SEMIRAMIS (continued 6)

"Naught," returned the Bactrian, with a sigh, "naught save thy memory of one who hath loved Shammuramat, and who loveth still."

To the eyes of the woman leaped the fires of wrath, for how should a slave presume to babble of his love?—for her—the Queen of all Assyria! She would have clapped her hands in summons of her guard to slay the dog, yet Dagas restrained her gently, smiling as he shook his head.

"Nay, Mistress of the World, I speak not of myself, albeit of myself the same is true; for while I wore thy ring I took no wife unto my breast, no hope unto my heart. For another I plead—for one who shall grope in darkness all his days—yet in his hell of everlasting night, one cry hath rung through the empty hall of years—one heart-cry beating at the doors of life—Shammuramat!"

The Bactrian ceased. The Queen, in wonder, was silent, too, for the words of the man seemed strange and meaningless. Yet why should the dead arise to life? Why should the thread of memory become a chain and drag her back to her lord of other days?—to Menon the Beautiful—he who had torn the veil of Ishtar, and bade her look on the naked glory of a heart!

"Speak," she whispered, watching Dagas, as before she watched in the shadow of Zariaspa's wall, waiting, listening, for tidings of the lost; and Dagas spoke.

He told her of a pestilence which had run through his city's streets, knocking at the doors of beggar and of prince till those who might took refuge in the hills, while others remained because of poverty or lack of fear, and died. Among the stricken were two Egyptian eunuchs, Neb and Ura, who guarded a certain prisoner by command of Tiglath-Shul; yet when these eunuchs died, the Governor set Dagas and a brother warrior as keepers of the man. They had ministered to this prisoner, whose eyes were blind and whose hands and feet were useless by reason of his being nailed against the wall.

"And so," said Dagas, "in sorrow of his state, I sought to hearten him, and became his friend. To me he told his tale, in the truth whereof I may not vouch, for it brandeth him as madman, or else the saddest son of chance since tears were fashioned by the pitying gods."

Semiramis made no answer, but she raised her trembling hand, so that Dagas understood and spoke again:

"By night, by day, he pleaded with me, saying: I am Menon, Prince of the House of Naïri, whom Ninus hath crucified. Go, thou, unto my wife Shammuramat and tell her of this thing—tell her I swear it by her kisses on the temple steps at Ascalon! And if she doubt thee still, say thou of me, in her parting words, that the garment of her love hath gone, and the joy of the world is but as a cup of water spilled!"

The Bactrian ceased. Semiramis sat, silent, on the garden seat; no longer Queen of proud Assyria—Mistress of the World—but the woman, stripped of royalty and power; the woman, crouching in a huddled heap, whence two great eyes looked out and suffered; eyes which would have shrieked, had tongues been given them, yet staring now, in the terror of a stricken beast.

Through the gardens floated laughter—song—the tinkling mirth of zitherns softly played. On the night breeze ran the hum of Nineveh, joyous, flinging care to the seven winds; and a woman's heart was wondering at the strangeness of it all. Menon lived! Menon the Beautiful who had died in the glory of his youth! Yet Menon lived! Who, then, lay down with Habal in the vale of Hindu-Kush? Speak, Ishtar! Who?

No answer came, till Dagas, in tones of gentleness, told her how this man had journeyed out of Bactria and now lay hidden beyond the city wall; then Semiramis arose and spoke, though her voice was as the voice of some other woman, broken and unknown to her;

"Go, thou, with my servant Huzim and bring him in secret unto me."

She spoke no more, nor did she offer gold or gratitude to him who had proved devotion rare among the sons of men; yet the Mistress of the World bent down and pressed her lips to the hand of an humble warrior.

* * * * *

Huzim and Dagas came to the hiding-place where Menon lay, and the servant knew not his master, because of his shrunken form and the hair which grew upon his cheeks and chin; yet in Huzim's arms the master lay sobbing out his joy, till the servant knew, rejoicing that the dead had risen up to live again.

They cut away his beard, washed him, and clothed his form in a garment of fine-spun wool; then they bore him in secret to a chamber on the palace mound.

And Semiramis came in to him—alone—for on that meeting nor you nor I may seek to look, when even the goddess Ishtar might have turned away in pity and in pain.

Through the long blue night he lay with his head upon her breast, weeping, babbling of the aching solitude of his prison years, caressing her hair, her features, with the crooked fingers which were now his eyes. And Semiramis rocked him in the cradle of her arms, as she might have rocked a babe, soothing, whispering her love to this poor misshapen thing, crooning, till he slept at last, to forget the tangle of his joy and grief.

Then the Queen of Assyria stole away—away from the horror of it—seeking the housetop, where none might see, where none might hear, where none might follow save the ghosts of pain. On the roof she stood and opened her robe to the cool, sweet breath of the morning stars. She looked upon Bêlit riding down the sky; she looked upon sleeping Nineveh which was builded by the King. The King! who had builded up another curse and set its walls on a woman's heart—its palace on a woman's shame! The King! who had wrenched the glory from a woman's soul and crucified it!

And now, when her soul could bear no more, she loosed one long-drawn, quivering scream—the cry of the tigress to her stricken mate.

CHAPTER XXIX

WHEN A WOMAN RULED THE WORLD

In the palace of the King there was revelry unstinted, for a change had come upon Semiramis. Through the score of years when she reigned with Ninus, she had paid the tribute of a wife, in sufferance of love which she gave not back again, bearing his son, while her heart roved ever through the hills of Hindu-Kush. She graced his throne and added to his kingdom's power; she ruled his house and gave obedience to her lord; yet the King asked more. He asked for all, not tithes, but the utmost treasure of a woman's heart—her smiles, her yearnings, and the fruits of love which ripened for her mate alone; and now, when the frost of age was set as a helm upon his locks, the hope of youth burst forth to flower again.

Semiramis smiled upon the King, and there was somewhat in her eyes which sent the hot blood bounding through his veins, which caused his breath to flow the faster and his hand to tremble in a lingering caress. Her beauty was for him—the master of men—the lord of a woman's yielding soul—the love-mad king who groveled at a shrine of craft.

So Semiramis suffered the King's caress, smiling her smiles of promise, while she hushed the curses of her fury-throated hate. She waited now, even as the tigress stalks her kill, patient, tireless, crouching till a shifting wind had passed, to rise again and steal toward the pouncing-point. King Ninus she might have slain by day or night, and there were moments when her fingers clung to a weapon hungrily; yet the King was King, and his nation might not be slain. Nay, first must she strip this man of a nation's love, strip him to the very nakedness of guilt, then nail him to a wall of suffering, even as Menon hung upon a wall of stone. So the tigress waited, and her quarry frolicked through the fields of pleasant ways.

High revelry resounded on the palace mound, till the echoes thereof were borne to a distant chamber where Huzim sat on guard, where Semiramis would steal from the hateful feasts and comfort Menon, till the whisper of wisdom urged return. And the King was mad with love, haunting her footsteps, heaping her lap with his splendid gifts; yet his gifts she would not receive, and retreated from the ardor of his love. She lured him to a deeper madness still, drawing him on by every artful charm, repulsing in a gust of petulance; now warm, now cold, till Ninus knew not if he stood upon his royal head or upon his royal heels. She withdrew to her chamber, heedless of his knockings and his calls, till his soul became afraid of losing her again, and he followed her with pleadings and with prayers. At his prayers she scoffed; at his wrath she answered with a higher wrath, then, of a sudden, gave freely where he had not asked.

Thus Ninus marveled at the strangeness of her mind, and begged that she ask of him such gifts as would please her best, for he swore by the robe of Shamashi-Ramân that none might fathom aught at all in the wilderness of a woman's whims.

At his offer of gifts, the Queen took thought, pondering upon it for the space of a day and night; then she came unto him, saying:

"My lord, if thou wouldst please me best, go hunt for lions in the thickets along the Euphrates."

"Eh—-what?" cried the King, thinking she sought to banish him from his bed and board; but she laughed and laid her hand upon his arm.

"Nay, lord, grieve not at parting from my side, for, as Ishtar liveth, I swear to follow after thee!" Again she laughed, to smooth the hidden meaning of her oath, and smiled upon him as her tongue tripped on: "Yet in thy absence I would reign as Queen of all Assyria—to rule alone—for the span of one short moon. Give, thus, the chariot of state into my hands, and Shammuramat will drive it, to the wonder of her lord and King."

Once more the master looked upon the promise in her eyes—strange orbs that swam in passion's misty light—and though the voice of wisdom cried aloud against this thing, the voice of love cried, also, till the tongue of warning ceased to clamor and was still. Thus it came to pass that Ninus and his hunters rode toward the south, while criers ran through the streets of Nineveh, proclaiming the Queen as Ruler Absolute, for the life of a summer moon.

Now as these criers ran, so ran a host of other messengers, bidding the warrior chiefs of every land to appear at court, while their followers might feast within the city walls, nor pay the reckoning thereof. So, while the master hunted beasts, the mistress hunted men. She brought them to her board and feasted them, till hunger and thirst could ask no more. She made such gifts as never a pillaged city yielded to a conqueror, and even the mouths of beggars she filled with gold. To those in office she gave a higher office still, with dream-land promises to all who sought to climb; but to their wives and daughters she offered naught, nor gave; for her thoughts were now of men—the fighting men from the face of all the earth, who would rise as one and dash a monarch from his throne.

Since that by-gone day when she set Prince Asharal again into his place, proud Babylon, to a man, was hers; yet now she wanted more than Babylon. She wanted the warriors of Assyria—the warriors who had worshipped Ninus as a god. She wanted the blood and bone which had raised him up on high—and she wanted them to stamp him in the dust from whence he sprung.

So, now, through Nineveh rang the voice of joy, the voice of feastings and the voice of praise; and on these several tongues the name of Ninus sounded not, but in its place one mad, tumultuous roar—Shammuramat!

Queen of the Moon they called her, and she smiled upon their happiness, and gave and gave. She sapped the country bare of wine and food. She flung her gems amongst them as a drunken sower scatters grain. She spilled the blood of a nation's wealth, till the treasury staggered in the manner of a wounded ox, and still she smiled; smiled though her heart was breaking for a man—alight with the flames of Gibil for another man.

Thus it came to pass, at the waning of the moon, that one last feast was held in the hall of the spendthrift Queen, a hall now choked with a press of warrior chiefs and the princes of the world, grim fighters who wore their swords and battle-scars. Such men alone were bidden to the feast—such men who in secret loved the Queen, yet dared not lay a tongue to the telling of their love.

Then unto these sons of war came the mistress of Assyria, not in her gem-sewn robes of state, but in the armor of a battle-queen. On her breasts were set her nipple-plates of gold; on her flame-hued locks that helm which had flashed like star-fire through the ruck of war. Across her shoulders was flung a leopard skin, and her arms were bare, stripped of all save the bands of bronze which bound the sinews of her wrists. No longer was she the laughing imp who had charged against the Kurds, but a woman—a queen—a tempest-hearted battle-hawk.

At her coming no man spoke, but looked in awe, till presently—they knew not why—the silence was rent by thunders of acclaim, and the Queen bowed low before the sons of war. No smile she gave in greeting; no light-lipped laughter to these men who had followed her through storm and sun; but on her face rode a look of fierce resolve which caused them to wait the coming of uncertain things.

In silence she bade them sit; in silence she sat amongst them, albeit she caused one seat to be vacant at her side; then in silence the feast began. It was not the like of her other feasts, for before them was set the simple fare of warriors afield; and where the wine of Syria was wont to slake their thirst, each found a cup of water at his hand. The Queen sought not their drunken passion which would die before the morrow's sun, for now she would feed their hearts on the flesh of truth and mix their lasting curses with her own. Thus each man, marveling, ate in silence and waited for the coming of the storm; and then, when the feast was done at last, Semiramis arose and spoke:

"My brothers," she began, "brothers in war, in love, in the days of idleness and peace, the heart of your Queen is sad. As I share with you the bounty of my throne, so now I share my sorrows, giving each a part; yet, ere I bare my grief, I would ask if there be any here to offer me reproach. If there be one to say that Shammuramat hath sent him into danger where she herself would fear to lead, speak now, that I brand him liar! Come forth and say injustice hath been done to any man—that I looked with lack of pity on a wound, or gave not of my own to all who hungered and were athirst! Come forth, my brothers, and name the price of one grievance unavenged, that I, your sister and your Queen, may pay it ere I bare my heart!"

None spoke; yet a growling murmur rose, and each man looked upon his fellow fiercely, daring him to loose a tongue, lest his blood be loosed to wash away the lie.

Semiramis had paused, but she lifted up her voice once more. As in days of old she had played upon the hearts of men, even as a harper sounds the chords of curses and of tears, so now she played again. She told them of her home in Ascalon, and how Prince Menon came to wake her soul. She told them of her wedded years wherein her lord had striven for the King—had conquered Zariaspa and stood with her upon the fallen citadel.

"And you," she cried, "who loved him! You who shared his bounty and the peril of his wars! You who stood with me on a vale's lip in the Hindu-Kush and saw him buried in the earth! What! Know you not that his armor alone is buried there? For in his armor lay a rotting lie! A lie! For Habal—my good dog Habal—sleepeth with his paws and muzzle on a stranger's breast! A lie, I say! A lie! For Menon liveth and by Ninus was crucified!"

The shrill voice ceased. It had risen to the scream of a tigress calling to her mate; but now no answering roar burst forth in echo of her call. The sons of Assyria sat silent—wondering. All had heard the tale of Prince Menon's death, and many had seen him laid away to sleep. On the vale's lip they had wept for a man they loved. They had seen—had known! How, then, should the dead arise to life again? Semiramis had branded ears and eyes as the keepers of a lie—a lie which dragged the gods of honor down and damned them! Aye, a lie; but should it rise to point its finger at a King, or point it at a Queen? So each man cast his gaze upon the floor and sat in silence—wondering.

Semiramis smote her palms together, thrice. At the sign, a door swung open and Huzim strode in, bearing a burden in his arms, a burden which he set upon the vacant seat beside the Queen. A man it was, or the semblance of a man, whose eyes were blind; whose form was shrunken, and whose hands were curved in the manner of horrid claws.

"Look!" cried the Mistress of the World. "Look ye upon this torn, misshapen thing who was once the glory of a woman's heart! Look ye and learn from him what the King hath wrought—for you who loved him—and for me! Look! for a lie hath risen from the grave, and liveth to mark its own!"

In awe they gathered round him, though they knew him not, by reason of the horror of his state; but the warriors Prince Menon knew, and voiced his joy in meeting them again; weeping as he found the features of old friends with his wandering finger-tips; sobbing as he called them each by name, or whispered secrets known to him and their hearts alone. Then Huzim raised him up, and he called aloud on the sons of Naïri, his children of war, who would harken to a father's battle-cry; and as that cry rang out, they knew him once again, and knelt before him, weeping bitterly.

"And now," called Semiramis to her kneeling warriors, "I ask that you follow me to pluck a vulture from his roost on Assyria's throne! To cast him out, as a father might cast a serpent from the bosom of his babe! The King! who hath shorn me of my joy in life! The King! who hath stolen away my lord—who caused me to bear him a bastard son—who hath made a strumpet of your Queen! The King! The King no more! Naught do I ask but justice! Give me this, or the edge of your pitying swords!"

She ceased. She knelt at the side of her stricken mate and held him in the cradle of her arms, her eyes upturned to those who shared her suffering. From the throats of these men there came no shout of fury at the King, no wrathful curse, no sound save the wrench of a stifled sob; yet on their faces rode a look of death, as each man drew his sword and laid it at the feet of the undone Mistress of the World.

As the feast had passed in silence, so now these men departed one by one, and, treading softly, went out into the night; then each sought out his home or tent, and slept—to dream and mutter curses in his troubled sleep.

* * * * *

Through the western gate passed a troop of horse, swinging toward the south and riding as the spirits drive.

It is written of Ninyas, son of Semiramis and the King, that never one good deed came out of him; and now he rode with warnings to his father in the south, who straightway fled into Arabia, seeking a shield in the desert's sands and a sword in Boabdul's scimitar.

It was Ninyas who turned against his mother in her hour of stress. It was Ninyas who, in after years, spread forth report that Semiramis had lied—that Menon had hanged himself in Bactria—that the Queen had set a maimed imposter in his place to accomplish her evil ends.

Yet, as Ninyas reigned in sloth and foul debauchery, so judgment came upon him at last. As his heart was false, so also, his tongue was false, for who will credit aught of him who has turned against a mother in her hour of stress?

* * * * *

Through the long blue night Semiramis sat beside her withered lord; and if she had loved him on the temple steps at Ascalon, when he lay in the splendid beauty of his youth, so now she loved him a hundred fold when the wine of his life was spilled for her. What matter though his hands were curved and his eyes were blind? What matter though his outer shell was dead? The heart of the man still lived, and it beat for her alone. Together they had hunted through the desert for a grain of sand, and, finding it, were glad, for they knew that its name was Love.

* * * * *

When morning came stealing down on Nineveh, the city awoke and growled. A loose-tongued warrior had whispered to his wife; his wife had whispered to a neighbor's wife,—and the city knew. Through the streets ran men who were swollen with the bounty of Semiramis, and with them foregathered other men—lean dogs who licked their chops and gazed on the glories of more benefits to come. So Nineveh woke to growlings, which grew into a bark of wrath, till, from end to end, the Opal of the East gave tongue, frothing, struggling at the leash, and yearning to leap like the hounds of Ishtar on a master's trail.

Thus, after a space, the western gate was opened wide, and through it poured the war-hounds of Assyria. Southward they swung, and in their lead rode a queenly hunter in her battle-gear—for Semiramis had kept her oath to Ninus, and would follow after him.

CHAPTER XXX

THE DESERT AND THE KING

On the rim of Arabia's desert Semiramis and her army sat down to rest, for well she knew this pitiless, burning waste would offer a sterner barrier than the points of a million swords; therefore the Queen took council with herself and prepared to battle with the scourge of thirst.

On every chariot was loaded wine-skins, filled with water and covered o'er with cloths and matted grass to keep them cool. Each rider was commanded to fare on foot, while across his steed were balanced other water-skins; then came to light the wisdom of Semiramis in choosing ten score thousand reeds as a gift from the King in India.

These reeds were of mighty length, and on their ends were set the heads of spears; again, they were hollow, and, the pith therein being bored away, they were filed with water, when their butts were closed with plugs of wood. Thus it came to pass that each man bore a new and fearsome weapon in his hands, wherefrom he might drink and ease the torture of a thirsty tongue.

Then, presently, the army moved toward Boabdul's stronghold in the desert's heart. By night they journeyed, when the sun shone not and the air was chill; by day they slept beneath the shade of canopies which were stretched on the points of planted spears; yet even their vast supply of water dwindled into nothingness, and the beasts of burden suffered and were sad. Men drank of their spears, but the heat had warmed their drink, and many died of madness and were left behind.

Yet Semiramis journeyed on. Her pathway led, not straight to the goal of her hot revenge, but by a devious course which touched the palm-groves of oases, where springs and wells were found; and where these wells had dried beneath the fierceness of the sun, there Semiramis drove her reeds into the earth till oft' a grateful gush of water flowed therefrom. In these groves her warriors rested, drinking the precious juice of life and filling again their reed-spears and their water-skins; then the journey was taken up once more.

* * * * *

Now it came about that the scurrying riders of Boabdul brought word that Assyria marched across the plain; so the Arab prepared to give them battle on the sands, or to fly if the force proved stronger than his own.

King Ninus had befooled the Arabian Prince, persuading him that the people rose in an unjust cause, till Boabdul harkened and was wroth because of this shameful thing, swearing to give his blood, if need be, in behalf of a brother king.

And now, at the dawn of a certain day, these two looked out on the desert, and were amazed. Through the mists came the army of Assyria, not as a strong-armed host to batter down its foes, but as men who were famished by the desert's breath, whose strength was spent, who reeled and fell upon the sand, to rise and struggle on again. Their war-wings stretched in ragged disarray; their chariots came crawling far behind where they should have held the van, and horsemen limped across the fiery plains, leading their drooping steeds.

At the sight, Boabdul looked into the eyes of Ninus, and Ninus looked into Boabdul's eyes, and laughed. 'Twere pity to fall upon this heat-picked skeleton of strength and ride it down; yet, since it was written thus, who, then, should thwart the will of Asshur and his scribe of fate? So Ninus and Boabdul laughed again, and prepared a slaughter for the sons of sacrifice.

Two clouds of wild-eyed riders swept around the grove of palms, their white robes fluttering their lances flung aloft and caught as they fell again. They joined in one, a mad-mouthed horde of desert-wolves, who loosed their reins and raced at the core of Assyria's stricken lines.

At their coming, Assyria bended as a twig which it trod upon; yet, of a sudden, the twig would bend no more. Where warriors had seemed to sink exhausted on the sand, they now stood up in the splendor of their strength. Where lines seemed torn to wilted shreds, they now closed tightly, and Arabia came upon a hedge of spears—the reed-spears of Semiramis. Behind the first line stood another line, their spears protruding against attack; and behind these two stood other lines, till he who would reach Assyria must leap a hurdle of seven rows of points. Thus Arabia hacked vainly at a wall of death, even as in after days the blood of Sparta spilled itself on the spears of Macedonia.

And now the war-wings ceased their feeble flutterings, to close upon Boabdul and his men, to take them in as a mother might take a wanderer in her arms; though on that mother's breast they found no peace of heart. The Bedouin horsemen backed upon themselves in a close-packed, tangled mass, fighting with scimitars against a storm of darts and the thrusts of spears; then a lane was opened, and into the boiling ruck drove Semiramis and her wedge of chariots.

In the car of the Queen stood Huzim, holding the reins and striving to guard his mistress with a mighty shield of bronze; yet to-day Semiramis cared naught for shields, nor recked of death, so long as she came upon the Vulture of Assyria. For him alone she sought—the King!—and never before had the tigress raged as she raged this day. Where an hundred scimitars flashed about her head, she rode them down and bored toward the King—bored till her steeds were slain and her chariot overturned, then she arose from the earth and bored on foot into the press.

She cared not for a thousand swords, and yet one scimitar there was which she might not pass unscathed. High up it swung, in the fist of Prince Boabdul; but ere it could descend upon her, Huzim leaped and dragged the Arab from his horse. On the blood-wet sands they battled, beneath the hoofs of plunging steeds, where dying Bedouins sought with dagger thrusts to claim still one more death ere they stood before their gods; and Huzim, who was once the Arab's slave, prevailed against Boabdul, gripped him tightly, and whispered into his ear:

"Peace, little master! for it grieveth me to crack thy bones. Peace, then, for I hold thee fast!"

Now the Prince whose rage and mirth went ever hand in hand, forbore to strive with his mighty conqueror, and laughed because of Huzim's words; yet the Arabs, seeing their chieftain fallen, surged backward and burst their way through Assyria's wall of men. Beaten, they fled like foxes from the trap which Semiramis had set for them; and in the van of their flying pack rode Ninus, on a matchless steed of Barbary. Away they sped through the desert's shimmering haze, where Assyria might not follow after them, nor did Semiramis seek to follow, for in her brain was born a craftier design.

In the grove of palms she caused Boabdul to be brought before her where she cut his bonds and offered him her hand.

"My lord," she spoke, "with thee I have no cause for war, nor did I seek to bring a harm to these thy followers who are dead or scattered o'er the plains. My concernment is with the Vulture of Assyria, and him I will snare though I rake the sand-wastes of Arabia from end to end."

Then she told Boabdul of all things which had come to pass—how the King had crucified Prince Menon whom the Arab loved, and had stolen his wife for the space of a score of years; and so great was Boabdul's wrath that he rent his robe and swore by his gods of fire to follow after Ninus, to find him, and to nail him on a wall of woe.

"Fear not," he cried, "for my desert is but a prison-yard, where the wardens of heat and thirst will hedge our captive round about and drive him to the arms of those who seek. Fear not, for soon will we come upon the King."

And thus Semiramis had won unto her cause the man who above all other men could aid her in her quest; the man who balanced a thousand tribes on the edge of his whetted scimitar; the man who now sent forth his riders, recalling all who had scattered across the plains.

Throughout the day Semiramis rested in the shade, and slept; but when night was come she chose a few from amongst her warrior-chiefs, then with Boabdul and his brown-skinned Bedouins she slipped across the sands. On camels they rode, those long-limbed, lurching beasts that devoured the leagues with a tireless, padding gait—that glided like ghosts beneath the icy stars—that slid through the wastes of red Arabia on a trail of death.

And in the silence of the night Semiramis raised her eyes and arms and cried unto the stars:

"Oh, Ishtar, Ishtar, give over this devil to the vengeance of my heart—keep, thou, my lord till I come again to him at Nineveh!"

* * * * *

King Ninus was mounted on a matchless steed of Barbary, and his eagerness to be gone from out Arabia kept pace with his matchless steed. Full well he knew that Semiramis would follow after him; full well he knew that, since Boabdul's arm was lost to him, his hope lay eastward in the distant country of India's King. Could he win to the Euphrates, cross over it, and skirt the coast, coming at last to the river Indus, he there might mock the huntings of all Assyria, and bide his time till an army could be raised—an army which should give him back his throne, his power; for these King Ninus craved, and would have them, though his years were few.

That Semiramis hunted him, was a thought of bitterness in the monarch's heart, for he loved her utterly; yet, since Prince Menon had risen from the dead, a terror, also, rose, which vied with the yearnings of his love and sent him eastward in a line as straight as an arrow's flight. His steed outstripped the flying Bedouins who had burst through Assyria's lines, and soon the King sped on alone—alone on the desert's fiery breast—and hour on hour he fled from the vengeance of Semiramis.

At evening the King grew faint from heat and his lips were parched with thirst, while even his splendid mount was drooping, and faltered in its stride. The wise steed scented the breath of a cool oasis toward the north, and would have turned thereto, but Ninus knew naught of the plainsman's lore and lashed the wise one, racing him eastward in a dead straight line.

Thus it came about that when night had fallen the horse grew lame, so Ninus dismounted and rested upon the sand. Then a cold wind rose, which sang across the desert, searching his bones till he shivered and cursed aloud; and the good steed shivered, also, because of his sweating body and the lack of a master's care. Naught had this stallion of Barbary known save love and tenderness; and now, with drooping head, he looked upon the cursing King, and wondered. No covering was there to shield his flanks against the cold; no water wherewith to bathe his wind-burned nostrils; no hand to stroke his muzzle in caress; no lips to croon the love-songs of the land of Araby. The chill of the night had entered into him, till he whinnied for the shelter of a master's tent, and coughed in pain; then man and beast lay down together in a hollow in the sands which Ninus dug with his royal nails.

When the warmth of morning came again, the two went on their way; yet a red sun rose to harry them, to pour its light upon them in a wavy glare; and the stallion of Barbary reeled toward the east. Again came night. Again came day—the pitiless, parching day, when league on league of tawny desert wrapped them round in a world of flame; when their tongues were black and swollen from the pangs of thirst, a thirst which took them by the throat and shook them, a thirst which reached beyond and gripped their hearts.

Then, presently, the faithful steed could bear his weight no more; he staggered and fell upon the sands to die. King Ninus slew him, and, in the fury of his thirst, he drank of the horse's blood; but the blood was warm and brought no ease to him, for rather did it spur his mad desire. Then the famished man rose up and wandered away on the desert's breast—alone.

No more he fled from the anger of Semiramis toward the east, but strayed in circles, while the heat-waves danced before his eyes, causing a haze which blinded him, till through it ran the twisted fancies of a dream. Before him he spied a river gurgling through the sands—a deep, sweet river, where the cool palms waved upon its shores; so Ninus spread his arms and rushed toward it eagerly. Yet, at his coming, the waters fled away and melted as a morning mist dissolves; then the King fell prone upon his face, to bury his lips in a draught of the flaming sands. To his knees he rose and lifted his hairy arms aloft, whispering hoarsely to the gods on high; and unto Ninus came the gods!

He saw them on the far horizon's line, gaunt spirits sweeping down as the storm-king rides—red Ramân, prince of lightnings and the thunder-bolt—the lord god Asshur and his underlings of war and death; and even as Ninus had set a sin on the shoulders of these gods, so now they bore that sin, and the sin was in the likeness of Prince Menon who had come at last to reckon with his King. And the lord of the world would have burrowed in the sands to hide himself, but the spirit of a blind man pointed out the way, and Ishtar's spirit snapped the leash of her spirit hounds.

Straight at their prey they sprang, but the King was a King, and stood upon his feet to battle with them mightily—to fight as his hands had fought from childhood to declining years; yet now he was old and the glory of his strength was spent. He felt the teeth of Ishtar's hounds upon his throat, and, in his madness, knew not that the deathly grip was of thirst alone; so Ninus screamed and died—died battling, as the man had battled all his days, yet Menon's prophecy was a prophecy of truth.

* * * * *

When the red sun, weary of his raging, sank behind the desert's rim, Boabdul and Semiramis came upon the ending of their trail. The King! On his back he lay, his wide eyes staring at the heavens whence his judgment came. The body of a King! The shell of a spirit which had ruled the wills of lesser men, which had conquered all save the spirits of the gods alone, and, conquering, had used the world as a sandal for his lordly feet. The body of a King; yet now a King no more, but dust!

Semiramis looked down upon him, sorrowing—sorrowing because of one who had cheated her in life, as now he cheated her in death; but the Arab read another tale in that kingly heap of dust, and spoke to her in gentleness and in the ripened wisdom of his years:

"Grieve not, O Queen Shammuramat, because of a vengeance that is lifted from out thy hands. Grieve not, for of a truth King Ninus hath been crucified on a wall of the desert's wrath."

CHAPTER XXXI

THE CROWNING OF THE DEAD

Prince Ninyas, when he had brought his warnings to the King, fled not with him into Arabia, for he had no thought to risk his slothful bones in the peril of a war; therefore he hired a score of boatmen and was paddled up the Tigris till he came again to Nineveh.

Now in every land and in every city there are those who suffer with the worms of a strange unrest, and did their highest god come down to rule amongst them they would find some cause for disaffection, yearning for a change in government.

With men of this breed Prince Ninyas whispered, promising that when the throne was his a reign of peace should come to Nineveh, wherein the wormy ones might look for the fruits of their souls' desire; so, when the Queen returned, and report was spread concerning the death of Ninus, then a million infant lies were born. They waxed in strength, these lies, till soon they muttered through the city streets; yet, because of the whip-hand of Semiramis, they muttered secretly.

Now secret discontent was ever hateful to the Queen, for she held that a man should bring his grievance to the stool of a justice, setting forth his wrongs in the manner of a man, else hold his tongue; therefore she sought to bring this trouble to a head and set her heel upon it, swiftly and with weight.

Through the streets ran scores of criers, with word that on the morrow would the court be held before the eyes of Nineveh; so when the morrow came the streets were packed with multitudes that surged toward the palace mound, waiting for weary hours before the appointed time, in expectancy of uncommon things. Dread whisperings went round about concerning the Queen who had slain the King, and who now would tax the people grievously, demanding their wealth to supply a treasury made lean; thus growlings arose on every hand, till the waiting crowds swarmed to and fro and fought amongst themselves.

To the ears of the High Priest Nakir-Kish came warnings of the Queen's intent; so he hastened unto her, urging that she rule in wisdom, lest fierce internal wars ferment throughout Assyria. Semiramis looked upon him, smiling, and answered in a tone of softness which was like unto the purring of a cat:

"For thy wise advice I pay in humble gratitude; yet the tongue of a fool may oft' undo him by its flutterings. Hold it, O Priest, and follow, thou, my will this day, lest, one by one, my servants shall draw thy teeth." She paused and looked upon him keenly through her half closed lids. "It cometh to me that Nakir-Kish was ever close to Ninus, even in sins. Take, therefore, a further heed, lest thy bread be eaten with slowness and in pain."

Then the priest went out from the presence of Semiramis, took council with himself and held his tongue; wherein the man was wise, for to wag it would bring him woe.

The palace steps ran down from the royal mound to an open square wherein were set the effigies of lions and wingéd bulls, and here the sons of Nineveh foregathered at the mandate of the Queen. At the head of this stairway, before the palace doors, was set Assyria's double throne, while about it stood a ring of priests, and the chiefs of war in their battle-gear. Then, presently, Semiramis came forth, resplendent in her gem-sewn robes, and, descending the palace steps to a middle distance, she raised her arms to check the shouts of loud acclaim, then addressed the multitude:

"My children," she called, "it hath come to mine ears that ye murmur amongst yourselves because of foolishness and lies—because I would take away what my hand hath given, and become a pilferer where ye look to find a friend. Know, then, that I, Shammuramat—Queen of Assyria—Mistress of the World—ask naught from any man!"

At her words a thunderous shouting rose, and men danced madly in their joy on the open square. One loud-mouthed warrior sprang upon the back of a wingéd bull and bawled to his friends below:

"Long reign the Queen! A curse on Ninyas—son of Ninus—and the Prince of Liars! A curse upon his evil tongue!"

The curse was taken up by five score thousand mouths, till the roarings rocked the palace mound, and the din was great; then Semiramis once more raised her arms and spoke to the seething multitude:

"Naught do I ask, my children, in taxes or in gifts; for now would I make a royal gift to you. The King is dead! He died in a distant land, where I followed after him because of his evil works. The King is dead; yet now do I give to you another King!"

She ceased. No shout arose, for her listeners stood silent, wondering if she thought to set the liar, Ninyas, on her throne; so they waited, each man drawing in his breath.

Through the palace doors strode Huzim, bearing a burden in his mighty arms—a burden which he set on Assyria's double throne. A man it was, or the semblance of a man, whose eyes were blind; whose form was shrunken, and whose hands were curved in the manner of horrid claws. This, then, was the King whom Semiramis would give!

In silence the people gazed on Menon while one might count a score, then from their throats came a quivering wolf-lipped howl. No pæan of rejoicing rode that tempest-gust of sound, but the snarl of men whose passions were stirred to madness and to deeds of blood. Would Semiramis dare to crown this hideous thing?—this mockery of man who swayed in weakness as he sat on high? Nay, better to set a prince of liars on the throne! Better to crown a graven effigy! So the people howled their wrath and surged toward the palace steps, seeking to tear the idol from a woman's shrine and stamp it in the dust.

About Semiramis were gathered her chiefs of war, Prince Asharal of Babylon, Boabdul Ben Hutt whose scimitar could match a score of swords, Huzim the faithful, Dagas who loved and whose shield was hers in any cause, while many more stout arms were there to work her will; but of these the Queen thought not as she faced the coming throng.

"Ye dogs!" she stormed, "am I to be sickened by the yelpings of your pack? Ye swine of Assyria! who have fattened on the plenty of Shammuramat! I who have puffed your bellies with the food of gods! Have done! Go down in peace, nor lay your tongues to idle mutterings! In peace, I say, lest I cease to love you and destroy you utterly!" She paused for an instant, then flung her hand toward her stricken mate, lifting her voice that all might hear and heed: "On a throne King Menon sitteth, and shall sit! Down! Down upon your knees and worship him, who is lord of my heart and lord of all the world!"

Now those who would have rushed upon her, paused at the very wonder of her love, and in that pause Semiramis turned and made a sign to Nakir-Kish. The High Priest would have set the crown on Menon's head, but the head drooped forward, sinking upon his breast. His little strength had ebbed. The tumult of the populace below had seemed like the roar of battle in his ears, though the meaning thereof was strange to him, and he knew not that he was King. One thought alone was in his heart—Semiramis!—and to her he stretched his broken, wandering hands.

But the Queen would have her will. She snatched the crown from the High Priest Nakir-Kish and set it on Menon's brow—a brow which now would never feel its royal weight, for a dead man slid from Assyria's throne and fell upon his face.

And the people shouted not, but were very still, for beside the crownless King a weeping woman knelt—forgetful that the swine of all Assyria looked upon her grief—knowing only that the Mistress of the World had lost her world.

CHAPTER XXXII

A WAR QUEEN'S PROPHECY

Once more the priests and the chiefs of war foregathered at the mandate of the Queen; and now they waited not on the palace steps, but assembled in the council hall, that spacious chamber where, in days of old King Ninus was wont to issue his commands. There, through its open end, could be seen the Tigris, chanting a wordless song as it ran to a chanting sea; there hung proud trophies of the battle and the chase; there, on the walls, were the carven steles of Ninus, each telling a tale of a monarch's mighty deeds.

And to those who waited there, Semiramis came at last; no longer clothed in the splendor of her gem-sewn robes, or the glory of her battle-gear. She wore a garb of mourning, and on the flame-hued locks was set no diadem save a crown of withered leaves. In silence she came into the hall, and in silence took her seat upon the throne. In silence she looked on the men before her—men who had followed through the desert's fire and the storm of many a war; then the Queen arose and spoke:

"My brothers," she began, "brothers in battle and the pleasant ways of peace, your sister Shammuramat is sad. The King is dead; yet I grieve not for the King. The king of my heart is dead, and I grieve for him."

She paused. Her warrior brothers bowed their heads, and each man hid his eyes in the hollow of his hand; then the Queen spoke on:

"And now will I reign alone! Alone, till it pleaseth Ishtar to call me unto one who will wait and listen for my footsteps coming in the night. And so will I reign alone! Yet harken, ye children of Assyria, and ye who write on tablets and the graven stele! In after-days the sons of men will say of me that Shammuramat was one of an evil heart!—that her heart was for war, for blood, for pillage, and the conquering of all the earth! They will say that she slew the King—slew him in brutish lust for a lesser man! They will say that she ruled with a rod of might, and set ambition on a higher altar than the altar of her gods! All this, and more, will run from the babbling tongues of men—and Shammuramat will strive to make it true!"

Once more she paused and looked upon her wondering warriors.

"Heed, then, my brothers who will marvel at my wrathful days to come! Heed ye and remember one who hath wrought this evil in my soul! The King! who hath crucified a woman's love! The King! who hath torn a woman's heart from out her breast and set a raging devil as the master of her blood! So harken, ye children of Assyria, and ye who write on tablets and the graven stele! Remember! And now make ready for a war!"

"A war?" cried Nakir-Kish, who knew that the nations rested on their arms and were at peace. "What war?"

Semiramis turned upon him with a cry of consuming rage, and with the scepter of an hundred lands she smote him across his mouth. The High Priest Nakir-Kish went down before her throne, and she raised her eyes on high and called aloud:

"Dear Ishtar, hear the fool who asketh me what war!"

She turned to her brother warriors, her children of the sword, grim, battle-scarred, and faithful unto death; and to them she stretched her empty arms and opened her empty heart.

"War! War!" she cried. "I care not where nor how, so be it that we war! Rise Babylon—and sink Assyria!"