SEMIRAMIS (continued 2)

Menon smiled and shook his head, for a maiden's path, he told her, was not amidst the perils of the field; but she took his cheeks in both her palms and bent till her breath was mingled with his own.

"Nay, once," she pleaded, in her haunting, liquid tone, "one little war—no more! Ah, Menon, sweet, thou will let me go?" Lower she bent and leaned upon his lips, while her strange eyes burned their passion into his, her fair arms clinging in a love caress. "Menon! Menon!"

He trembled, for his heart cried out aloud and longed to give this maid whatever she asked; and she held him closer still, murmuring into his ear as her mother, Derketo, might have whispered when she lured the steps of men from their level paths.

"Heed me," she pleaded low, and brushed his cheek with the velvet of a softer curve, "didst thou not will to tax my father of the Pearl of Syria? What then? Wouldst leave me in thy home—alone—to yearn for a loved one far afield, to weep, to listen for his footstep through the weary night? Nay, Menon, that were cruelty, and thou art kind."

A shadow settled on the Governor's brow. He arose and paced the temple's floor, his hands locked tight behind his back. Grim duty called his name, and it came to him that the scepter of Assyria was thrust between his heart and the woman for whom it beat alone.

"What troubleth thee, my lord?"

For a space he answered naught, but kept to his thoughtful pacing to and fro.

"Maiden," he began at last, "there are matters of state which come to pass, and a woman may not understand, by reason of their strange complexities."

The girl looked up, with a sparkle in her eye which warred with a sense of vague misgiving in her heart.

"Perchance, my lord, the tongue of a learned Governor is happily of that turn which maketh such matters simple, even to a woman's foolish mind. I pray thee try."

Menon laughed, then began to tell his trouble as best he might, though the task now seemed more weighty than the sealing of a truce; and rather far would he have faced Boabdul's scimitar than the eyes of this red-haired girl who watched him, hanging on his utterance.

"King Ninus," said he, "hath sent me messengers who on yesterday were come. They bear me a scroll wherein my master is pleased to laud my deeds with flatteries and praise. At his command have I taxed thy people till the very grass blades wilt, and thereby won the enmity of all the land; yet the King is glad, for because of me he receiveth vast stores for the building of his city. In reward"—here Menon faltered, turned away his eyes and looked upon the floor—"in reward he offereth me his daughter's hand—Sozana—when the walls and palaces of Nineveh shall be."

"Ah!" breathed Semiramis. "Ah! I see!" She crouched upon the temple steps, one knee clasped tight within her arms, her pink chin resting on it thoughtfully. "Go on, my lord."

"This offer," continued Menon, scowling as he spoke, "is a fruit of bitterness upon my tongue, for the maid is loved by my best of friends—Memetis—an Egyptian Prince whom Ninus holdeth hostage at his court lest his nation rise to—"

He stopped, for Semiramis had checked his speech with a cold command.

"Nay, let Memetis rest! What manner of maid may this Sozana chance to be?"

"She is dark and slight," the Governor answered slowly, "of a trustful nature, gentle in her ways, and kind." The girl beside him laughed, yet merriment was not its tone; and Menon blundered on: "As children we played together, she and I—a saucy little rogue of mirth and song—a child, for whom I'd cut away my hand rather than bring a pang of suffering."

"So," said Semiramis, in a whispered drawl, "so the Princess is fair to look upon. I did divine as much. Well? Well, my lord?"

"And now," sighed Menon, "the King would cause this pretty child to stifle love and wed where she hath no will."

"Not so," declared Semiramis, with a snap of her firm white teeth. "Be warranted, my lord, the jade hath put him up to it. What! Hath she not seen thee? Hast thou not beguiled her with thy, craftful wiles? How should it, then, be otherwise?"

Again the lake-nymph laughed, ungently, and with a shrill, derisive ring.

"Nay!" said Menon. "Nay! She yearneth not for me, nor do I yearn for her. In secret is she betrothed unto Memetis whom she loveth utterly; and should I bow to the King's desire, t'would bring a hurt to her whom I took to wife, and to him whose happiness I hold more dearly than mine own."

Once more the Assyrian paused and gazed in trouble through the temple's door. In the waters of the lake he seemed to see the faces of his monarch and his friends, the King, with a smile upon his bearded lips; Memetis, sad and silent in reproach, and sweet Sozana, wondering at a grief too deep for tears.

"Then why," asked Semiramis, quivering as she spoke, "then why, in the name of Bel and Moloch, wouldst thou do this wicked thing?"

The Governor stood before her, cast in gloom, and answered sullenly:

"The offer of the King is the King's command, and once, once only, may a subject thwart his will."

"Ah!" breathed Semiramis once again. "Ah, I see! Moreover, I do perceive that Menon hath a mighty leaning to this maid of Nineveh, who is dark and slight, of a trustful nature, gentle in her ways, and kind. Nay, shake not thy head, deceitful one. Shammuramat is not a fool. What, then, remaineth for my lord to choose?"

Menon sighed, but answered naught, while she sat and watched him pacing in his deep unrest. Presently she spoke again, slowly, softly, yet the tone was cold:

"I have marked, my lord, that those of smallest mind demand the longest span of time in making up the same. The wise man acteth! His love and greed he weigheth not in the selfsame scale. What! Hath the mighty Governor still to choose?"

The Assyrian leaned against a pillar of the temple, gazed gloomily before him, and brooded on the mandate of the King. The warrior within him whispered at his ear, calling, pleading, as with a trumpet's blast. Another voice there was, that told of a love of power—of the joy in ruling over weaker men—and Menon's place was beside the King. They dragged him, these voices, as with a chain of bronze, yet his heart cried out Shammuramat! With her he could dwell in peace for all time, an outcast from his land, a wanderer, in want and poverty—a worshipper who died content in the glory of her smile. And yet—

"Is my lord still praying to his gods of guile, or doth he slumber because of weariness—and me?"

The troubled Governor did not note a certain purring in her tone, nor the gleam of her eye, while she crouched as the leopard crouches, noiseless, ready for its spring.

"By the great lord Asshur," Menon muttered between his teeth, "my wits are tried and grievously." He shook himself and turned with his winning smile. "Can the friend of the good witch Schelah lend aid to one who is vexed in spirit and in mind?"

"Yea!" cried Semiramis, springing to her feet in a gust of fury. "Yea!" Her eyes flamed hotly, and her fingers clenched till the nails bit deep into her palms. "Go, thief of kisses! Go, when thou hast scorched my country bare with tax! Go back to thy maid of Nineveh—this whining jade whose sire is but a savage and a fool! Yet tell her this—thou hast looked on the Pearl of Syria! Tell her—and she will understand!"

For an instant stood Semiramis, a queen of consuming rage and scorn; then she laughed—laughed hoarsely—in the mockery of mirth, sprang down the temple steps, and was gone.

Menon followed after, shouting, begging her return, as he sought her among the trees and tangled undergrowth.

"Shammuramat! Shammuramat!" he called aloud, and only the echoes of his yearning voice came back to taunt him. For a weary space he searched, yet his search was vain; and when hope had departed utterly, he turned him homeward, skirting the lake shore with a lagging step.

Then a girl crept out from the shadows among the trees and sat on the temple steps. She rested her arms upon her knees, her chin upon her arms, and watched till Menon's drooping figure passed from sight.

Once more she cast her robe aside, tore off her sandals and flung them down; and then, in the wondrous beauty of her form unveiled, she stood in wrath before the fish-god Dagon, her eyes aflame, her red hair tumbling in disorder on her neck.

"What!" she stormed. "Did I—Shammuramat—drag out this liar from the lake, to save him for a minx at Nineveh?"

She snapped her fingers scornfully and turned upon her heel; then she dived for her string of pearls.

CHAPTER VII

A MASTER'S KISS

For a year, since his appointment, the Governor of Syria had dwelt at Azapah, a central point where his army camped, and whence his agents and his spies went forth to every tribe. Yet Azapah was a home in name alone, for Menon's eye was ever set on the works of his under-officers. He would ride from point to point, descending at uncertain times on those whose duties dozed in lethargy, or on others whose fingers stuck by chance to certain taxes of the King. And as Ninus made examples on the walls of Nineveh, so Menon dealt with those who disobeyed his will; for the body of a wicked, slothful servant was held to be of higher value when detached from the head which led his steps astray. Thus Menon won the name of a cruel master, albeit a whisper now and again went forth of many a poor man's taxes paid in full from the Governor's own purse.

He journeyed ever on his noble steed of Barbary, whose name was Scimitar, in honor of Boabdul's blade, and, likewise, was attended by the Indian slave who came as the Arab's second gift. In Huzim he found a jewel and a friend, whose heart he won by a stroke of policy. From the first the Governor had been kind to him, and when the borders of Arabia were passed, Huzim was given his freedom, to return if he would to his home upon the Indus; but the Indian fell upon his knees, to kiss the master's hand and cover it with tears. His freedom he accepted with a grateful heart, yet prayed to remain in the service of his lord, to whom he proved a faithful watch-dog unto the end. His mighty bow and shafts brought many a dish of flesh to Menon's board, and at night his body lay athwart the master's door, where none might pass and live to slink away again.

Now Menon had tarried beside the lake of Ascalon for a longer space than was his wont to abide in any place; yet business there was none to stay his leave, nor taxes in arrears. The voice of duty whispered warnings in his ear, pointing unto urgent matters far afield; yet duty, he swore, might sleep with Gibil till Semiramis was seen again.

For many days he sought her among the hills, from the crack of dawn till the brazen sun went down, yet found her not; and his heart, because of its hunger for the maid, grew faint within him and clamored for a food denied.

Semiramis, too, was haunted by a certain restlessness of mind and foot, a goad which ever kept her on the move. Close hidden within some clump of trees, she would watch the hunter's fruitless search from hour to hour. Her eyes grew wistful, and a fever burned in her racing blood, though pride, a demon's pride, forbade that she suffer capture at his hands. If the seeker came near unto her hiding place, she would straightway creep away to some other vantage point and watch him with a scowl. Yet, because of his lack of craft in snaring her, hot anger mounted to the heights of foolishness, causing her to mutter curses on him, bitter, deep, and to vent her wrath upon things inanimate. At last she left the lover to his own device, and with her spear and arrows hunted far and wide, thus finding relief in a savage joy of killing beasts—the great, the small—she cared not which, so be it that she killed.

Then Menon, in despair, set Huzim on her trail, for in prowess of the chase, or in coming up with wary things, there were none the like of him throughout the land. So Huzim circled round about and found what his master sought.

At the close of one long red day, when the sun swung low and purple clouds were banked against the rim of night, the Indian bore word that Semiramis returned to Ascalon by way of a certain path; so Menon hid himself and lay in wait. From a leafy screen he watched her coming, while his breath grew warm and quick, and nearer she came, unconscious of the snare. Her bow and quiver rattled at her back with each slow step; she used her spear for a walking staff, and her flame-hued head was bowed upon her breast. In the dust she dragged the body of a leopard by its tail, while her sheep-dog Habal trotted at her heels.

Of a sudden Menon stepped across her path, and, with folded arms, stood smiling as he blocked her way. With a startled cry Semiramis leaped backward, while Habal crouched between his mistress and the man, his thick hair bristling down his spine, an ugly rumble in his hoarse, deep growl.

The Governor spoke contritely and in a prayerful tone, yet the maiden met his pleading with a torrent of abuse. This he bore with fortitude, and when she paused for breath, he strove to gain his end by reason, knowing not that an angry woman scorns it as she scorns no other thing in heaven or hell. Of this he learned unto his woe, but when he would have overborne her, snatching at her hand, she struck him with the butt of her hunting spear and set her dog upon him.

Straight at his throat the black dog leaped, but Menon caught it by the neck and held its jaws, though its strength was great and it battled with him mightily. For a space they struggled for a master-grip, yet Habal's teeth, in the end, were of no avail, for Menon squeezed him till his bones were like to crack, while he turned once more to Semiramis and urged his suit.

Now a lover will find a grievous task in murmuring into a maiden's ear, and at the same time hold a foaming, furious dog; so the maiden mocked him because of his sad discomfiture, and stirred his wrath. Peal on peal of impish laughter rang out in the twilight hush, till Menon cursed, and, clutching Habal still, turned angrily away.

Then the maiden's merriment died swiftly on her lips, for she saw that he stole her dog; and with a cry of fury she set a shaft upon her bow and drew it to its head. In an instant now the Governor would tax her land no more, and Habal and her heart might then be free. And yet she faltered—paused; then dashed her weapon on the earth, to fling herself beside it, weeping bitterly.

So Menon bore the struggling Habal in his arms, till he reached his house, where he tamed the brute and made of him a friend. Long, long he labored unto this end with morsels of tempting food and many a soft caress, till at last the captive wagged his tail and licked a master's hand.

Menon had conquered, yet he could not soothe a look of sadness deep in Habal's eyes, nor cause him to desist from snuffling at the outer door where he scratched with his paws and whined.

At length, when the third day passed, the lover clasped a collar of gold on Habal's neck and whispered into his ear; but Habal looked into his face, bewildered, for he did not understand.

"Shammuramat!" cried Menon, sharply, and the glad beast sprang upon him, whimpering in his joy. The door was opened. Habal, barking, bounded through, to burn the earth with the beat of his flying paws. Yet on the crest of a distant hill he stopped, looked back and barked again, then disappeared. And the lover, watching, understood—and smiled.

So Habal found his mistress, as she drooped in the doorway of her father's home, and overturned her in the pure delight of coming into his own. He fawned upon her, yelping out his love aloud; he muzzled her, caressing with paw and tongue, to prove devotion far deeper in its purity than aught a mortal holds on the altar of his heart.

Semiramis, too, was glad at her dog's return, for she took him in her arms, and, weeping strangely, hid her face on his shaggy breast; but when she saw the collar Habal wore, her fury boiled afresh. She tore it from his neck and gave it to a beggar who had wandered into Ascalon.

The beggar took the trinket gratefully, then hobbled away as fast as his legs might carry him, though ever and anon he cast a glance behind, in the manner of one who marvels and may not understand. Now whether this persistent turning brought good or evil, is a matter hidden in the beggar's soul alone, for, presently, a horse came tearing down the wind, while a wild-haired girl leaned low upon its neck, augmenting speed with frantic voice and heel. She came upon the wanderer suddenly, reining in her steed till it reared upon its haunches, pawing at the air, its mouth stretched wide, its nostrils red and quivering. Then the girl dismounted, demanding back her gift.

The beggar protested, and, muttering, turned away, but she menaced him with her hunting spear, and of a certainty would have pinned him to the earth had he not obeyed. Slowly he produced the golden collar from his pouch and tossed it at her feet.

"Hound!" cried Semiramis, "pick it up and give it in my hand!" Again her spear was poised, so the beggar stooped to do her bidding hastily; then, while this fiery hawkling rode away, he lingered, gazing after her in loose-jawed wonderment.

Semiramis made a wide detour to pass the lake, where she flung poor Habal's collar far into the deep—repented, and on the morrow dived and recovered it again. That night she sought her sleep with the bauble nestling upon her heart; but sleep came not, for her flesh seemed burned by every golden link. She hurled it from her angrily and was happy for a space, then stole from her couch and hunted till she found it in the dark.

When she had it, she hated it; but when she had it not, she longed for it with a gnawing, furious desire which ever increased in heat and magnitude; wherein it may be seen that Semiramis, though a goddess born, was human—and a woman—after all.

Meanwhile the Messengers of State were waiting patiently for Menon's answer to the King at Nineveh; yet the Governor bade them tarry on for yet a little while, and took to hunting from a vantage point on the back of his good steed Scimitar.

One morning Habal's barking caught his ear, so he followed the sound till he reached the spine of a high, adjacent hill. In the centre of a plain beyond he spied Semiramis, unarmed, and walking slowly; so his heart rose up as he patted Scimitar and loosed the rein. In the night he had vowed no more to plead his cause with a lowly mien, but would break this witch's spirit though he heat her with his fists.

Semiramis saw him coming, and her heart stood still. The lake was far too distant for a haven of retreat, and the plain was bare of bush or thicket through which she might elude pursuit. Should she stand and face him? Yea! By Ishtar, no! He then might fancy that she waited him—she—Semiramis! So she turned and fled.

The maid was fleet of foot, and skimmed the earth with the speed of a frightened fawn; yet her pace, alas, was a paltry match for the splendid stride of Scimitar. Behind her she heard the thunder of his hoofs, but louder still chimed out the notes of Menon's laughter as his joy gave tongue. He was nearer now! He pressed upon her flank! Then Menon bent and gathered up the maiden in his arms. She screamed and bit his hand; she scratched him, raining buffets on his face and breast; but he only; laughed the more, and kissed her on the mouth and eyes.

On, on they sped, with mighty leaps and bounds, for Scimitar knew not what manner of warlocks fought upon his back, so he took the bit between his teeth and ran as before he had never run, while the toiling Habal panted far behind.

Now after a space Semiramis ceased to strive, and lay passive in the rider's grasp. It pleased her thus to be torn from the roots of her own hot willfulness. It joyed her to be battered against a victor's heart, to drink in the pain of a hand wound tight within her locks, and to feel her strength give way beneath his brutal power. For thus it was written that Semiramis should love, in stormy passion, where an humble prayer was trampled under foot in scorn.

So it came to pass that of a sudden she flung her arms about the conqueror's neck and sobbed as though her soul were rent in twain, while he, to soothe the tempest of her tears, bent down and kissed her lips. Again and yet again he bent, till Semiramis raised her head and stared upon him in amaze.

"In the name of the gods!" she cried, "how many wouldst thou take?"

"Not one," laughed Menon, "which thou givest me unwillingly, for I do but return thy courtesies upon the temple steps."

"Eh—what!" she faltered, flushing crimson at his speech. "Nay, truly, I recall but three—"

"So be it, then," said Menon, with another laugh and still another kiss. "T'is in my mind that when my body had been drowned, and lying helpless in thy power—"

"Beast!" she stormed, in grievous doubt if she should strain him to her heart or take his life; yet Menon lived.

The Governor turned his steed on the backward trail and journeyed till they came in sight of Ascalon; then he slid from the back of Scimitar and walked beside, lest idle shepherds marvel at the strangeness of uncommon things; albeit he still held tight to the maiden's hand.

Semiramis, from her perch, looked down into her lover's eyes, and her spirit sang because of its bubbling joy, for now he was hers—hers!—till the very stars should die; yet, suddenly, she dragged at the bridle rein.

"Wait! What, then, of this minx, Sozana?"

Menon frowned, yet looked upon her steadily.

"Of her," he answered, "thy mind need hold no fear, for I love her not. To-morrow will I leave the service of my King and fly with thee into Arabia. With Prince Boabdul will we there abide, for his love will shield me, even from the wrath of Ninus."

"Now that," spoke Semiramis, thoughtfully, "were the course of a fledgling and a fool." A moment more she pondered, looking up at last. "Tell me, can Ninus conquer Zariaspa, or will he fail again?"

"Zariaspa?" asked Menon, vacantly, wondering how this matter ran with his flight into the desert with a wife. "Zariaspa?"

"Aye, Zariaspa!" she repeated in impatience. "The town—the city! What! Is my lord a frog? Come, lace thy wits. Will Ninus conquer Zariaspa in the end?"

"Nay," said Menon, "for the walls are high and strong, while the food of the garrison is brought by some mysterious means, the which is a puzzle unrevealed by thought, or search, or vigilance. Again, and yet again, will Ramân-Nirari fail."

"Ah!" breathed Semiramis, nodding in the manner of some venerable judge. "Then write thy King in this wise: I, Menon, Governor of Syria, greet my lord and master, even as a son might greet his father, in love and reverence. Because of the honor he hath done me, my heart o'erfloweth with a joy, and in glad obedience to a monarch's will, I accept his dau—"

"Hold!" cried Menon, angrily. "Now by, the beard of—"

"Nay," laughed Semiramis, "but wait the end." Again she borrowed of an aged judge's mien. "—I accept thy daughter's hand. And now, O Radiant One, I crave a boon—not for myself alone, but for my King. When Zariaspa shall be overthrown, and another gem is set in the war-crown of my lord, then let these nuptials be proclaimed. Thus, men will marvel, saying among themselves: Of a verity King Ninus is divine; for who but a god would share the glory of his name with an humble warrior—one unworthy of reward so high." Semiramis paused to smile. "In closing thy letter, praise the King because of the city which he buildeth on the sand. Contrive thy words with an artful edge of truth, in that you touch his vanity. A touch—no more. Yet, above all else, be brief, and of a not too marked humility."

A light of understanding crept into Menon's eyes, yet a cloud arose to mar his perfect happiness.

"But—but," he stammered, "if, peradventure, King Ninus conquereth this city, after all—then—"

"Poof!" scoffed Semiramis. "At worst we will have loved for two untroubled years—and much may chance in that goodly span of time."

For answer, Menon, caring not a fig if a thousand shepherds saw, laughed happily, then drew her down to him and kissed her laughing lips.

Across the hills of Syria the lovers journeyed at a crawling pace, Semiramis enthroned upon the back of Scimitar, while Menon, with her hand clasped tight in his, strolled slowly at the bridle-rein.

They reached the home of Simmas, and a dancing dog ran out, to spring upon them, barking joyously.

CHAPTER VIII

THEY THAT DEPART AND HE THAT IS LEFT BEHIND

Simmas, chief warden of the royal flocks and herds, was a venerable man both wise and strong, yet his heart was as water running before the will of his foster-child. Unto him the lovers brought the matter of their vows, concealing naught of the danger to themselves, nor the wrath of Ninus should he learn how they sought to flatter him and dim his eye. Gravely had Simmas listened, smiling indulgent smiles, though his heart was sore afraid for her whom he loved so tenderly; and, at length when the tale was done, he sighed and shook his wise old head.

"My son," said he, "there are valiant men who have hied them forth to capture beasts of prey with arrows and with spears; others, more reckless still, go armed with ropes and stones, yet never have I known of one who laboured to that end by tickling a lion's nose with straws."

"How know we, then," asked Semiramis, "that a lion may not be vastly pleased thereat?"

Poor Simmas was forced to laugh, for how could the man do otherwise, with two round arms clasped tight about his neck, a pink cheek nestled lovingly against his own? And thus his foster-child met every argument, twisting his threads of wisdom into ropes of foolishness, until, reluctantly, he gave them blessing, smiling through his tears.

"Down, Habal," cried Semiramis, "and lick thy master's hand." And the dog went down.

So it came to pass that the messengers went out from Syria and knelt to Ninus as he sat upon his watch-tower in the heat of a certain day. They bore him a missive which that Monarch read for the seventh time, then read again in sore perplexity, his fingers combing at his beard. It preened his vanity as by a feather-touch of truth, and joyed his nostrils with the unctuous odour of his own divinity—a point whereon his pride was prodded grievously of late.

At his failure in subduing Zariaspa, a whisper leaked abroad that Ninus was but a mortal, after all; and through his harshness unto those who toiled on the walls of Nineveh, the whisper swelled in volume and in frequency, till now it lay upon him in the hours of sleep. The voice of the people grumbled sullenly, or cried aloud because of the yoke of tax; yet, far more clamorous still, the whisper troubled at his heart, for a god once doubted is a god undone.

Therefore, in Menon's missive, the King found goodly food for thought; and yet, on the other hand there seemed a haunting something underneath, a something which caused him to taste with care ere he swallowed whole.

"Now as I live," mused Ninus to his inward self, "my Menon loveth me with a love that is rare amongst the sons of men; or else, full cry, he followeth the trail of a woman other than Sozana. A woman of wit! A dreadless woman—a guileful and a wise."

The monarch pondered deeply for a space, while he combed at his beard and gazed toward the walls of Nineveh; then, suddenly, he frowned and leaned across the parapet.

"Zomar!" he called to a mounted man-at-arms below, "ride out to yonder chief of labourers by the western gate and admonish him to ply his whip with a higher diligence; for it cometh to me that the villain's head is balanced over-lightly on his neck."

* * * * *

Across the Syrian hills, beneath the splendour of a million stars, rode Menon and Semiramis, side by side. Their hearts were full with the fullness of a joy which conquers speech and leaves them to beat with a voiceless pulse of peace. Their eyes alone told secrets, tender, deep, for each had hunted through the desert for a grain of sand, and, finding it, was glad, for they knew that its name was love.

Before them, silent too, rode Huzim, his head bowed low upon his mighty chest, for a worm of jealousy had entered him because of this love of a master for his bride. Was a slave not human? Should his lowly mind be proof against the poison of forgetfulness? A slave! And yet—the master's hand had freed him of his chains, while he himself had riveted them again. What now? Were the cloaks of love not strange and manifold? So gratitude rose up to choke the jealous worm; then Huzim raised his head once more and crooned the songs of those who dwell where the Indus runs and the sun is warm.

For league on league they journeyed through the night, each heart a slave, each thought a link in the chain of loving servitude. In the van rode Huzim, singing softly in his native tongue; behind him came Menon and Semiramis, hand in hand, while, still again, as a rear-guard of the march, the wise, untroubled Habal trotted at their heels.

* * * * *

On the hills of Syria the shepherds built their fires against the chill of night; and many a youth looked long amongst the flames for the eyes of Shammuramat—strange eyes that peered from the embers impishly, half veiled in coils of smoke. They danced! They mocked! Now laughing when some green young twig was burned; now falling into darkness with its blackened ash. How sad they were, these ashes of a dream—as sad as the bleat of a wandering sheep as the cry came floating down the wind. And yet—what, then, should a goddess have to do with the herders of browsing beasts, or they with her? Should an ox lick salt from off the stars? Nay, not so!

Thus wisdom came to the watchers of the fires, till peace was brought by drowsiness, and the shepherds slept.

* * * * *

In the home of Simmas an old man paced the silent rooms and found not peace nor rest. How bare and desolate when a loved one came no more! How pitiful they were, these homely things that her hand was wont to touch—a broken spear—a quiver cast aside—a sandal old and worn!

He fled to the housetop from the ghosts below, but they followed, clutching at his robe with the hands of memory. He had hunted through the desert for a grain of sand, and found it not, for, lo! his sand was dust. Then Simmas fell upon his knees and stretched his withered arms toward the stars.

"Oh, Ishtar, Ishtar," he cried aloud, "fling pity to a weak old man!"

CHAPTER IX

THE EAGLET NURSED BY DOVES

In troublous times the government of Syria was not a game at which a child might play; and, albeit Menon dwelt with his wife at Azapah, he needs must circle round about through many a restless tribe. From Nineveh came an endless call for grain wherewith to feed the multitudes of labourers, for oxen, asses, and the water buffalo, whose strength was now employed in the drawing of heavy loads. Train on train of lowing, braying beasts were driven from out the land; and so soon as their tails had ceased to switch in Syria, a cry went up for more. Thus the Syrians whispered amongst themselves, as others muttered far away at Nineveh; and soon the whisper swelled, till each man spoke his thoughts aloud, and thought was bitter against the Governor.

So Menon journeyed forth and back again, chiding, soothing, punishing. His hand was heavy when the rod was lifted of necessity; and when it fell, the back of the smitten wore a mark. Throughout he was honest, just, and unafraid in all things save one alone—Semiramis. He dare not suffer her to share the perils of the road, nor did he desire that tidings should leak abroad concerning his wedded state; for of all swift messengers, both of earth and air, not one keeps pace with the babble of an idle tongue—and the ears of the King were sharp.

True, Menon might have wedded both Sozana and Semiramis, together with a score of other wives, yet the mate of a daughter of the King must cherish one wife alone. And still again, that man who would divide his love betwixt some other and Semiramis had best go down at once amid the raging fires of Gibil to seek his peace of soul. So Menon, as he rode, was wont to ponder upon these things, and was troubled because of fear.

Semiramis fretted in the absence of her lord, till her heart was rife with a clamorous unrest. She loved him as a tigress loves its mate, and knew no peace till he came to her side again.

Huzim, too, was left behind for a watch-dog in the Governor's house, a servant who vied with Habal as a sentinel against alarm. If the Indian loved his master, to the mistress he gave idolatry, and naught was there which he would not do to bring her happiness. In the chase which she loved he taught her arts of the jungle-hunt, when the tracker's hand is brother to his eye, and the eye must sweat because of its constant roving to and fro. He taught her to use her bow, not in the manner of Syrian archers who sight along the shaft, but to shoot from the hip, with vision fixed upon the mark alone, thus giving a quickness following hard upon the heels of thought. Above all other arms he schooled her in the use of a heavy-headed spear on which to receive the body of a pouncing beast; and for his patience Huzim found good cause to thank his gods.

On a certain morning they trailed across the hills, the Indian and Semiramis, while Habal snuffled joyously for any breed of mischief that he chanced to find. Long they hunted, but without a kill, till at mid-day, of a sudden, the dog set up a furious barking in a deep ravine. Semiramis, who chanced to be in the valley's neck while Huzim hunted far above, came first to the point whence the angry uproar told of game. At first there was naught to see, save Habal dancing in his rage, his lips rolled back, his thick hair bristling; yet, presently, through a tangled screen of thorn and vine, she spied a lion crouched upon the body of a goat, the blood of his victim dripping from his jaws. A mighty beast was he, ill pleased at being thus disturbed; and now, at the sight of Semiramis, he roared his wrath and leaped upon his enemies.

As the lion sprang, the heart of Huzim was like to stop its beat in fear. With a cry of anguish from above he plunged down the steep declivity, heedless of stones and thorns that tore his flesh as he rended a pathway through the interwoven shrubberies. He saw his mistress crouch, and brace the butt of her hunting spear behind her on the earth. He saw a tawny body hurtling through the air, to land on the waiting spear point which, by reason of the brute's own weight, sank deep into his neck; then the monster shot in a curve above the woman's head and, snarling, fell among the rocks. With all her strength the huntress clung to her weapon's haft, striving to hold her prey upon his back, while the cautious Habal, with that over-plus of noise which sometimes covers a lack of pluck, snapped viciously at the brush of the lion's tail.

Panting, breathless with his toil, the Indian raced toward the spot, notching an arrow as he came, yet Semiramis would have none of him.

"Hold, Huzim!" she cried. "On thy life dare loose a shaft! The kill is mine!"

So Huzim stayed his hand, though it irked him sore to watch while his mistress gripped her spear and was tossed like a rag upon the wind; but at length the lion ceased to struggle, sighing, as he stretched his splendid limbs in death.

Then Huzim—that trail-tried hunter, of many a fight more terrible than this—did a thing which was full of strangeness in a man. Trembling, he cast himself upon the earth, to clasp the feet of Semiramis, to kiss them, and to weep as a child might weep; but his mistress laughed, and patted Huzim's head, even as it was her wont to fondle Habal for a deed of love.

Homeward they journeyed across the hills, Semiramis proud of the pelt which Huzim bore, while Habal pranced before them, with the air of one who had done this deed alone, and cared not a pinch of wind if the whole world knew and marveled because of a most uncommon dog.

So the hunts went on, for Menon now was much abroad in quelling troubles which arose on every hand; though often in his leisure hours he joined the sport, and this Semiramis loved best of all.

Then the Kurds arose in fierce revolt, and the Governor needs leave his wife for a longer space, though many a bitter tear she shed, in that he would not suffer her to go. She was mad for a taste of war, mad as when with kisses she had urged him on the temple steps at Ascalon; yet Menon closed his ears alike to prayer and subtle argument. And thus it came to pass that she dried her eyes and watched him depart alone.

Now the Kurds were a wild and valiant race of hillsmen dwelling among the rocks, bold men who ceased to long for battle only when vultures picked their carcasses; so Menon and his army journeyed forth and laboured unto that end. He tracked them through wastes of sand, through gorges where torrents rushed, and monster stones came thundering down the pass; yet after a space he lured them to the centre of a plain and sought to give them one more taste of Assyria's scourge. He screened a strong reserve behind a hill, and then, in seeming disarray, marched down upon the enemy, while the Kurds looked on and were overjoyed because of the greater number of their warriors.

The Kurds awaited not the enemy's attack, but, shrieking in their barbarous tongue, poured down the slope to catch him in a dip between the hills.

In sooth the case of Assyria seemed evil, yet at a low command the disorder vanished utterly. As if by magic warriors sprang into the close-ranked form of a crescent moon, its curving front a line of bristling spears, its long horns tipped by horse, while in the rear and on either flank a cloud of bowmen waited for their prey.

In the hush before the storm a rider came spurring down the hill, to fling himself from his winded steed and to fall at Menon's feet.

"Huzim!" breathed the Governor, in a nameless dread. "What now?"

"Forgive, my lord," the Indian begged upon his knees, "and slay me if thou wilt. The lady Shammuramat—hath gone!"

"Gone?" cried Menon, whitening to the lips. "In the name of Bêlit—where?"

"Nay, lord, I know not," Huzim, in his grief, protested wildly. "In the hours of night she slipped away unseen. At morning, Habal, Scimitar and she were gone. I tracked them hither, lord, and now—"

His speech was drowned in a rush of howling Kurds, their first line breaking as a wave is shattered on a rock, their second crumpled, bleeding, tossed back in heaps of slain, while the third for an instant glared across the spears, then died as their brothers died. Yet more came on, and more again, an endless stream of madmen, delirious in rage, each caring naught for life so be it that he dragged a foeman down. They hacked at lance heads with their clumsy swords and wormed their way through the legs of the heaving front, till the crescent swayed and was like to burst in rout. And still they came, like waves from out the sea, to strike and fall, roll backward, rise and strike again.

The Governor had held the temper of his enemies in contempt too light, and now repented of his rashness in giving them a vantage ground. He looked for his horsemen screened behind the hill, but Kedah, their captain, was not the man to charge without an order from his chief; so Menon's soul was troubled for his army's fate.

"The reserve!" he roared into a courier's ear. "Ride on the wings of hell! Nay, look! By the grace of all the gods, they come!"

Of a truth it was so. A cloud of horsemen swept along the ridge in the form of a solid wedge, its sharp point aiming full at the foemen's flank. To the front, three lengths ahead, a steed of Barbary ran low against the earth, on its back a wild-eyed imp of war, unhelmeted, her red hair whipping out behind. In her hand she waved a hunting spear, and urged her men in a high, shrill scream that rang above the battle's din—and the men came on as evil spirits drive. Downward they plunged, to strike the Kurds with the shock of a thunder-bolt, to bore a ragged pathway through the seething ruck; then turned and bored back again.

And now the hearts of the Kurds grew faint, and a scrambling rout began; yet ere they could flee, the horsemen battered through their flank once more, circled, and took them in their rear. The crescent steadied, formed its line again, and spread to cut the Kurds' retreat; but Menon, shouting words that were hoarse and strange, flung wisdom to the seven winds, and charged.

Destruction dire might have come upon the enemy, but so long as he saw that flaming head that rocked on a surf of reeling, blood-mad warriors, he knew no thought save one—to reach Semiramis and be her shield. With Huzim close behind he won his way through a tangle of plunging steeds and men, but paused at last, to battle vainly at a human wall which he might not pierce.

As it chanced, the Kurds were caught between two closing jaws which pinched them as in a vice; yet full a third swarmed out at right and left, to scurry away among the distant crags where none but snakes might follow after.

The battle was done at last. A silence fell where the crash and roar of carnage had resounded through the hills. The Assyrian footmen were drawn in triple lines, and Menon recalled his horsemen who galloped far and wide, impaling stragglers on their points. At last they came, Semiramis in the lead, while behind her rode a soul-sick horseman, his chin sunk low upon his breast. Kedah was he called, the captain in whose command the reserve had been entrusted, and he who had charged without his chieftain's word. In silence he dismounted; from his saddle he produced a rope which he looped about his neck, then gave the end into Menon's hand.

The Governor frowned darkly and his rage was deep; not that the officer had charged without command, but because this underling had dared to bring Semiramis into a raging, blood-bespattered pool of death.

"Speak, Kedah—the truth! Be brief!"

"My lord," replied the man, who thought himself about to die, "my lips speak truth, as Bêlit watcheth me. I sat behind yon hill and waited for the word to ride. I heard the tumult when the battle joined, and though I yearned to come upon the dogs, I held my will in leash." The offender paused, glanced backward at Semiramis, smiled, and spoke again: "Of a sudden, my lord, this goddess dropped upon us from the clouds, for I swear I saw her not till her grip was on mine arm and she cursed me in mine ear. 'Fool!' she cried, 'why dawdle here when the great lord Menon sweateth in the toils. At them, ye swine, or by the living gods I charge alone!'"

Kedah paused, to shrug and spread his hands, palms upward.

"My lord, I came. I know not why I came—but came."

Another silence fell. The angered Governor looked from Kedah to Semiramis. She sat her steed in the glory of a beauty dear to him; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes aflame with battle-fires, her red locks tumbling on a breast revealed, for her robe was rent and torn. Still Menon's lips moved not; then Kedah raised his head, his fingers toying nervously at his noose.

"My lord, I do perceive no tree in sight, yet, haply, further on—"

He stopped, for Semiramis loosed a ringing laugh and vaulted from the back of Scimitar, to approach the chief without a sense of fear or shame.

"My lord," said she, and pointed with her hunting spear, "if, in truth, this sturdy warrior must hang, then first shalt thou hang Shammuramat." She snatched the noose from Kedah's neck and laid it about her own. "And harken, O Prince of Justice," she cried aloud, "in his throat this fellow lieth! Aye, even to spare me thy reproof! It was I who disobeyed, not he, for I told him I came at thine own command."

Now the lady had spoken no such thing, and, truly, it was as Kedah said; yet the sweet lie joyed the hearts of the horsemen mightily, and a smile ran rippling down the line. Presently Semiramis spoke again, humbly, sadly, with her hands clasped tight, in the manner of a slave condemned to die:

"My lord, I do perceive no tree in sight, yet, haply, further on—"

Then a roar of laughter burst from every rank, and even as it broke, so yearned these men to break from their ordered lines, to hoist a war-queen up and bear her on their harnessed backs, to shout her praise aloud.

So Menon ceased to frown, for how could he hold his anger at a conqueror of enemies and friends? Had she not saved his army and his very life itself? What now! So he took her to his heart, though his heart was sad. In a little space the tidings would leak abroad concerning this warrior queen who was his wife, and because of love his soul grew dark within him and was afraid.

On the homeward march Semiramis sought by many an art and wile to chase away his gloom, but ever he would sigh and shake his head.

"Ah, love," he murmured, "now have we cut a link from out our chain of happiness, for when my master learneth of this thing—"

"Poof!" she laughed. "'Twas worth a link or two of love; and even though King Ninus naileth me against his wall, still will I have thundered down that slope and tasted once of the wine of war. Smile, Menon mine!"

And Menon smiled—in that she bade him smile.

CHAPTER X

THE LIFTING OF A TAX

The army marched swiftly back to Azapah, for the place was sore in need of the Governor's fist. In his absence the people, growing bold, had stoned his agents, slaying many in their hatred toward Assyria's King. So Menon straightway rode from tribe to tribe, advising patience until Nineveh was builded, when peace and plenty would once more lay upon the land. Where wisdom and cunning failed to pacify, there Menon employed a rod of force, even as Ninus held the growling hordes of Egypt beneath his thumb. The King had grown vexed at reports from Karnak that the children of the Nile were chafing beneath their yoke, so he sent swift messengers, saying that upon the day when Egypt flew to arms, that day would he crucify their Prince Memetis on the walls of Nineveh. And Egypt ceased to growl.

In all his dealings with the tribes of Syria, Menon soon learned that the wit of Semiramis was sharper than his own. When his strings of policy grew twisted into knotted snarls, she would lay her fingers on the hidden ends, pull deftly, and the skein was free again. Thus, more and more, the Governor leaned upon the shoulder of his wife's advice, till there came a time when, stricken by a fever, he gave the rule of Syria into her hands.

Tenderly Semiramis nursed her lord through the life of a summer moon, and yet not once did her eyelids close on the troubles beyond her house. From there she sent her agents forth with oil upon their tongues, or planned with Kedah, in whose command she placed the Assyrian force of arms; for Kedah loved her with such a love as Habal gave, albeit he rarely snapped at the brush of a lion's tail. In her best appointed room she received the headmen of every tribe, who came with grievances, or for favours great and small. To each she listened thoughtfully, while scanning his face for flaws beneath the skin, then she dealt with the man in accordance with his flaws. With the bold she was bold; with the timid, gentle in her speech; with the sullen she soothed away the temper in their hearts and made them whole again. On the vain she smiled, nor recked the issue to his soul, while she laughed with the gay, and was sober before the wise. Thus each man came and went, rejoicing at departure because of his own uplifted understanding, yet knowing not that the swaying of mortal flesh, to Semiramis, was a master-art of arts.

"The juice of flattery," said she, "must needs be mixed with bread—not honey-cakes—for an over-sweetness cloyeth and is vain."

Now it chanced, that among the dwellers at Azapah, there were those who starved, alike on the bread of flattery and the little left them by the grasp of tax; so they met in a secret place and contrived a plot to destroy the Governor's house with fire, while those who slept therein should come not forth alive. With the army close at hand they dare not move; yet when Kedah led his force away to fall upon a certain band of malcontents, the plotters over-powered the guards who were left behind, slew them, then came to make their evil works complete.

At the hour of midnight Semiramis sat by Menon's couch, albeit the fever now had passed and his body was on the mend; yet it joyed her thus to mother him and to watch him while he slept. Habal lay yawning at her feet, but of a sudden the bristles rose upon his back and a rasping mutter trembled in his throat.

"Peace, Habal, peace!" his mistress urged, fearful lest the growls disturb her lord; yet the dog would not be stilled. Crouched at the stout-barred door, he growled afresh, and Semiramis knew full well that Habal snuffed a trouble in the air; so, calling Hazim, she mounted to the roof.

To the left she saw the tents of her guard in flames, while through the night came a close-packed throng, their ugly visages alight in the glare of many a torch. A hideous crew they were, the scum and evildoers of the plains, half clothed, and armed with staves and stones. At the sight, the heart of Semiramis grew cold within her breast—not for her own alarm, but for him who slept below, and, shrinking with Huzim behind a parapet, she waited, pondering hard and fast.

On came the crowd, full twenty score, who, if they would, might override the Governor's feeble strength in the twinkling of an eye, dash down the doors and drag the inmates forth to butchery. Yet ere a torch could be set against the walls, the plotters saw a woman leap upon the parapet above, to smile upon them and raise her hands in glad surprise, as though they bore her precious wedding gifts.

"Greeting!" she cried. "What seek ye of Shammuramat?"

Now a murderer's liver is a cousin to his slinking mind, and these who came were murderers. Of a certainty, had they reached the house by stealth, they would have burned it to the earth, showing no mercy to the Governor or his wife. Yet when this vision stood upon the housetop, not as one who pleads for life, but as a master knowing them for the cattle which they were, then the plotters faltered in their course and paused. A silence fell, and for a moment no man found his tongue.

"What seek ye of Shammuramat?"

"The Governor!" cried a voice amongst the throng. "The Governor! Give him into our hands!"

"Ah!" said the lady upon the roof, as she nodded pleasantly. "Ah, I see! Right gladly would my lord come out to you, but my lord is not within." She raised her hand to check a murmur of dissent, and smiled. "If friends would speak with him, I pray them wait for a little space, for even now he returneth with his men-at-arms. Harken!" She placed a hand behind her ear and gazed toward the north, whence Kedah and his force would come at dawn. "Harken to the clatter of his cavalry and the beat of hoofs upon the plain. Patience, good friends—he cometh!"

They listened, tricked for an instant by her words, but only the croak of frogs and the hum of insects sounded on the breeze; then the cowards' muttering swelled into a roar of rage. A volley of stones was flung against the house, one missile striking her upon the temple, causing her to totter on the roof's edge dizzily, while a trickle of blood ran down her cheek. Huzim had marked the man who hurled this stone, and, cursing, he set an arrow on his bow; but the mistress stayed his hand.

"Down, Huzim! I yet may deal with them. Be not a fool!"

Once more she turned to the scowling men who had stopped their rush when they saw the wound to one on whom their vengeance lay not so heavily; yet they hung in the balance now, and the weight of a hair might tip the beam.

"Perchance," she called aloud, "ye have a grievance, just, and one which I might quickly mend. What, then, would ye have of me?—I who have ever kept my promises, even though it brought me wounds, as I now am wounded at your hands. Speak! If it lieth within my power to grant—"

She was checked by a babel of discordant cries from the tongue of each who sought above the rest to air a separate woe; and Semiramis smiled within herself, though she frowned upon them with the dark displeasure of a queen.

"Be silent, dogs!" she commanded, fiercely. "What! Would ye burst my ears with the yelpings of your pack? Have done!"

They stared. She had them marveling now, and would keep them marveling, lest idle thought breed mischief ere she clipped its wings.

"Let one step forth!" she called. "Your leader. What! Is there not one man in all this valiant throng?" She paused to raise her eyes and hands. "Dear Ishtar, pity them!"

A mighty murmuring arose, when each man nudged his fellow, urging him to speak for all, till at last a hairy-chested, black-browed villain pushed toward the front—the same who had flung the stone, and Huzim's fingers curled about his bow, and he whimpered in restraint.

The leader spoke. He made his charge against the Governor who pressed, he said, upon the people till their children cried aloud for food. He lied; yet he lied with a certain air of honesty; and as he marked each point, the rabble applauded him, while their fury was like to bubble up afresh. He told of his nation staggering beneath the load of an unjust tax, when Ninus built him palaces wherein to squander wealth in wild debauchery. His people, he declared, were overjoyed to obey the King and pay him tribute according to the law; but when he sought to starve them by the right of might, then Syria bared her teeth. Justice they asked—no more—and received the lash.

"Stay!" cried Semiramis, seeing that the crowd was pushed by frenzy to the danger line. "If your hearts are hot against the King alone, why then would ye seek to harm my lord who standeth between the wrath of Ninus and your worthless carcasses?"

A reckless speech it was, and well she knew that she laid her finger on an open sore.

"Why?" the leader thundered. "Why? Because we would strike the master through the man! A Governor shall be no more in Syria, save a Governor dead!" Amid hoarse shoutings he lifted up his voice again: "If Menon would plunder bread from the mouths of women, let Menon come forth alone, to reckon with their sons—their brothers—and those who love them as they love their land."

A tumult now arose. The torch-lights flickered on a sea of upturned faces, black with wrath, distorted by the passions of ferocious men full ripe for a deed of blood. They gathered for a rush; great stones were raised aloft, and flaming brands were whirled in eager fists.

But Semiramis had one shaft in her quiver still, and, setting it upon the string of craft, she let it fly. She flung her arms toward the sky, and laughed—a shrill, derisive peal that echoed far beyond the outskirts of the band and for an instant checked its charge; then, from the housetop, she pointed a scornful finger at the black-browed chief.

"Thou child!" she cried. "Thou suckling babe! Thou fool! to whom the asses of the wilderness are as oracles! What! Hast thou, then, not heard?" She paused, to give her listeners the space of an indrawn breath, then full in their teeth she launched a master-lie.

"Harken!" she cried, "and bend your knees in gratitude. King Ninus hath lifted his tax from Syria—and no man needs must pay!"

A hush of wonder fell upon the throng, and in the silence Semiramis heard a rustling at her side. Turning, she looked into Menon's eyes, grown large in fear, and seeming larger still against the pallor of his pain-drawn face. He had heard the tumult and had risen from his couch, to crawl to the house-top, trembling in the weakness of his state.

"Bêlit!" he gasped in hoarse dismay. "What madness wouldst thou do?"

"Nay, wait!" she whispered. "Huzim, hold thy master, that these madmen see him not." Then she turned to the crew below. "Oho!" she scoffed. "I see that ye are filled with shame; yet hear the end. At the prayers of my lord the Governor, King Ninus harkened to your murmurings, and giveth unto Syria what he giveth no other land. Not only doth he lift the burden of your tax, but commandeth that no man pay a sum which he payeth not of his own desire; wherein the King would measure generosity, not by force, but love. Moreover, he offereth a high reward in the nature of a prize. To the tribe which may aid his needs by the largest store, that tribe will Ninus set above all other tribes in riches and in power, receiving its headmen as his honoured guests at Nineveh." Once more the speaker paused, till the meaning of her words had sunk into wondering ears. "What now," she asked, "is the King a tyrant, or your Governor a beast to slay?"

For a moment more a silence held the marveling men, then they broke into a mighty roar, shouting while they stamped upon their torches, weeping, cheering lustily for Menon and the King. Yet Semiramis was not yet done with them. She raised her hand for silence, pointed to the smoking ruins of the camp, and spoke in her sternest tone:

"For what ye have done this night, my lord forgiveth you because of your swinish ignorance. Yet have a care, for every evil face amongst your pack is chiseled on my memory. Once, not twice, the Governor may forgive, and a rope there is in Syria for each offending neck. Now go! and thank the gods for the little wisdom ye have learned."

So the murderers dispersed, and, silent, scattered far and wide to seek their homes, while a priestess of guile, who lingered on the housetop, looked after them and laughed.

"Menon mine," she murmured, filled with glee, as she smoothed the pillows on his couch, "by Ishtar I swear 'twas keener sport than a dash against the Kurds!"

* * * * *

Menon and Semiramis took thought together, long and earnestly; for now, when the Syrians learned how they had been deceived, the ashes of murder would burst again in flames. Menon was for hanging every man who had sought to burn his house, but Semiramis said nay.

"By craft have we sown a seed; by craft will we nurture it and eat the fruit."

Thus it came to pass that a cunning proclamation was sent throughout the land, and the simple peoples rejoiced and sang songs of praise because of the lifting of their tax. Moreover the many tribes began to vie with one another for the prize which Semiramis had offered in the name of Ninus, till unto Azapah they brought such stores of metals and of food, that Menon reaped a harvest far beyond his dreams. Where tribes were wont to dole their tribute out through doubled fists, they now came swiftly and unbidden, with treasures on their backs—for men look not where their footsteps fall when chasing swamp-flies to a goal of greed and power.

And now to Nineveh came mighty stores of grain and wine, long lines of sheep and cattle, asses, goats, and the water buffalo. Metals came likewise, silver, gold and brass; fruits were there also, and honey in earthen jars. Whatever dry Syria owned, that Syria sent, till Ninus, seeing this stream of riches pouring through his gates, sat down upon his stool both suddenly and hard, in the grip of profound amaze.

"Now by the great lord Asshur," he muttered in his beard, "these eyes of mine have never looked upon the like before! In thought have I wronged my Menon grievously, for in truth he loveth me with a love that is rare amongst the sons of men."

CHAPTER XI

THE SANDAL AND THE STRAWS

And now came a day when Nineveh was Nineveh at last, and Ninus stood upon his palace roof and was glad because of the Opal of the East. At his feet a vast brown city lay—a city builded by his heart—each brick a monument to other hearts that broke in rearing temples to Assyria's gods. In the streets a busy hum of trade arose, where marts and booths were opened to the sale of a thousand wares; where citizens in gala dress swarmed in and out of unfamiliar doors; where troops of children danced in wreaths of flowers, or white-robed priests filed past, chanting their deep-toned songs and bearing loads in sacrifice to the temple of Nineb and up its winding ziggurat.

From the palace steps a broad, smooth road ran down to the western gate and was lined by effigies of stone, great wingéd bulls, and lions crouching as for a spring. Around it all the mighty wall lay coiled, its top of a width whereon three chariots might be driven abreast, while above rose a thousand and a half a thousand towers.

The army still encompassed Nineveh around, yet the King was not for war. He looked on his work and sighed a sigh of peace, then stretched his mighty limbs and prepared a lion hunt. For three long years his heart had yearned for sports afield, with a yearning which hunters alone may know; yet, because of his vow, the bow and spear were left untouched by the monarch's hand.

Consulting his oracles, and likewise the prophet Azet whose arts foretold great deeds of wonder to his arms, the King appointed another Governor in Syria and commanded Menon to join him on the banks of the lower Euphrates. Here game might be found in plenty where Ninus had known rare pleasures of the chase in former days; so, smiling, he set him forth.

When the messengers had come to Azapah, Menon bowed to the master's will and departed with a heavy heart, first sending Semiramis with Huzim back to Ascalon, to dwell for a little space till chance might bring him into Syria again. He reached the banks of the Euphrates and waited the royal hunter till a moon had waned; but Ninus came not, because of the slowness of his journey to the place.

The King, in sitting much upon his tower while Nineveh was being builded, had laid a deal of fat upon his bones, and tedious travel irked him; moreover, in the hunt his breath was shorter than of yore and his thews less strong. Yet the mind may ofttimes entertain a zeal beyond the body's power, and in this King Ninus brewed a trouble for himself—but the trouble was yet to come.

* * * * *

Semiramis, at parting with her lord, wept bitter tears; yet she, too, bowed where wisdom left no loophole of escape, and journeyed with Huzim and Habal back to Ascalon. And here her grief must find another stab, keener, deeper, more sad than the parting from one who would come again; for in the house of Simmas an old man lay asleep—a woman's sandal pressed against his beard.

They buried Simmas far out upon the hillside, where in years gone by a babe was mothered by a flock of doves. The babe was a woman now, who loved her foster-father tenderly and above all others save her lord alone; so she wept beside the grave for many days.

"A dove was he," she whispered to her lonely heart, "so fond, so gentle in his ministries—a dove that winged his flight and left me, only because of Ishtar's yearning cry."

In her two long years of absence Semiramis had oft'times dreamed of Ascalon, longing to roam its hills once more or to swim in its cool, green lake; yet now it all seemed strangely poor and small. The shores of the lake had shrunk together in the night; the hills were not so high as the hills of yore, nor the trees so green; the vault of the very sky itself seemed pressing down to smother her, and the smell of the very earth was not the same. Ah, if she were like to Habal who could see no change in the march of time; yet Habal was but a dog!

Now, concerning this dog, the mistress erred and grievously. Not only did he mark the change in Ascalon, but a greater one within himself. He swaggered through the village with his tail held high, in the manner of one who had done large deeds abroad, passing old canine friends without a sniff or wag, yet eying interlopers scornfully. On these he would fall at the slightest wink of provocation, and leave his memory marked upon their hides; so his name became a wonder unto other dogs.

Semiramis was not of Habal's stamp, nor did she boast of her deeds abroad; yet still their memory beckoned, till her soul was full with a great unrest. At home she was idle, grieving for the things so changed, wandering through a house made desolate by the flight of those she loved. Old friends would come—gaunt shepherds, gazing on her beauty with the eyes of cattle that rove the hills—to linger, then slink away to hide the passion in their hearts.

"Home! Home!" she cried. "No longer is it home, for the dove hath flown, and my lord is not beside me in the gloom!"

Through the hush of night there were whispers on the wind—relentless ghosts that glide from the outer world to mock us with their sighs; to bring on their garments odours of the days that were, and the hopes of other days to come; to haunt us, till we harken to their murmurings and know not peace.

They called to Semiramis, these whispers, in the name of love, whence Menon seemed to stretch his arms in loneliness. They called through a shattered fringe of Kurds who screamed and struggled under hoof and heel; they called in the tongues of madmen whirling torches round and round, their evil faces yellow in the flame and smoke. They called her to deeds of arms—to work—to power. Oh, Ishtar, if she might ride under whip and spur to Nineveh, and pit her wits against the King! To play the thirsty game, with life the stake, its hazard on a single cast! Ah, if she might glide, as these ghosts were gliding through the night, far out beyond the rim of solitude, to the teeming battle-ground of hearts and men!

For days she wandered, silent, yearning to be gone, while the faithful Huzim dogged her every step. His master had admonished him to watch his charge with a winkless eye, lest spirit override her reason and tempt her to a recklessness. It troubled Huzim thus to be a jailer to one he loved, yet the master's will was law, so the Indian followed ever on her trail.

Semiramis knew no peace nor rest, and at last she came to Dagon's temple down beside the lake, to lay her sorrows on the fish-god's knees and ask a sign.

All day, all night, she prayed, yet when the dawn came oozing from out the east, the face of Dagon was as a face of stone. The suppliant sat upon the temple steps, weary, warring with despair. With listless eyes she watched a beetle crawling at her feet, then, of a sudden, hope rose up and lived. She grasped the bug between her thumb and finger, holding it above the surface of the lake, while she closed her teeth as a gambler might at the whirl of his last remaining coin.

"Now this," she murmured to herself, "shall tell me of Dagon's will. If the beetle swim, I go! If he sink, I rot in Ascalon!"

She cast it in, smiling, for she knew right well that the bug must float, yet turning her back lest Dagon mark her knowledge of such things. For an instant the victim struggled pleasingly with leg and wing, while the smile of Semiramis broadened in its reach, to flicker, to fade, to die. A monster carp came upward with a rush. One snap, and the tempting morsel disappeared, thus making the fish-god's judgment clear, beyond the very hem of Redemption's robe.

Semiramis sat upon the temple's steps, her chin upon her hands, her eyes on a wheel of ripples that widened away from its hub of swift calamity. She pondered long, her thoughts like cats in trees, with Habal barking furiously below.

"He sank," she sighed. "Of a certainty he sank. I may not make it otherwise. And yet"—she paused to steal a glance at Dagon's face—"and yet the fool did swim for a little space. Mayhap—" Again she paused, then spread her hands and raised her eyes appealingly. "In truth my beetle proveth naught at all. For a space he swam. For a space he sank. Dagon, Dagon, what meanest thou in this?"

No answer came. Once more she pondered, her fair brow puckered with the lines of deep perplexity; till, presently, the truant colour raced to her cheek again and her great eyes lit with the flame of understanding.

"Ah!" she breathed. "Ah, now I see. Thou meanest, O wise and radiant one, that, sink or swim, must I do this thing. What!" she cried, "hast thou, thyself, not said it? And, lo! I am but a weak and foolish woman in thy power. Ah, Dagon, Dagon, thou art a crafty god, indeed!"

In haste Semiramis left the temple door, and, singing loudly, tripped toward her home. Her god had sent a sign. She was free to journey now as her heart desired. Free! And yet, a doubt came prowling after her—a watchful, sleepless doubt that dogged her steps, even as Huzim slipped upon her trail from his hiding-place behind a stone. On the hill she paused, to mutter to herself in a soothing tone:

"The sign is clear. Did I linger on in Ascalon, some evil might befall me, even as that carp arose to snatch my beetle in his greedy maw. Did Menon know, he would urge that I fly to him without delay."

She went her way and took up her song again, but paused to reason with a small brown toad that hopped across her path.

"Little beast," said she, "thou comest as a warning of some ugly chance, the which, I confess, hath filled me with the juice of fear. Therefore will I hasten out of Syria in time."

She walked around the toad with care, and, singing, journeyed on till she reached the house where the old dove Simmas dwelt in days gone by. At the door she lingered, ere she raised the latch, for one last argument in the cause of a heart's desire.

"Now Dagon," she reflected, grieving at the thought, "is in truth a careless god in the matter of his signs. Had Ishtar cursed me with a simple mind, I might have misinterpreted, alas!"

Semiramis then slept, to dream of Menon till the shades of night wore on, and in her dreams found weightier reasons which she laid on the fish-god's judgment scale.

"Huzim," she asked, when the Indian had brought the evening meal, "did I seek escape from Ascalon, what course would thy duty run?"

"Mistress," he answered her, "like an arrow in my heart is the thought of force with one whose happiness is held above my hopes of peace; yet the master's will is the master's will, and a servant must obey."

"Ah," she nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, I see! Yet if, by chance, I slipped away in the gloom of night, as I did at Azapah—what then?"

The Indian cast a troubled gaze upon the floor, and heaved a sigh.

"I would follow, mistress, as before I followed, till I fell because of weariness."

"Then follow!" said Semiramis, "for I go to join my lord at Nineveh—and to tickle the lion's nose with straws."

CHAPTER XII

THE SORROWS OF A KING

King Ninus, lord of all Assyria, lay cursing in his royal litter, while slaves and attendants bore him northward on the banks of the Euphrates. Presently they left their course, struck eastward till they reached the Tigris and again turned north, whence, with many rests and long, forced marches in the cool of night, the stricken King at length was placed upon his couch at Nineveh.

Full many a grievous matter rode upon the monarch's mind, and the pale attending leech wrought vainly to quell his patient's fever, one augmented by a sleepless, boiling rage within. By day the King would fret; by night he rioted throughout his dreams and found no rest.

First there was his wound, a ragged, half-healed gash, laid open by a lion's claw and running from a point beneath his arm-pit to his hip. It was not the wound itself, nor the pain thereof, which fired the hunter's wrath, but rather the truth that he, Ramân-Nirari—the greatest hunter since beasts and hunters were—should miss his kill and seek his life in flight. Of witnesses there were only three: Shidur-Kam, a warrior whom the King might trust to entrench his tongue behind his teeth, and a slave who was safer still, for Ninus had cast his body into the Euphrates; but, then, there was a girl—a red-haired girl—who perched in the boughs of a citron tree and laughed as the King sped underneath, a wounded lion leaping at his horse's haunch.

At another time the monarch might have held this face, and the echo of a bubbly laugh, in pleasing memory; yet raillery, directed at a royal personage in the stress of flight, begets a recollection of a different breed. So the mocking laughter haunted Ninus through all the day and caused him to wake at night and grind his teeth in fury.

"Argol," said he, to the faithful leech beside him, "give order that a thousand horse repair to the region of our lion hunt. Command them to scour the country round about in a circuit of thirty leagues and bring me every red-haired wench they may chance to find. By Gibil's flame! I have a pressing need of them!"

The leech sighed sadly, tapped upon a gong of bronze, then waited in silence till an officer strode in, saluted, and sank upon his knees. The order given and the soldier gone, Argol administered a sleeping draught and sat once more at his weary post.

Yet the King slept not, for still another matter lay heavy on his heart. There was a certain man called Azet, the venerable seer who had prophesied with lies. Before the hunt he had opened the carcasses of seven cranes, finding in the entrails of each and all an omen of success. Full thirty beasts, said Azet, should the King o'ercome, returning unto Nineveh triumphant and sound of limb. Was not this prophet, then, to blame for the ills which had come to pass? Wherefore should he prophesy unto evil ends, or cause witch-women to laugh from the boughs of citron trees? Could virtue not be found in the vitals of seven sacred cranes? or was this holy man but a monster and a fool?

The King's dark brow grew darker still with troublous thought, as he questioned his leech for the hundredth time in fretful tones:

"Argol, good Argol, tell me, I pray thee, man, how in the name of Asshur may I teach this wretch to mend his auguries?"

"My lord," the leech replied, as he raised his drooping lids and gazed out dreamily to where the Tigris flowed, "my lord, the breath of man ariseth from his breast, but in his throat are shaped his evil prophecies."

"Eh—what?" the King demanded. "What manner of speech is this, and how doth it run with Azet and his seven cranes?"

"Hang him, my lord," said Argol, drowsily, and turned away.

A slow smile lit the features of the King, while for a space he pondered, plucking at his coverlet; then, summoning an officer, he gave an order in a weak but cheerful voice, at the same time causing his couch to be removed to a shaded spot upon the palace roof. Here, with his watch-worn leech beside him, he could lie at ease and feast his eyes on the glory of completed Nineveh. Across his terraced gardens where fountains sparkled in the sun, he could see the temple of Asshur and of Ishtar upon their hills; likewise the temple of the fire-god Gibil, above whose dome a wreath of smoke hung low, belched upward from the flames beneath. He could see his streets, his marts, his mighty gates and the tawny plains beyond where the Tigris and the Khusur ran. He could see his wall—that shield of his heart's desire—which made his city a fortress against the world; yet the thoughts of Ninus were not for walls and shields.

He watched a thousand horsemen pass the western gate and gallop swiftly down the river bank, then disappear from Nineveh for the space of many days. The chief was a man of little love beyond his sword and steed, one, who would give short shift to devils with flame-hued hair, and the heart of the King was glad.

Of a sudden a tumult rose from the streets below, while a concourse gathered, and a sound of weeping ascended to the palace roof. Through the surging throng a band of soldiers fought their way, leading the prophet Azet toward the wall and beating back the populace with the butts of their heavy spears.

The western gate was spanned by a monster arch, on the shoulder of which sat the highest tower of all, and thither the soldiers led their victim by a winding stair. When at last they appeared on the turret's edge, a wail of anguish rang out afresh, while the multitude gazed upward, swarming to and fro.

"Now truly," chuckled Ninus as he watched, "this fellow hath a wondrous following, who, because of their ignorance, grieve at things they may not understand."

From the turret the soldiers thrust a wooden beam; from the end thereof they hanged the prophet by a noose, and, according to a writing set above the gate, "The prophecies of Azet ceased to be throughout the land."

Argol then bound his master's wound in a healing salve, and the sufferer straightway slept for many hours; on waking, his fever had departed utterly, so he mended in body and in mind. He appointed another prophet, one Nakir-Kish, a wise and observing man whose promises of good and ill were the like of kites, the strings thereof being held within his hand till his eye had marked the temper of all heavenly winds. Thus Nakir-Kish endured.

King Ninus now sent for Bobardol, a sculptor of high renown, the same who had carven a famous bull that had, in all, five legs. This extra limb might at first seem strange and at odds with Nature's own design; yet, even so, it had its marked advantages. An observer gazing on this masterpiece—no matter where he stood—might always perceive four legs; "And that," said Bobardol, "is Art." So Ninus was pleased, and retained the sculptor in his service.

The King gave order for a monster stele, whereon should be carven a scene from the lion hunt, the monarch being pictured, not in wild retreat, but faced about and causing great discomfiture to a mighty foe. True, the attitudes of the King of Assyria and the king of beasts would be quite reversed, yet Ninus was a god whose front was more imposing than his back; moreover it would have been as pictured had Azet not prophesied with lies. Shall a King be held to blame where foolish servants err through ignorance? Not so!

The sculptor Bobardol now set to work, while Ninus commanded a sumptuous feast to be prepared, whereby he might celebrate his triumphs in the chase. His soldiers and populace should pass in lines through the palace hall and gaze in awe upon this unveiled tablet, set up to the glory of the high lord Asshur—and to the glory of the King.

While waiting this work of art, and at the same time resting so that his wound might heal, Ninus was wont to recline within his litter which was borne along the top of the city wall. Here he could watch at will, or give directions in the order of another enterprise which dwelt in his mind and heart. Three years had now passed by since his warriors turned tail from Zariaspa; and the time approached when Ninus must seal his promises to rake the ashes of this city into sacks and with them feed the waters of the sea.

The army encamped within and without the walls of Nineveh was twice so great as that which had failed in the former siege, and Ninus gave much thought to the plans of his second war. On the plain a wall had been erected, in height and thickness measuring that of Zariaspa, and here the Assyrians practiced methods of assault. Great carts they had, with platforms twenty cubits above their wheels, propelled by slaves who were hidden underneath, while above the platforms ladders rose and slanted toward the wall. Up these the men-at-arms would clamber rapidly, to grapple with defenders at the top; and so great was their zeal in this mimic war that many lives were lost because of it. There were tall machines which worked on pivots, whose swinging buckets could set a score of men upon a parapet; there were towers faced by armor-plates of brass, from the crests of which wide bridges might be flung, while warriors swarmed across to engage the enemy. Huge catapults were built, of new design and hurling power, some casting single rocks, and others to rake a battlement with a volley of smaller stones. Full many a strange machine of cunning workmanship was thus devised and stored against departure, when the King would once more lead his armies to the East.

In the lowgrounds and on the rolling slopes beyond the river Khusur which flows between the mounds of Koyunjik and Nebbi Yunas, myriads of oxen and beasts of burden were set to graze upon the pasture-lands. These had been employed in the building up of Nineveh, and now were resting for a further need, for their final strength would be utilized in hauling the traps of war through desert lands and toilsome ways, on spongy forest roads to the hills beyond, up heavy mountain slopes to gorges between the peaks of Hindu-Kush. Thence they would scramble down into the plains of Bactria, to become at last the food for a hungry host; and thus the cattle served unto many ends.

The waiting army was under sole command of Menon, whose heart was now divided between two loves. To prepare for war would have joyed him vastly, except for his vow to wed Sozana when Zariaspa fell before the King; and this he might not do because of Semiramis, of whom he dreamed as resting peacefully in the valley of Ascalon. Had Ninus spoken aught to him of the red-haired imp who laughed from the bough of a citron tree, Menon's heart might then have borne a double weight; but the happening was not that quality of jest on which a monarch is pleased to regale his chiefs.

It chanced on a certain day that Menon was summoned to the palace for a council with the King, and, striding through the gardens, he came with suddenness upon Sozana, who sat alone. Fair was she, with the beauty of a childish maid; yet in her green simar, and the silvery veil which was wound about her throat, Sozana was a princess, from her raven hair to the jeweled sandals on her tiny feet.

Since returning from Syria Menon had found no opportunity for speech with her, and now he came forward joyously, his hands outstretched. At the sound of footsteps Sozana had risen from her seat, but, on seeing him, she gave a little cry of disappointment and of pain, flushed crimson and turned away without an answer to his greeting; and when he sought to question her concerning such treatment of an old-time friend, she sank upon a bench, to weep as though her heart would break.

For a moment Menon stood irresolute, then, as he began to speak again, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, turning, he looked into the eyes of Memetis the Egyptian, a youth whom he loved as he might have loved his mother's son, but who now refused his greeting coldly, spurning the proffered hand and placing his own behind his back.

"How now," asked Menon, "is this the manner of Memetis to his friends?"

"Nay," returned Memetis, frowning as he spoke; "true friends I greet in love and tenderness; the false may rest with Hathor ere I take their hands."

Then it came upon Menon that Memetis and Sozana knew of the mandate of the King, and were bitter in their thoughts of one who came between them and their happiness.

"Memetis," the Assyrian asked, "is it, then, to the walls of Zariaspa that thine eyes are turned, fearing lest a friend hath juggled with thy trust as a traitor might?"

The Egyptian's black eyes glowed in anger which he vainly strove to check, while his fingers played about the hilt of a dagger at his belt.

"Aye," he answered bitterly, "to the walls of Zariaspa do I turn mine eyes, for with their fall falls every hope which Isis dangled before my foolish heart. And thou!" he cried, "the false! The treacherous! who would tear Sozana from mine arms, aye, even as the hawk would swoop upon a nest of doves!"

Menon strove to speak, but the Egyptian would not harken to his words. The Assyrian faced Sozana, stretching forth his hand, but Memetis sprang between them, drawing his dagger, and in a low, fierce whisper spoke his wrath:

"Lay but a finger on this maid, or speak her name again, and as Osiris liveth, will I take thy life!"

Menon looked into the lover's eyes, and slowly spread his arms.

"Strike!" he murmured sadly. "Strike, and learn from other lips than mine that Memetis is a fool."

He waited, but the Egyptian made no move, because of the sorrow on the face of one who had been a cherished friend.

"And dost thou dream," asked Menon, pointing to the girl who wept beside him, "that I would willingly bring sorrow to this child? Nay, listen, both, then judge me when ye know the truth."

The Egyptian's hand sank down beside him, and his blade was tossed upon the earth.

"Speak on," he begged, "but, oh, my friend, I pray thee show me no mirage of hope that melteth when a thirsty traveller would drink."

So Menon sat between them on the bench and told them of Semiramis. He told of the artifice by which he sought to gull the King, in a firm belief that Zariaspa would not fall; and yet, should chance prove otherwise, he would fly with his wife into Arabia, where Prince Boabdul offered them a safe retreat. He spoke of his life in Syria, of the wonder of his love for her whom he left behind; and as the tale went on Sozana dried her tears and held the teller's hand in both her own, for she and Memetis knew at last that Menon betrayed no trust in him, and their hearts were glad because of a hope restored.

"Forgive," Memetis pleaded as his friend arose; and Menon smiled, bent down and kissed Sozana as a brother might, then left them with a heavy heart to seek the King.

Ninus still reclined upon his couch—for his hurt was yet unhealed—and rested beneath the shade of a canopy on the palace roof, whiles he waited in impatience for Menon's coming till the hour was past. Now it is not good to linger when a wounded monarch waits, so Ninus fretted, combing at his beard as was his wont when matters troubled him or anger rose.

"How now," he asked, when Menon came at length with a hasty step, "am I the master, or do I sleep, to awaken presently and find myself a servant—thou the King?"

"Forgive, my lord," begged Menon, falling on his knee; "King Ninus sleepeth not. 'Twas the servant who drowsed beside the way. In the garden below I chanced upon Sozana with whom I have held no speech since—"

"Ah!" said the King, his anger fading, while a smile began to play about his mouth. "So the eagle needs must wait when pigeons peck at love. Speak on, my son."

Menon flushed and cast his gaze upon the floor.

"I—I sat with her, my lord, and spoke of many things, taking no thought of how the moments flew, till—"

"Hark!" said Ninus, as he raised his hand. "Can it be that I hear Sozana singing from the garden there?" Menon listened, nodded, and the King went on: "Strange!" he mused. "For days she hath tasted lightly of her food, and sighed and drooped her head; yet now at thy coming she hath straightway plumed herself, and pipeth a saucy song. Look thou, master fox, what miracle is this?"

Menon flushed again and smiled a foolish smile; yet he answered cunningly, with a lingering grip on the slippery skin of truth:

"My lord, I—I whispered into the maiden's ear."

"Oho!" laughed Ninus. "Now by my beard, I'd give a goodly sum to learn thine art. But come, what chanced to be the burden of this pretty speech?"

"As to that," said Menon boldly, in a manner which ever pleased his lord, "my whisper is a secret in the keeping of discretion's tongue and the maiden's ear alone."

"U'u'm!" mused Ninus. "How many men-at-arms are now prepared to take the field against our good friend Oxyartes?"

For a space the two discussed their plans for a second war against the Bactrians, then Menon saluted his master's hand and took his leave. Alone, the King lay thinking on his war, when of a sudden his thought was disarranged by the notes of another song, no longer Sozana's voice, but that of a man, deep, tender, and pleasing to the ear:

Like Love is the fragile Lotus bud,

When kissed by the gleaming, golden flood

Of light from shining Ra;

It blooms 'neath the warm, caressing beams

On the Nile of Life, and its blossom seems

To shine as a milk-white star.

But lo! when the fateful season turns,

And the tawny desert glows and burns,