Part 36 (1/2)
A thrill that, in spite of all, amounted to real happiness shot through her trembling frame.
”Can he not be redeemed?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands eagerly.
”Where is he now?”
The trader pondered.
”I too have a brother,” said he, ”and we parted at a day's march from the tents of the Anakim, as we have parted many a time, trusting to meet yet once again before we die. My course lay hither to the great city; for are not my camels laden with silks and spices and costly jewels, such as rich Babylon must have at all hazards and at any cost? I pray you, damsel, remember I am a fair trader; I ask for no greater profit than enables me to get bread for myself and forage for my beasts. Some there be who scruple not to rob with the scales, as the Amalekite robs with the spear; but such prosper not in life, and long before their beards turn gray, their flesh is eaten by vultures and their bones whiten the plain.
”My lord spoke of the a.s.syrian,” interrupted Ishtar. ”Is he safe? Is he alive?”
”That he is alive, my daughter,” replied the merchant, ”if care and good usage can keep the life in a valuable captive, I will answer with my head. We bought him at a remunerative price, and my brother is even less likely than myself to let one suffer damage whose welfare is of such marketable value. That he is safe with the other goods I have sufficient reason to hope. Surely they joined a caravan guarded by more than five hundred hors.e.m.e.n of the desert. Ere now they must have reached the pleasant confines of my home--the broad-leaved oaks, the cool green valleys, and the breezy mountains of the north.”
”The north!” repeated Ishtar, aghast and discomfited. ”What! beyond Nineveh?”
”Far beyond Nineveh,” said the other, ”far beyond the boundaries of the land of s.h.i.+nar, where the banner of Ashur hath never been lifted, the spear of the a.s.syrian never dulled its point in blood--in the land of corn and wine, pasture and fruit tree, flocks and herds, peace and plenty, the happy hill country of Armenia!”
”Sold to the Armenian for a slave!” was her answer. ”O, my lord, shall I never see him again?”
He pitied her from his heart.
”Much may be done,” said he, ”with these three weapons, sword, bow, and spear; more yet with these, time, wisdom, patience. Add but a little gold, and who shall say that aught is impossible? My brother is one of those who, setting before them an object in the plain, turn neither to right nor left till they have reached it. The a.s.syrian is of fine frame and goodly stature, fit to stand on the steps of a throne. My brother hath determined he will sell him to no meaner purchaser than a king. Not all the wealth of Armenia will tempt him from his purpose, and to the king he will be sold. I have spoken.”
Then he turned away to prosecute his business with those who were waiting around for examination of his merchandise, and Ishtar found herself alone and friendless in the crowded market--alone, with a wild foolish hope in her heart, and Sarchedon's amulet in her hand.
From the time she lost sight of him, she had never faltered one single moment in her resolution; arduous, impossible as seemed her task, she would not relinquish it even now.
Had she needed any farther stimulant to exertion she would have found it in the reflection that he, the distinguished warrior, the ornament of a court, the flower of a host, the treasure of her own heart, was a slave!
At least she knew where he had gone; at least there was one spot of earth on which her loving thoughts could light, like weary birds, and take their rest. But how to reach him? how to span the cruel distance that lay between? Gazing wistfully on the amulet in her hand, she would have bartered all her hopes here and hereafter, peace and safety, life and beauty, innocence itself, in exchange for the wings of a dove.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII
BOND AND FREE
”A horned owl in the twilight; a horned owl in the dark! How many horns does my owl hold up!” A merry laugh was ringing in her ear, a soft hand was laid over her eyes, while the white fingers of its fellow twinkled before her face, and Ishtar recognised the voice of Kalmim, challenging her to one of those foolish games of guessing so popular from the earliest ages with the thoughtless children of the south.
It was something to meet a friend, and of her own s.e.x, even though that friend was one with whom her deeper, purer nature had but little in common. Strung to their highest pitch, her feelings now gave way; and leaning on Kalmim's shoulder, Ishtar burst into a pa.s.sion of weeping that perhaps did more to calm and restore her than all the feminine consolations and condolences lavished by the other, whose compa.s.sion, lying near the surface, seemed easily aroused and quickly exhausted.
A weeping girl was no unusual sight in the public places of great Babylon. Exciting neither pity nor comment, Ishtar and Kalmim withdrew unnoticed from the crowd, to stand apart in the shelter of a gigantic fountain, erected for the refreshment of her people by the Great Queen, where the younger woman soon recovered composure to answer the voluble questions of the elder.
”Where have you been hiding, and what have you been doing, and why have we never seen you at the well, in the temple, at market, sacrifice, or on the city wall?” said Kalmim, flirting the water about while she dipped her white hand in its marble basin. ”Surely the days of mourning are past, and those of feasting should have begun. Why, then, in the name of Ashtaroth, do I find the fairest damsel in Babylon with her eyes unpainted, her head untied, and, my dear, a dress that looks as if it had been trodden in the dust by every beast in the market? How did you ever get it so rumpled and soiled?”
Ignoring this important consideration, Ishtar took the other by the hand, and gazing in her face with large serious eyes, replied,
”Kalmim, I believe you would serve me, if you could. I believe you are my friend.”
”As far as one woman can be a friend to another,” laughed Kalmim. ”And that is about as far as I could fathom the great river with my bodkin.
Trust me, dear, you are too comely to possess friends, either men or women. Nevertheless, you sat on my knees when you were a curly-headed child, and I--well, when I was better and happier than I am now. I would serve you if I could. By the light of Shamash, I would, though I might hate myself and you the next minute! Take me, therefore, while the good mood is on. What can I do to please my white-faced Ishtar?”