarcely lifted veil for a glance of curiosity, so busied were they in twisting bowstrings, repairing harness, grinding corn, pressing cheeses, or baking loaves in the embers of a scanty fire for their lords; but two swarthy travel-worn men, looking like dwarfs amongst the towering figures that surrounded them, came forward to accost the chief with words of extravagant welcome and looks of eager curiosity. These were traders from the north, who examined the veiled figure of Ishtar with professional interest, expecting, no doubt, to secure a golden profit by her purchase.
In this hope they were disappointed. With extreme courtesy the chief of the Anakim conducted her to a tent standing beside his own, in which, after a long loving look at Sarchedon, she disappeared, and was seen no more.
The Anakim seemed well pleased to find these dealers, with whom they had so often traded, thus inmates of their camp. The leader, after disposing of his fair guest by consigning her to the care of a stately beauty, tender of heart as she was gigantic of frame, came out to meet them, and at once broached a proposal that found immediate favour with his followers.
"The captive is a goodly youth," said he; "a stout warrior, an expert archer—tall and strong too for an Assyrian. What say you? These northern merchants are our brothers—shall we not sell him to them for a price?"
"Let him go," exclaimed his listeners with one accord; "he is fair, he is precious, he is a man, even amongst the children of Anak. But the traders from the north have eaten of our bread and drunken from our cup. All we possess is theirs, and they shall have him—at a price!"
Then the elder of the traders—keen-eyed, voluble, energetic—put in his word:
"You have many mouths to feed, my brothers, here within your tents. Millet grows scarce, and the wells are running dry from day to day. We also have a long journey before us in the desert. Our water-skins are empty, our camels over-loaded. What have we to do with a captive who eats and drinks, yet must be carried from day to day like a bale of goods? How are your servants to bring this encumbrance with them from city to city, till they reach their home in the mountains beyond the great rivers of the plain?"
"You will sell him for a talent of gold in the first market you enter," was the answer. "Is he not a comely youth? Fair and strong, and of a ruddy countenance? We have taken no such prey since we rode, without ceasing, four days and nights to spoil the City of Palms, by the western sea."
"The Assyrians have more slaves than enough," answered the trader, "since they brought captives up from Egypt, by scores and by hundreds, at the chariot-wheels of the Great King. Nevertheless, are we not brothers? You shall deliver him as a gift, and take two suits of raiment in exchange."
"He is yours, my brother," said the chief, "and my tents are yours; my horses, my camels, my handmaidens; the sword on my thigh, and the bow in my hand. But shall I give my brother ripened dates and receive from him only their broken shells? Add to the raiment a measure of myrrh, at least, and three cruses of oil."
"With a new pack-saddle," suggested a bystander, whose own camel-furniture had reached the last stage of decay; while a dozen more took up the cry, insisting on such articles as each thought necessary to his own comfort or equipment.
"Some twisted rope for hobbles!"
"A bale of silk from Tyre!"
"Two skins of wine of Eshcol!"
"An embossed girdle!"
"A shield of brass!"
"A score of new bowstrings!"
"Or fifty shekels of silver, and no more said," exclaimed the trader, turning from side to side, with the air of a man overcome by his own liberality.
"Add to them a hundred," urged the chief; "and go thy way, thou and thy camels and thy servants, with the goodly slave I have given thee."
"One hundred shekels, and he is mine," returned the trader, placing his hand on the Assyrian's shoulder in token of ownership; and thus becoming the possessor of Sarchedon at something less than the price of a good horse.
Regret was fruitless—resistance impossible. Bound hand and foot, he could but grind his teeth, and submit.
The merchants made ready their camels forthwith, taking advantage of the coolness of night to journey through the desert, and guiding their course by the pilotage of the stars. So noiseless was their departure, after the bustle of concluding their bargain subsided, that they had disappeared with her lover in the darkness, ere Ishtar knew they were clear of the encampment. Seeking the spot where she had last seen Sarchedon, to find it empty, the maddening truth flashed upon her, and she could bear no more. Sick, faint, despairing, she uttered one plaintive cry, and fell senseless on the sand.
The first of the tribe who found her, lifted that drooping form, with the ease and something of the pitiful admiration with which he would have picked up a broken lily, and bore her gently to the chiefs tent. Here she was tended carefully during the night, its gigantic owner stepping softly to its entrance at intervals to assure himself of her state. With morning she was able to rise, and as her faculties resumed their vigour, she realised the whole force of the blow that had fallen.
Ishtar's nature, however, was one which is only found amongst women. Shrinking instinctively from everything approaching to pain or danger—fond, trusting, sensitive, and docile—she could yet brave and endure all things on behalf of those she loved; identifying herself so wholly with their welfare as to forget her own fears, her own weakness, and combining with the martyr's patient courage that cheerful energy, which, looking only to duty, overcomes, by sheer persistence, the difficulties it ignores. Sorrow might bend, but could not break her spirit. Like certain flowers which, tread them down as you will, lift their fair heads directly the crushing footstep has passed on, it rose, for all its meekness, the more invincible, because of its misfortunes.
Satisfied that Sarchedon was fairly gone, she set herself the one single task of recovering him. Was he sold into captivity? He must be bought back. Was he lost? He must be found. That should now be her sole object in life; and no sooner did she feel strong enough to stand upright than she began her work without wasting another moment in consideration or delay.
Seeking the chief of the Anakim, whom she found without the encampment leading his mare to water, she placed herself in his path, standing erect and motionless till he approached. Then she rent her garment to the hem, and, lifting a handful of sand, poured it over her head.
"The servant of my lord is in sore distress and perplexity," said she: "to whom should she come for help, but to him of whose bread and salt she has eaten within the shadow of his tents?"