Part 10 (1/2)
”Then, if Ninyas sent to ask you of your father,” whispered the young warrior, ”you would be loath to go and rule over him and his in a palace of gold?”
”Better to serve Sarchedon in a tent of goat's-hair,” was the answer; ”better by far draw water at the Well of Palms for your herds, your camels, and the fair horse you rode that happy morning; better to be the meanest and lowest of your slaves, than never see your kind face again!”
Vanity, pride, ambition--the dazzling career open to him--the l.u.s.trous beauty of the queen: what were they to such love as this, but the flash and glitter of tinsel, compared to the ray of a real diamond? If a thought of Semiramis and her fatal favour crossed his brain, it did but spur him on to secure his happiness ere she could thwart it, to remove Ishtar, ere it was too late, from the sphere of the queen's displeasure, and the still more dangerous admiration of her son.
”Then I will ask you of your father before another day has gone down!”
exclaimed Sarchedon, stealing his arm round that lithe slender figure, leaning over the parapet, like the palm-tree bending to meet her mate.
”To-morrow will I send into the court below a score of camels and a hundred sheep, with a suit of the truest armour that ever brought the captain of a host unwounded out of battle, and my young men shall say to Arbaces--'they seek but Ishtar in return.'”
”So my father will summon me from amongst my maidens, to know if peradventure his daughter's heart hath gone forth to him who is so lavish of sheep and camels, so skilled in choice of armour, and what shall I say then?”
Only from the depths of a young girl's heart, happy and triumphant in her honest love, could have risen the smile that beamed on Ishtar's face. It was reflected in Sarchedon's eyes, while he answered:
”The daughter of Arbaces will tell him, that where her heart has gone forth, thither must Ishtar needs follow, and she will be mine!”
”And she will be yours!” repeated the girl, with a great sob of womanly happiness, tempered by maiden shame, the blood rus.h.i.+ng to her face, while she hid it on her lover's breast.
Fast as her heart was beating, it had scarce counted a score of pulsations ere tramp of horses, call of servants, and flash of torches in the court below, announced the return of Arbaces from his duties about the Great King.
No sooner had he dismounted at the porch of his palace than the fond familiar voice was heard, asking loudly for his daughter; and gliding like a shadow from the embrace of Sarchedon, she was gone.
Yet even in that brief moment during which her brow was pressed against his bosom, she had discovered the amulet he wore, and knew, as women only do know such things, that it was not there when she saw him last.
Perhaps to an impulse of female tenderness was added the stimulant of female curiosity, when she whispered, even in the act of escape:
”To-morrow, beloved one, at the same hour. You will tell me then whence comes that jewel, and--and--if it was given you by the queen!”
Turning stealthily to depart, with his hand on the amulet, doubtful whether he would not tear it from his neck and trample it under foot, but in the mean time leaving it where it was, Sarchedon felt conscious of a strange depression, of vague misgivings, as though some future evil were casting its shadow about him ere it came. The air felt heavy, the night was darker, the stars had become dim. It seemed a different world as he pa.s.sed along the silent streets towards his home, and those keen senses of his, quickened by the practice of war, must have been strangely blunted, that he neither saw the form nor heard the footsteps of one who had watched his interview with Ishtar from first to last.
Sethos, no less nimble of foot than he was light of hand and heart, made such good haste in returning to the queen's palace, that he found Ninyas still seated at the banquet, flushed with wine, and more reckless, more impetuous, as he was more beautiful, for the excess.
”You are a trusty hunter,” laughed the prince, steadying his uncertain steps as he rose with a hand on his favourite's shoulder, ”and you followed the good hound bravely to the thicket where lies the deer? What think you? Is she worth the bending of a bow?”
”My lord had already wounded her with a random shaft,” answered the cup-bearer. ”It is the daughter of Arbaces, who flung him the posy of flowers as his chariot pa.s.sed beneath her in our triumph.”
The intelligence seemed to sober Ninyas on the instant.
”And it is Sarchedon who contends with me,” said he, pondering. ”By the brows of Ashtaroth, the sport grows to earnest now, and the prize will be won by him who can strike first!”
CHAPTER XII
THE G.o.dS OF THE HEATHEN
Hastening from the queen's palace towards his stolen interview with Ishtar, Sarchedon had not failed to observe the white robe of a priest in the neighbourhood of the Israelitish exiles, though his preoccupation forbade his identifying the person to whom it belonged.
Sethos, on the contrary, whose wits were more at their master's service, had no difficulty in recognising a.s.sarac, and marvelled in his own mind what interests could exist in common between the haughty servant of the a.s.syrian G.o.d, and this fettered prisoner, a captive even amongst the captives of the Great King's bow and spear. Could he have overheard their conversation, his curiosity would indeed have been sharpened, but any ideas he might have previously conceived regarding supernatural influences must have sustained a shock very confusing to his understanding and his faith.
His interests, however, were of the earth, earthy, and he left to such aspiring spirits as the high priest of Baal those abstruse speculations which would fain penetrate the mysteries of another world.