Part 29 (1/2)

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 pa.s.sage 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 ma.s.s 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 s.h.i.+nar. He laughs at the wild a.s.s, 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.syrian 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?