Part 19 (1/2)

For the first time that night he smiled while he patted Merodach's neck, and put the good horse into a gallop once more.

Stretching on with that long untiring stride, he was aware of a solitary horseman wandering aimlessly towards him, and riding at a foot's pace.

For all ages it has been a true saying, that he whom one meets in the desert must be friend or foe. Sarchedon bore down on the other, and halting in front of him, discovered, to his great surprise, that it was Sethos.

The cup-bearer, who accompanied Ninyas on his fict.i.tious lion-hunt outside the walls, had taken the earliest opportunity of leaving his young prince, when the latter rode back at sundown to the city.

Impressed by the vague warning of Beladon, he had followed as far as he could the advice it accompanied, and turned his horse's head towards the desert, as directed by his friend.

But it was not in the nature of Sethos to persevere for any length of time in a course requiring sustained energy or self-denial. The fatigue of the long ride before him soon suggested itself painfully to his mind.

Babylon with all her charms allured him irresistibly, now that he had really turned his back on her temptations; Kalmim's dark eyes seemed to plead with his own inclinations against an abandonment of courtly life, an exchange of luxury and pleasure for hards.h.i.+p and privation.

It was not long before he guided his willing horse back towards the city, and so, pacing leisurely through the cool night air, came against his friend, galloping in fiery haste on his errand of life and death.

”Have you seen them?” exclaimed Sarchedon, pale, fierce, and breathless.

”Shall I catch them? How long have they gone past?”

”Seen what?” asked Sethos in turn, marvelling at the other's disturbed looks and wild imploring eyes.

In a hoa.r.s.e whisper, in the low quick accents of a desperate man, Sarchedon briefly described the party of which he was in pursuit.

”If it was daylight, they would be in sight even, now,” replied the other; and was entering into a long description of the dromedary's extraordinary speed and powers, which he had not failed to observe, although the little band had pa.s.sed him at a pace which forbade his identifying those who composed it, when Sarchedon, giving his bridle-reins a shake, went away again in more furious haste than before, neither wis.h.i.+ng him farewell, nor thanking him for tidings that seemed so welcome and yet so sad.

”A woman,” thought Sethos, nodding sagely, and thinking he would be back with Kalmim by to-morrow's dawn--”a woman must needs be the cause of all this turmoil. Surely there is wormwood with the honey, and a two-edged sword in the scabbard of velvet and gold.”

But when did such pithy saws ever preserve a man from foolish deeds? Or where is the armour of proof to fence his heart from a pair of soft eyes, the mantle of wisdom that is not shrivelled to shreds in the breath of a burning sigh? Sethos rode steadily back to Babylon, and Sarchedon galloped on into the desert, like a falcon stooping for its prey.

Piercing as were his eager eyes, sharpened of love and hate and fear, he was aware, by the swelling of Merodach's proud neck and the horse's voluntary increase of speed, that they were nearing the object of pursuit long ere his sight could distinguish certain dusky shadows flying like vapours before him, but looming larger as his gallant war-horse gained on them with every stride.

”Merodach,” he muttered, ”king of horses, you are worthy of your name!”

Then, in husky frantic tones he shrieked out: ”Stand, cowards, stand!”

They were within ear-shot, and the dromedary was forced to its utmost speed; but a horseman wheeled round, and halted not a bowshot from his approaching enemy, supported by a follower, who bore his s.h.i.+eld.

”It is a spirit,” said the latter; ”it is Abitur of the Mountains!”

”Fool, keep your arm down and cover me,” replied the other, while, bending his bow behind the buckler, he took a long steady aim.

Swift and straight as Sarchedon dashed in, the arrow flew swifter, straighter yet. It pierced through steel and silk and gold embroidered baldrick; the very feathers that winged it were draggled red in blood.

Faint, sick, and dizzy, the strickened man lowered himself on his horse's neck, while stars and moon and desert sand spun round him like a wheel. Had not Merodach's instincts taught him to obey its movements, balancing himself as it were under the swaying body, his rider must have fallen headlong to the earth.

So while the successful archer and his s.h.i.+eld-bearer followed their party well pleased, Sarchedon, helpless, senseless, yet cleaving still to the saddle, was carried back at a gallop towards Babylon, over the same ground that he had traversed so gallantly when he bore the signet of Ninus to his queen.

Once more the good horse snorted at an object in his path--snorted and swerved aside, casting his rider heavily to the sand, where lay a framework of gaunt white ribs, with a strip or two of putrid flesh, black and festering on the bones.

For a moment the shock brought him to life. While his horse scoured away riderless, Sarchedon was aware, as if in a trance, that he had fallen across a splintered arrow bearing the same mark as that which was drinking his own life-blood: a royal tiara, and the symbol of Semiramis the queen.