Part 8 (1/2)
”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 a.s.sarac 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 mult.i.tude 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 a.s.sarac, 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 a.s.sembled 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 G.o.ds. 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 G.o.ds; nevertheless, even Ninus must not, _dare_ not, 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 hors.e.m.e.n. Behold, the guards have now pa.s.sed 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 G.o.ds that go before him to battle. He comes. I say again, Caution, Great Queen! caution! and for a s.p.a.ce forbear!”
Pointing his warning with an expressive glance towards Sarchedon, a.s.sarac 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 pa.s.sed on the war-chariot of the Great King, containing his charioteer and s.h.i.+eld-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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+eld-bearer; for with the first glimpse of Ninus, shouts of jubilee rose once more from the people, and in that moment of enthusiasm, a.s.sembled 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 horsemans.h.i.+p 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+eld was the plainest, as it was the most defaced, that pa.s.sed 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 a.s.syrian 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.
CHAPTER X
A BANQUET OF WINE
On the first night of his return from conquest, it was customary for an a.s.syrian 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 l.u.s.tre on wine, fruit, and flowers, the rich profusion of a royal table, glittering from ma.s.sive chalice and ancient flagon, blazing in jewelled cup and vase of burnished gold. The brilliant gems, the costly robes, the stately figures of those n.o.ble 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 G.o.ds, 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.