  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover [image] She had come into the lion's very lair. (Page SEMIRAMIS A Tale of Battle and of Love BY EDWARD PEPLE NEW YORK Copyright, 1907 Published August, 1907 To CONTENTS
PREFACE. The existing history of Assyria's greatest ruler, Semiramis, is so confounded with the religions and superstitions of the ancients that little or no authentic fact may be gleaned therefrom. Again, these legends were handed down from father to son among the Syrians and imaginative Persians, till finally recorded by the more imaginative Greeks. These latter gentlemen seemed seldom to allow mere truth to stand as a stumbling block in their literary paths, but leaped it nimbly for the entertainment of an admiring world. As for poets, they ever sing of Queen Semiramis at a period of her seasoned age and wickedness, though her "devilish beauty" continued to abide with her, being wielded as an evil scepter o'er the souls of men; yet much must be forgiven in a poet, because of that strange inaptitude of truth for a friendly relationship with meter and with rhyme. In every human, however bad, there exists a trace of virtue, even as, on the other hand, no mortal yet has lived without some blemish of flesh or mind or heart; thus Nature balances her weird accounts, leaving the extremes of vice or purity to mythical ideals. Given a woman without imagination or originality, and that woman deserves no credit whatsoever for her righteousness. She exists; she does not live; for her temptation possesses no attractive lure. Yet given another woman, of beauty, temper, brains, and for her the battles of good and evil will be waged till her fires are dead. Her better self must battle against ambition, passion, the blood of direct inheritance, the thousand ghostly guides that lead her into perilous ways, while on the scales of circumstances must hang the issue of her rise or fall. She must face still other foes, in men who are stronger than herself—men who seek her charms for weel or woe; for perfect love is a woman's highest goal, and a man may make or mar it by the mould of his great or little heart. If, therefore, in her later days Semiramis was evil, the fault was not all her own. She chose her master—not the master of her mind, but the master of her woman's heart, and to him she gave her all. What wonder, then, that when her all was filched by lustful treachery, departing peace awoke a sleeping devil in her blood? Great faults had Queen Semiramis, and many, as viewed by enlightened women from a reach of two thousand years; yet who shall say that evil would have claimed this splendid savage had fate not raised another savage to mould her destiny? It is not the purpose of this work to present a series of historical facts, for even the legends of Semiramis are too absurd and fragmentary to admit of such a hope. Its aim—in emulation of the worthy Greeks—is, at least, to entertain, albeit a truth or two may now and again be handled carelessly. It treats of ancient loves and wars, a tangle of myth and probability—a patch-work, woven into a quilt which, at worst, may assist the reader in going peacefully to sleep. July, 1907. E. P. SEMIRAMIS CHAPTER I THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE King Ninus sat his war horse, gazing sadly out across the walls of Zariaspa. His cheek was bronzed by the brush of many winds, his muscles hardened by the toil of battle in a hundred lands; the blood of dauntless youth ran riot in his veins, yet it whispered at his heart that the King had failed. Behind him the mountains of Hindu-Kush towered, dull and purple, in the morning light, their peaks obscured in coils of snake-like mist. Southward they ran, a ragged line of hills, till they reached the height of Hindu-Koh and claimed a brotherhood with the mighty Himalayas. To right and left the hill-steeps lay, a barren waste of rock and stunted shrubbery, while at the feet of Assyria's King stretched fertile valleys, and the plains of Bactria reaching away to the banks of the River Oxus. In the centre of the plain stood Zariaspa, the city which defied Assyria's might, a fortress whose walls rose thirty cubits above the earth, grim, battle-scarred, but still unconquered. Within, the defenders feasted from a never ending store of food which seemed to drop by magic from the brazen skies, while without, a hungry host of besieging foes sat, cursing, in the sand. So Ninus sat upon his horse in troubled thought, a monarch cheated of his heart's desire—cheated by craft and prowess more subtle than his own. To his side rode Menon down a mountain trail, a Prince of the house of NaÏri, now travel-stained from a baffled hunt for the secret of Zariaspa's store of food. He made report, and Ninus listened, silent, nodding slowly, frowning at the distant walls. In feature and form these two were as oddly matched as the sons of a kindred race might be. The King was of massive frame and corded thews, a leader of men who ruled by the right of might, who offered to those he loved an open hand—to his enemies a hard-clenched fist. Haughty of mien was he, with the eyes of a restless hawk burning beneath the shadow of his brow; his strong, square chin lay hidden in his beard, while from his helm swept a mass of hair, resting in thick, oiled curls upon his shoulders. The Prince beside him was but a boy in years, with a beardless face of beauty to look upon, a slender, nimble frame, yet hardened in the school of hunting and of war. Where Fate was pleased to mark his path, there Menon[#] rode with a loose, free rein, mocking at danger as he played at love, yet scorning not discretion's padded shield. [#] This name is known to modern writers as Onnes or Cannes, but the historian Diodorus called him Menon and this name has been used by the author throughout. Where Ninus smashed his way through the bristling ranks of opposing force, Menon skimmed in crafty circles till he found the weakest point, then cut it cleanly, as the swallow cuts the wind. Where Ninus frowned and crushed obedience to his will, there Menon bought devotion's merchandise with the price of a joyous laugh; yet the boy, withal, had need to lean upon the arm of power, while the King was a king from helm to heel, a lord to whom his mighty armies gave idolatry and the tribute of their blood. "Menon," spoke the King at length, as he pointed across the plain to Zariaspa, "I have sworn by Bel and RamÂn to lay yon city low, to sack it to the dust of its whitest ash. Thinkest thou we may some day cease to squat in the manner of toads outside its walls?" "Aye, my lord," the Prince returned, with a fleeting smile, "some day—when the toads have learned to fly." King Ninus nodded thoughtfully, and with his fingers combed at his thick, black beard. "True," he answered, "true; and yet we soon will be upon the wing. Look thou and listen." Again he pointed, not at the city's walls, but to the monster camp which circled Zariaspa as a girdle rests about a woman's waist. "See, Menon, thy King hath learned to fly." Now even as he spoke, the besieging army woke as from a heavy sleep. On the gentle wind came a clank and clatter of swiftly gathered arms, the squeak of wheels and the harsh, shrill cries of captains to their men. At first the sound was faint and far, a whispered echo through the morning mists; yet anon it multiplied and swelled into a busy roar, as the vanguard of Assyria's hosts turned tail upon their enemies and crawled toward the southern mountain-pass. Menon, like the King, gazed out across the plain, but in wonder and amaze, then raised his eyes to his master's frowning face. Twice he strove to speak, and twice fell silent, turning again to the marvel of Assyria's army in retreat. "My lord—" he began at last, but Ninus checked him with a lifted hand. "Nay, Menon," the master sighed, "thy soul is troubled because of the strangeness of this thing; yet heed me and know the cause. My heart is still for battle, yet the heart hath taken council of the mind, and wisdom soundeth my retreat." The King dismounted from his steed, leading the Prince to a seat upon a stone which overlooked a wider view of the breaking camp. He placed his arm in fatherly caress on Menon's shoulder, and spoke once more: "My warriors have called their chief a god." He paused to smile behind his beard, and for an instant sat in reverie. "Now godhood hath its virtues so long as it leadeth unto victory and beds of ease; yet this have I learned, and to my woe, that a pot of boiling grease poured down from a city's wall will scald a god as it scaldeth a naked slave. Defeat is mortal; gods bring victory alone, and my faithful followers begin to mutter among themselves." Again King Ninus paused in reverie, then stretched his knotted arm toward the stubborn city. "Three years have we girded Zariaspa's walls and battered at its masonry. Three years! and what hath been compassed in these weary days? We scrape an hundred-weight of scales from off the stones, and sacrifice a third of an army's strength to the sport of our laughing enemies. Our shafts are as swarms of harmless gnats, our lances reeds in the hands of girls; our mightiest engines toys at which the foemen crow and chuckle in their merriment. From the Oxus to the hills we harry the land in search of food, while the Bactrians fatten as they loll upon their battlements. Aye, meat have they, the which they devour in lazy arrogance, tossing the bones thereof at our hungry men below! Whence cometh this vast supply? From Bel or Gibil, it matters not; they gorge themselves, and laugh! Five score spies have I sent by craft into the city, and five score spies have they hanged upon the walls! By the breath of Shamashi-RamÂn, it rouseth me to wrath!" The King arose and set to striding in fury to and fro, while Menon forbore to question him, knowing that if his master willed he would speak in time. "And so," sighed Ninus, pausing at last beside the boy, "and so will we journey westward for a space, to conquer other and weaker lands, to fatten my army with the fruits of spoil, to help them forget that a god hath failed. When this be compassed, then will I rest from war beside the Tigris where my city shall be builded in the sand—a city, Menon, the like of which no eye hath yet beheld—a fortress beside whose strength this little Zariaspa is but a nut to crack beneath thy heel. And there will I set my court and hold dominion over all the world—hold it, till men and the children of men shall wear my footstool smooth with the pressure of their knees!" The monarch's bosom heaved in wrapt desire; his dark eyes kindled with a flame inspired, as he raised them toward the clouds. As a prophet he saw this pearl of glory rise from out the wilderness. He saw its monster walls, surmounted by a thousand and a half a thousand soaring towers. In fancy he fashioned gleaming palaces and sumptuous banquet halls. He dreamed of gardens drowsing in the cool of spreading palms, where a king might rest from the toil of his lion-hunt; he heard the splash of fountains murmuring through the long blue night, till the torch of morning lit his terraces, and the grapes of Syria ripened to his hand. He watched in triumph from his palace roof the vast brown city stretching at his feet, while the echoed roar of its busy din climbed upward in waves of melody. He heard the clang of its mighty gates of bronze that opened to the commerce of the earth—that opened again to the outrush of his war-armed hosts, a thousand nations melted into one grand hammer-head that rose and fell in obedience to his lightest nod. "And because of this city," King Ninus cried aloud, "the peoples of every land shall hold my memory till the passing ages rot, for I swear to mount it on a deathless throne and crown it with the splendour of my name! Up, Menon, and journey with thy King to NINEVEH!" And thus was born that Nineveh which rode astride the world, to fall at last, as falls the pride of power, and find its grave in the dust from whence it sprung—to lie forgotten in a mouldy crypt of dreams, till the peoples who slipped from the womb of another age swarmed forth to dig again—to spell out a kingdom's vanished glories from the symbols of a vanished tongue. Menon and the King rode down into the valley and across the plain to where the great war-serpent of Assyria began to uncoil itself and crawl toward the west. For the space of a moon the joyless work went on. The camps of horse and foot were struck, the rude utensils and heavier arms being strapped to the backs of beasts of burden, while an hundred thousand chariots were hitched and deployed across the plains. Cumberous engines for the hurling of heavy stones were dragged from beneath the city walls, to be burned and destroyed, or hauled through gaps in the distant mountain range by lowing oxen and toiling, sweating slaves. The warriors set torches to the huts and houses behind their trenches, and a roar of flames was added to the bustling din of moving men-at-arms. Great columns of spark-shot smoke arose, to roll above the city in a suffocating cloud—to choke the defenders who coughed and crowded along the battlements. As each dense mass of besiegers passed, the Bactrianas set up shouts and songs of victory, while they hurled their taunts, together with flights of shafts and stones, at the growling, cursing enemy below. From day to day the scene was one of turbulence and haste, a jumble of groaning carts and provision trains, of swiftly formed battalions passing westward on the run, to join the vanguard and be lost in a cloud of thick, low-hanging dust. And thus an hundred nations trickled into order through the teeming ruck, each yelling in its native tongue as it flung defiance back at Zariaspa; while above the rumbling tramp of myriads of feet rose the blare of countless signal horns. When the last day dawned, King Ninus marshalled an array to bid farewell to his jeering foes. Where he faced the city gates, a thousand chariots were formed in a curving, triple line, with steeds whose polished trappings glittered in the sun, their drivers giants picked from the flower of his force. The wings were shaped by cavalry, dark-visaged riders from the south, in turbans and flowing robes, while a horde of footmen were massed behind. Here were seen the harnessed tribes that bowed to Assyria's rule; Indian bowmen, with weapons fashioned from bones of saurians; spearsmen from Babylonia, archers from the north; grim swordsmen from the Upper and Lower Nile, bearing their shields of painted bronze; wild slingers from the Syrian hills, half clothed in the skins of beasts; Afghans, sullen Khatti, proud Armenians in solid, bristling ranks—the warriors of the world who had swept all Asia as with a flame, yet failed to drag the walls of Zariaspa down. In the centre of the curving front King Ninus sat his war horse silently; on his right rode Menon, while on his left a mounted herald waited for command. The monarch gave a sign; the stern battalia advanced, to halt within an arrow-shot of the city gates; then the herald raised his voice, demanding audience with Oxyartes, King of Bactria. Now the Bactrians on the walls, suspecting some deceitful snare, answered the summons with hoots and laughter, with the mimic howls of animals and the mocking crow of cocks. A cloud of arrows fell like drops of rain, galling the restive chariot steeds, while a captain on the wall released the beam of a catapult. A monster rock came hurtling through the air, to strike the earth within a spear's length of the King and crash through the triple line of chariots; whereat a mighty roar of rage went up, the clamour growing into fury, till Ninus wheeled his horse and gave a sharp command. At his word, the centre of the line began to bend in a deeper curve, divided at last, and two great columns of horse and foot streamed westward toward the hills, while the rumbling chariots, twelve abreast, brought up the rear. With Menon alone King Ninus sat motionless upon his steed till his warriors left the space of a thousand paces clear; then he rode to the gate and struck it sharply with the hilt of his heavy sword. "Come forth, King Oxyartes!" he cried aloud. "Come forth!" Now the people of Bactria loved a fearless man, be he enemy or friend, so they cheered him till the city rocked with the thunder of their shouts, and Oxyartes stood out upon the battlements. "What would Ninus of the King of Bactria?" he called; and Ninus answered, albeit he lifted not his eyes: "It is not meet that the lord of Assyria hold speech with fowls who roost in trees. Come down and parley, King to King." A bowman from above took umbrage at the haughty tone, and loosed a shaft which broke upon the monarch's metal helm, yet because of this deed King Oxyartes seized the miscreant and flung him from the wall. Then he called for a rope which, being brought, was looped beneath his arms, and his warriors lowered him to the earth, for the city gates were sealed. In his hand he held a naked sword, and Ninus noting this laughed scornfully, dismounted and cast his weapon on the ground, awaiting his enemy with folded arms. The Bactrian flushed in shame, flung his own blade aside, and advanced with outstretched hands. "Pardon, my lord," he begged. "With one so strange to fear, I might have brought my trust as I brought my sword." "Nay," smiled Ninus; "where the sword is wisdom, there caution is a shield." Oxyartes was of that mould of warrior which Ninus loved; the straight, lean form, the kingly head beneath whose brow the eyes looked out with a level gaze, while the hands he offered were firm in the strength of youth—a fitting shield for the heart of his sturdy land. "And why," he asked, "am I honoured by a parley with Assyria's lord, when his army marcheth westward in retreat?" King Ninus laid his hand upon the Bactrian's shoulder, looked into his eyes, and spoke: "I come to bid farewell to a worthy foe, ere I turn toward the Tigris where my city shall be builded on its shore. There will I rest and plan my coming wars. There will I raise another and a mightier force, to return when three short years have passed and blot thy city from the plains. Ah, smile if thou wilt, friend Oxyartes, but I come again, and at my coming, look well to Zariaspa's walls!" So Oxyartes ceased to smile, casting his gaze upon the earth, for he knew his foe spoke truth and would come again. "My lord," he asked at length, "wherefore should our races be at war? In the country round about I may not match thy multitude of men-at-arms; yet behind my battlements I defy thy proudest strength. Wisdom crieth out for truce, a compact wherein I weld my force with thine and share all conquests and a portion of the spoil thereof. Speak, Ninus, for the compact seemeth just." "True," the monarch nodded gravely, "true; and yet I may not do this thing. When Bactria is conquered and thy citadel laid low, then will I make a treaty with thy nation's chiefs. They shall join their strength to mine and share a goodly part of my captives and my spoils." He paused to smile, and once more laid his hand on the shoulder of Oxyartes. "Their warrior King will I set among my best beloved, for I hold him as a brother in the arts of war; yet heed me, friend, I have sworn by Bel and RamÂn to rake the ashes of thy Zariaspa into sacks and with them feed the waters of the sea! And this will I do, or leave my bones to bleach beneath the brow of Hindu-Kush! Till I come again—farewell." Then Oxyartes embraced the Assyrian king, begging him to tarry for a day as an honored guest, to feast and receive the richest gifts his kingdom might afford; but Ninus smiled and shook his head. "Nay, suffer me to treasure up the thought," he answered with a laugh, "yet keep thy gifts till I come to take them for myself." "So be it," smiled the Bactrian in return. "Three years of peace thou givest me, and in them will I dig the grave of Assyria's lord in the shadow of frowning Kush! Farewell!" He stooped and gave the sword of Ninus into the monarch's hand, stroked the charger's neck till its master mounted, then watched the King and Menon ride away across the sunlit plains. Not once did Ninus give a backward glance, yet Menon wheeled his steed and kissed his hand to a gathering of maidens watching from the battlements. CHAPTER II THE BUILDING OF A CITY The Assyrian host dragged westward till it wormed its way through notches in the mountain range, descended the further slopes, then fared upon its way. It split at last into lesser armies, each beneath the leadership of a trusted chief, each charged with a separate mission of its own. One force swung north, to harry the shores of the Black and Caspian seas and to levy tribute for the building of the city. Another force went south through the plains and valleys of Armenia, while still another fared afar to the Sea of the Setting Sun. Here fleets of Phoenician merchantmen were seized and pressed into the service of the King, for in the eyes of Ninus a nation's traffic was but a paltry thing till Nineveh should be. These ships sailed out toward the delta of the Nile, presently to return with swarms of Egyptian workers, together with their cutting-tools of bronze, their winches and their levers used in the wielding of mighty weights. Ten score thousand riders spread forth through every land and every tribe, summoning workers by pay or promises; and where a tribe rebelled, Assyria's warriors herded them like sheep toward one central hub of toil. King Ninus himself sat down upon the river bank where the waters of the Tigris and the Khusur join, and here he wrought his plans. A band of men went northward to the forest lands, felled trees, and split them into boards with which they fashioned a fleet of wide flat boats. These boats, propelled by sweeps and pushing-poles, were manned by Phoenicia's sons, for Assyria knew no more of ship-craft than hillsmen know the camel's back; yet Ninus employed the skill of others in his self appointed task. While the boats were being builded, he marked the line of his city wall in the form of a mighty egg, full twenty leagues around; then the King began to dig. He caused two trenches to be sunk, the one within the other; the outer trench being twenty cubits wide and ten in depth, while the inner trench was shallower, but of greater width. These he flooded by means of the river Khusur, forming two vast canals, with a ring of earth between whereon should rest the walls of Nineveh. Then the whole wide world, it seemed, was set a-making bricks. On the Tigris river-flats, above and below the city site, a million workers toiled by night and day—warrior, captive, slave, King Ninus cared not, so he moulded bricks. These bricks were fashioned from river mud brought down by inundation, the mud commingled with straw and the fiberous parts of reeds to give it strength, and were set to bake in the heat of the summer sun. Later these river flats would be employed for the making of other bricks—the kiln-baked bricks which were glazed and tinted with every color known to men, designed for the facing of temples and of palaces; but now the work went on for the city wall alone. And yet not quite alone, for in the centre of the city's line, where the Khusur cut the site in twain, the King erected a monster mound whereon his royal palace would one day sit; then on the summit of the mound he builded a watch-tower, and abode therein. Here, beneath a shading canopy, the master-builder sat from dawn till dark, watching his work, for he had sworn a sacred oath to indulge in neither hunt nor war till Nineveh was Nineveh. And now he saw the budding of his dream. From the Tigris banks and up the Khusur came his flatboats, piled high with bricks; they floated on his two canals, supplying the workers who builded the wall between. In time this inner canal would disappear, being filled with earth, but the outer trench would ever remain, to serve as a moat which girt the city round about. Like unto ants the workers swarmed beneath the eye of Ninus on his tower, yet every little insect moved in lines marked out by patient thought. The well-nigh countless throng was divided into ordered gangs, each gang provided with an over-chief who urged his laborers by word of mouth or the lash of whips. Beneath the tower sat a ring of mounted men-at-arms who galloped forth with orders of the King, or brought report from points too distant for his eye to scan; for the builder willed his work to grow, not with gaps or breaks, but as one splendid whole, each section of the wall arising in conformity with its brother parts, until a straight, unvaried line should mount each day toward the sky. From dawn till dark the robe of Ninus fluttered on the tower's crest—a banner of warning to those who shirked their toil. Where diligence grew slack from weariness, or the work of a section fell behind, a man-at-arms spurred out toward the offending gang, to strike off the head of its over-chief and cast his body into an empty boat. Presently this boat, on its outward journey for a load of bricks, would drop the corpse into the Tigris, and another chief was set in the sleeper's place. Beyond the wall the army of Assyria lay encamped, yet active beneath the rule of Menon and his chiefs. A kingdom in itself it was, whence recruits were drilled and trained to combat with the veteran warriors; whence engines of offense were builded against the day when Zariaspa again would suffer siege; whence foraying bands went forth to gather grain and fruits, likewise sheep and cattle, wherewith to feed the multitudes of slaves and soldiery. It was here deserters from the wall were caught and crucified in sight of those who harboured thoughts displeasing to the King; for Ninus punished, not in impotent gusts of rage, but rather with that cold precision of a master-mind. And because of these things his work went on apace. When the wall had risen twenty cubits above its base, the King contrived from his inner trench a myriad of intersecting channels converging toward his central mound. Through these he conveyed material for the laying of his streets, for the erection of houses and the temples unto Ishtar, the fire-god Gibil, and the temple of his great Lord Asshur upon the hill. The royal palace would be modeled last of all, for the mind of Ninus, released from other cares, might give its power to the grandeur of his halls, to their splendour of adornment wherein the arts of an hundred nations would be taxed to lend them glory. And now the deep-tongued voice of labour swelled in volume, rolling upward in incessant waves of melody to where the King sat smiling on his tower. He listened to the roar of sharp command, commingled with the answering cries of slaves and the groan of laden carts. Far out across the plain he spied a train of sleds, each drawn by a thousand men, and creeping inch by inch through tawny sands; from the quarries in the south they bore huge blocks of basalt wherefrom strange effigies would be carven in the likeness of gods, of lions and of wingÉd bulls. Beyond the wall King Ninus heard the humming din of Assyria's hosts encamped, the clank of arms and the rumbling tread of horse and foot. Within, he listened to the whine of ropes, to the creak of hoisting-cranes which lifted a world of brick and swung like living tentacles above the sweating pigmies down below. He heard the songs of boatmen on his black canals, a droning air that rose and fell, stilling the harsher cries of labour's pain, and seeming to chant the kingly builder's praise. The heat of the summer sun poured down, a pitiless, parching blaze, while a horde of delvers bowed beneath their lashes and their loads. They staggered at their tasks, each praying to his gods for the shades of night to fall, when he slept like a beaten dog till dawn awoke him to another hell of toil. And thus fair Nineveh grew, as if by magic, from the dust, the while a master-devil watched it from his tower. And the heart of Ninus swelled within him and was glad. CHAPTER III THE GOVERNOR OF SYRIA King Ninus, grandson of the mighty Shalmaneser, mounted his throne in youth, a throne which ruled a kingdom run to seed through the slothful reign of Shamashi-RamÂn; yet as his grandsire's heart had beat for war alone, so beat the heart of Ninus, resting not till the glory of Assyria flamed forth again. From the city of Kalah, crumbling in decay, he began his little conquests, conquering his neighbors and joining their strength to his, making them friends and allies rather than slaves who bowed beneath a yoke of might. He moulded their uncouth valor into ordered rule, exchanging their clumsy weapons for his better tools of war, till, presently, an army raised its head from out the mud of ignorance. A conquered people, so long as they paid him tribute and kept their covenants, were left in peace, their gods untroubled, their temples sacred to their own desires; but should they revolt, then Ninus and his grim, unpitying host returned, to leave their cities smouldering heaps upon the plain, the heads of their chiefs set up on poles by way of warning to all who entertained a similar unrest. And thus, like ever widening circles in a pool, the Assyrian Empire grew apace, until at length its confines stretched away, even to the shores of the Sea of the Setting Sun. Beneath the rule of Ninus bowed Media and Armenia, the roving, battle-loving Khatti, Tyre, Sidon, Edom and Philistia. Proud Babylon was once more wedded to Assyria, albeit she ever scratched and bit in the manner of fractious and unwilling wives. Damascus fell, a feat which even Shalmaneser failed to compass, and the peaceful fields of Syria were overrun, their cattle eaten by the hungry conquerors. The dwellers on the shores of the Black and Caspian seas were subject to the sway of Ninus, and Egypt paid him endless tribute in precious metals and shields and swords of bronze. And yet two kingdoms lay as stumbling blocks in the path of Assyria's power. The one was Bactria, a land whose armies, beaten in the field, took refuge behind the massive walls of Zariaspa, defying siege for three long years, their turrets lined with well-fed, jeering men-at-arms. The other unconquered kingdom was Arabia, ruled by a wily Prince, by the name Boabdul Ben Hutt, who chose a saddle for his throne, his sceptre a loose-sheathed scimitar. This country abounded in a breed of swiftest steeds which wrought King Ninus to the verge of mad desire; yet the prize was beyond his grasp, like the fruit of a palm whose trunk he could neither fell nor climb. And more; its inner kernel was protected by a circling rind of desertland, far deadlier than a force of a million warriors. Moreover this kingdom stood in constant menace to the plans of Ninus, and so soon as an adjacent country was subdued and the armies marched to further wars, a cloud of dusky riders would descend in a swirling rush of sand, to obliterate the tracks of Assyria's patient toil. Report came now to Ninus as he sat upon his tower, and vexed him till he fain would crucify the messengers of evil tidings. The horsemen of Boabdul were troubling Syria with the points of spears, devouring the fattest flocks and bearing off rich spoils which the King desired in the building of his city. For an hour King Ninus combed his beard in thought, then sent for Menon and spread before him a feast of fruits and wine. "Menon," spoke the King, when the feast was done, "to-morrow shalt thou journey down into Arabia and seal a covenant with our worthy foe, Prince Boabdul Ben Hutt." Menon stared and set his goblet on the board. "A covenant?" he asked in wonder, for he feared lest he had not heard aright. "Aye, a covenant of peace," King Ninus nodded gravely; "for, heed thee, fools alone make war upon the birds of flight, while a wise man feedeth them from his store of grain, in that they fatten against a time of need." Menon smiled, and the King spoke on: "Go thou, then, unto Arabia, seek out Boabdul and bear him gifts which I now make ready. Offer them together with the love and fellowship of Assyria's lord, and call him brother in my name. Seal, thou, a covenant whose bonds provide that we trespass not upon one another's lands; that in all new conquests, wherein he lendeth aid, a half of the spoils thereof shall be his part. In turn, Arabia may call upon the arm of Ninus for the smiting of her enemies, and the lands subdued shall be divided in two equal shares. Accede to such demands of the noble Prince as wisdom and justice may advocate, yet upon one point hold fast as a buck-hound's grip, though the treaty come to grief because of it." "And that?" asked Menon, still marvelling at the master's tone. "Stallions!" cried the King, as he struck the table with his hairy fist. "These must I have, to add to the glory of my stud, to draw my chariots and to fill the stalls of my stables here at Nineveh. Look to it, Menon, three thousand steeds of the noblest stock will Boabdul send each year; and for the which he may ask his price in maidens or other merchandise. The steeds, my friend, the godly steeds of Barbary!" For a space the King and his faithful general spoke thoughtfully of matters pertaining to the truce, then Menon rose to take his leave; but Ninus detained him further. "When the covenant shall be sealed," said he, "send messengers with the terms thereof to my allies in the South; likewise dispatch a trusty courier to me, then journey into Syria. In Syria thou wilt wait upon its Governor, one Surbat by name, a drowsy man who ruleth with the wisdom of a sheep. Send me his head; and when he, thus, shall be removed from office, rule thou in his stead—yet wisely and with wakefulness." Menon's cheeks grew red with pride at the honours which his master was about to heap upon him, and he would have fallen to his knees in gratitude, but the King restrained him. "Nay, listen," said he, "the hills of Syria are fat with the fat of plenty, their vast tribes rich in cattle and in sheep, while Ninus hath grievous need of food in the building of his city. Pinch them with tax, my son, till their veins run dry, yet spare their skins that they puff again for a later need. I, myself, will send a messenger unto Surbat, advising him of my will in the change of rule, albeit as to the smiting of his neck, I will leave it till thou comest on him suddenly." Once more Menon sought to sink upon his knee, but Ninus took his hands and raised him, saying, with a smile: "Nay, spare thy thanks till the lion's hide is dried; for, remember, I send thee down to Syria for Surbat's head. Rule boldly, but with craft, lest perchance I may some day send for still another head. And now, farewell." Menon journeyed down the Tigris in a barge whose sweeps were manned by swart Phoenicians; and beside the guard accompanying him, there were certain slaves who bore provisions and the royal gifts for Arabia's Prince. By day and night they travelled swiftly till they came to the town of Kutha, where they crossed by land to the Euphrates and embarked in another boat. Thence they floated for many days on the current of this muddy stream, and rested at last by Burwar, a league below the site where Babylon, the Queen of Cities, would some day rise. Here they dispatched an Arab messenger unto Boabdul Ben Hutt, and sat down to wait the pleasure of the Prince and an escort through the desertlands. At length the escort came, a band of turbaned savages who stole like ghosts across the sands on the backs of lurching camels; whose weapons and trappings gave no sound; whose visages were hardened to the breath of heated winds and the sting of burning dust. Their Sheik bade Menon welcome in his master's name, and strapped the gifts of Ninus on a vicious lead-beast's hump. He mounted the leader and seven of his men-at-arms, but the others, together with the slaves and servants, he commanded to remain behind. There were those of Menon's guard who sat uneasy in their seats, because of the strangeness in the gait of these awsome beasts; and one, when his camel floundered from its knees, clutched wildly at nothing and pitched headlong to the earth, to arise from the dust with curses, amid the laughter of the Bedouins. Now it is not good to mock at a Babylonian in distress, so he, one Babus, nursed a certain soreness of his pride which was like to bring the cause of Menon into bitter stress, yet the time was not yet come. For the space of eleven days the cavalcade fared westward through the trackless wastes, the sky a brazen lake of fire, the plains a tawny, dizzy sea that seemed to heave with endless waves of sand. In the hours of noon they rested long beneath the shade of canopies, and slept; then took up their flight again, to shiver through the cool of night when a huge moon leapt with wondrous suddenness from beneath the world and raced away along his curving, star-lit path. And thus they journeyed till the dawn of the twelfth red day, when Menon spied the fringe of a green oasis as it rose from the desert's rim. Like a cool, sweet dewdrop it seemed to lie in the core of a yellow leaf, and after a weary ride at quickened pace the travellers came upon the outposts of Boabdul's camp. Here the Assyrians were conducted into tents of skins, that of Menon being sumptuous in appointment; it was deep, commodious, and provided with silent slaves to wait upon the chieftain's needs. One servant bore a cooling draught of wine, while another prepared a bath—a tub devised of a camel's hide supported on stakes which were driven in the earth. The juice of the grape was sweet to Menon's swollen tongue, but the bath was like unto the spirit of a loved one who took him in her arms and kissed away his weariness. In the water he lingered listlessly, at rest, at peace, while his thirsty pores drank in the precious moisture; then a black attendant clothed him in a filmy robe, and a rich repast was spread. There were dates and figs, with cakes of pounded grain; there was wine in jeweled cups, and melons chilled in the depths of Boabdul's wells. The Assyrian ate and was satisfied, then sank upon a couch, to slumber dreamlessly throughout the day, throughout the night, till at dawn the tingling blood ran knocking at his heart with the message that he lived again. When, once more he had eaten and was conducted from his tent, Menon found the camp astir with the life and bustle of moving warriors, of shifting sentinels, and horsemen who led their steeds to water and provided feed. Through groves of palms he could see a vast array of tents which stretched away to the uttermost edges of the green oasis, while on the plains beyond white clouds of riders wheeled and darted to and fro. The great red sun arose, and with its coming Menon and his men-at-arms were led before Arabia's Prince. Boabdul Ben Hutt stood waiting in the opening of his royal tent, a youth of lordly mien, with a proud, disdainful beauty stamped upon his beardless face. About his head was wound the folds of a milk-white turban whose tall aigret was caught in the clasp of a splendid emerald. His robe was wrought with precious gems and threads of gold, while a jeweled scimitar swung from his studded belt. In Assyria's tongue he greeted Menon and his followers, bidding them welcome to his couch and board, for the Prince was schooled in the speech of many lands. He questioned them as to the health of the King, their master, and sought to know if the messengers had rested from their tedious march; and then, when the rind of courtesy was pealed away, Boabdul demanded that the meat of Assyria's quest be laid upon the palate of his understanding. So Menon spoke as Ninus had desired, calmly, craftily, setting forth the marked advantage of a union with his lord. He touched with truth upon Assyria's wants, yet pointed out Arabia's crying needs. He laid the terms of treaty before the Prince till the scales of justice balanced to a grain of sand; then, he called Boabdul brother in his monarch's name and asked for stallions from the plains of Barbary. The Arab listened in the patience of his race, albeit a frown of anger now rode upon his brow, while his fingers fluttered about the hilt of his keen-edged scimitar. When Menon ceased to speak Boabdul spurned the gifts of Ninus with his foot and loosed the bridle of his fiery tongue. "What!" he stormed. "Is Arabia's Prince an owl? Shall he blink at the glory of Assyria's sun, while foxes pluck out feathers from his tail? My stallions! No! Go back to thy master who would pillage where he conquereth not, and lead him a bridled jackal for his stud. Go! Say that Boabdul knoweth not a brother of his name, and bear him as my gift thy two palms heaped with dust!" A close-packed ring of Bedouins girt the messengers round about, and those who understood passed whispered words to their fellow warriors, till soon a threatening murmur rose, and many a scimitar itched to leave its sheath. Now Babus, the Babylonian—he whose pride was sore because of his fall from the camel's back—spoke out unbidden and flung a taunt in the teeth of the angry Prince, whereat an Arab impaled the offender on his lance, so that Babus writhed upon the earth, and died. The Assyrian guard would have drawn their swords to avenge the stroke, and of a certainty would have lost their lives and marred their master's truce, but Menon wheeled upon them with a word of sharp command. "Peace!" he cried. "The mouth of a braying ass is closed with the dust which wise Boabdul sendeth as a gift to Ninus." He paused, to set a chain of gold about the neck of the Arab who had wrought the deed, then turned to the Prince with palms held downward. "See, my lord," he smiled, "my hands are empty now. What, then, shall I bear to Ninus who waiteth at Nineveh for a seal of truce?" "The jackal!" flashed Boabdul. "Bear him that!" "Nay," spoke Menon, pointing to the corpse of Babus at his feet, "thy second gift will I also put to use in devouring the flesh of this fallen fool, whom my lord will forget, aye, even as a generous Prince forgeteth wrath." The Bedouins nodded among themselves and smiled, for they loved the turn of a crafty tongue, yet the Prince ceased not to scowl. "And why," he asked, "if Ninus would call me brother of his heart, doth Ninus not come in person to my tents, or seek a council on some middle ground?" "Because," replied the messenger, "he buildeth a city on the Tigus river-bank; a city so vast that none save he alone may direct the rearing of its walls and palaces." "Oho!" the Arab scoffed. "So the master thatcheth huts, and sendeth a hired servant where he dare not risk the peril of his neck." Menon flushed, but checked a hot retort upon his lips, and held the eyes of Prince Boabdul in a level gaze. "Aye, truly," he answered, with a slow, unangered speech, "I am but an humble servant of my King; and yet I lead his hosts to battle, even as thou, my lord, lead those of thine honored father, whom I learn, with sorrow, is too infirm by reason of his years to bear the stress of war." Again the Bedouins murmured among themselves, but now in approval of the Assyrian's words, yet Boabdul checked them with a frowning glance, and their tongues were stilled. Of a truth the Prince was pleased in secret at the covenant which Ninus offered, yet would not seem too eager of his own desires. Therefore he feigned a marked disfavor to the plan, in hope that the treaty might lean more lightly on the shoulders of Arabia. "And this master of thine," he asked, with a dash of scorn, "is he then so high in power that the world must kneel before his kingly nod? Is he mightier than I, Boabdul Ben Hutt, who sweepeth the land with sword and flame? who ruleth from the desert to the lip of the western sea and balanceth a kingdom on the edge of his whetted scimitar? Speak, servant of thy King! Would Ninus face me, man to man, and still be conqueror?" "As to that," smiled Menon, openly, "I may not say. Long have I known my master as a father and a friend, yet remember not that he boasted of his deeds." Now the words of Menon were the words of bald untruth, for Ninus was a very prince of braggarts, causing a record of his feats of arms to be graven on mighty tablets, the which were designed for the wondering eyes of men who should follow after him. But Menon was unafraid, and the sting of his calm reproof was as a spur in the flanks of the Arab's rage. "I would to my gods," he cried, "that this builder of huts were here at hand, in that I prove a weapon on his teeth!" "Alas!" sighed Menon, "he is far away at Nineveh, where he trusteth some day to receive Boabdul as his honoured guest." "And thou," the Arab sneered; while he trembled with fury because of the other's unruffled mien, "thou who bearest the terms of this foolish truce and shieldeth thy master's insolence, wilt thou dare face me, afoot or astride a steed?" "Aye," said Menon, as he took Boabdul's measure thoughtfully; "if thereby our treaty may be sealed—with all my heart." "Come!" cried the Arab fiercely. "Come cross thy blade with mine; and if I fall, the treaty shall be made in accord with the covenants set forth. If not, a second council shall be held, whereat thy King shall sue for peace upon his knees." Beneath the shade of date-palms a circle of warriors was formed, and in its centre the two prepared to battle for the terms of truce. Their robes were laid aside lest the folds become entangled with their legs, and they stood forth naked except for waist cloths girt about their loins. The Arab was lean and wiry to the litheness of a cat, with corded thews that lay in knots upon his dusky skin. The Assyrian's flesh, though pale with the tint of a northern clime, was firm and hard, its muscles rippling smoothly with the movement of his limbs. He was taller and of longer reach, well schooled in the arts of war, and possessed of a lynx-eyed watchfulness as a match to the speed of his nimbler foe. Boabdul wielded his curving scimitar, which was weighted at its point, and held a tiny target upon his arm in easy grace, while Menon was armed with a shield of bronze and a heavy two-edged sword, the gifts of Memetis, an Egyptian prince held hostage at the court of Ninus. For a moment the two stood motionless, each striving to note a weakness in the other's guard, each ready for thrust or parry should an opening chance; then the Arab crouched and began to move in circles round and round. Menon, making a pivot of his heel, turned slowly with his hawk-like adversary, presenting a steady front to every point of menace or attack, and daring the Arab with his smiling eyes. Of a sudden Boabdul feinted with an under-thrust, recovered, and lashed out wickedly at Menon's head; yet the scimitar only rasped along the edge of a waiting sword, and the Arab bounded back beyond the danger line. Again and again he sought an opening, and was met by a steady, cool defense, while the watching Bedouins and Assyrian men-at-arms cheered lustily for their champions. Stung by repeated failure, Boabdul's blood ran hot within his veins, and the battle waxed in fierceness and in speed. As the leopard springs, so the Arab darted in and out, his scimitar a wheel of light, a weapon in every spoke, that now rang sharply on a shield of bronze or gritted against a sword; the while Prince Menon fixed his gaze on the Arab's eyes and waited a whisper from his gods. In circles they stamped the earth, amid the din of hoarse, wild cries of men who lusted for a sight of blood; and then a shout went up, for a crimson stream ran trickling down the Assyrian's thigh. The crafty Boabdul, too, had seen, and he bounded to a fresh attack, but Menon caught the blow on his brazen shield and turned the stroke aside; then swiftly, and with all his strength he smote the foeman's target with the flat of his heavy sword. His gods had whispered, for the Arab's arm hung numbed and useless at his side. And now it was Menon's turn to forsake the waiting game and push his foeman to the wall. The fresher of the two, because of his calm defense, he pressed upon the Prince without a feather-weight of mercy, nor gave him pause. In vain Boabdul fought with all his skill to regain an aggressor's vantage ground, yet could not, for his blade was now his shield, while Menon warded blows with either arm. Still the battle was not yet won. The Arab strove by a score of cunning tricks to lure his enemy into faulty guard or a weakness of attack. He even sought with taunts and mockery to tilt the even temper of his foe; but Menon pressed him closer still and laughed—which troubled Boabdul grievously. Once the wily Arab flung himself upon the earth and slashed at the other's legs, but Menon leaped and the stroke passed harmlessly beneath, while the Prince regained his feet and moved backward on the run. They closed again for a final test of strength and artifice, twisting, thrusting, showering blows that were turned aside or evaded by a shifting foot, each panting in his toil, each weary but undismayed; then, of a sudden, Menon locked his sword in the curve of the Arab's scimitar, and, grunting, heaved it from Boabdul's grasp. The Prince, in an effort to elude the snare, reeled backward, tripped, and rolled upon the earth. In a flash the Assyrian sprang upon him and pressed his point beneath the dusky chin. With screams of rage the circling Arabs lowered their spears to swoop upon the victor and save the vanquished if they might, but Menon flung his shield arm up in warning. "Back!" he cried, "or by the crown of Ishtar will I slit his throat!" The sons of the desert halted, as a steed is curbed, each poised for a savage thrust, each waiting in awesome dread for a thread of life to snap, while Boabdul Ben Hutt gazed upward into Menon's eyes, though the brand of fear burned not upon his cheek. "Strike, dog!" he groaned, in the shame and anguish of defeat; but Menon tossed his sword away and stretched forth his hands that the fallen one might rise. In silence stared the Bedouins; in silence Boabdul rose and looked in puzzled wonder on his conqueror. "Assyrian," he asked at length, "why now is thy blade unstained, when a twist of fortune gave me over into thy hand?" "My lord," spoke Menon solemnly, and yet with a certain twinkling of the eye, "I seek to seal a covenant with Arabia's Prince; not with Boabdul dead." The Arabian had looked on death, and knew that the wine of life was sweet to him; so anger departed utterly, and humor seized him till he laughed aloud. "Now by my father's beard," he cried, as he caught the Assyrian's hands in his and pressed them against his breast, "if Ninus keepeth faith as he chooseth messengers, right gladly will I call him Brother of my Soul!" Then a mighty cheer arose, whose echoes rolled far out across the plains—a cheer for Ninus, lord of all Assyria—and another, louder, longer still, for the lion-hearted messenger. It had come upon the Arabs that Menon not once had sought to strike a fatal blow, but had stood before the desert's fiercest scimitar, undaunted, staking all upon his strength, and had spared where he might have slain. They led him unto Boabdul's tent, where the Prince's aged leech administered to his wound. They bathed and anointed him lest he suffer hurt because of his heated blood, and clothed him in raiment from Boabdul's royal chests. The treaty was duly sealed, to stand between two kingdoms through the march of years; and neither monarch once broke its covenants, albeit the links thereof were oft' times strained by jealousies and the wild unrest of evil men. When the terms of peace were closed to the smallest point, then Menon and his followers abode with the Prince for the space of seven days, wherein the hours of light were passed in hunting and in sports of arms, while the nights were given o'er to feasts and revelry. The guests were regaled at a kingly board, where wine cups circled till the thirsts of men could ask no more, their senses steeped in the charms of music and of maidens who danced unveiled before their eyes. In the hour of parting Boabdul took the Assyrian to his heart and bade him think on Araby as a tent-flap ever held aside; and more, he made the gift of a noble steed from the plains of Barbary, a brother stallion to the one which he himself bestrode. With the steed went an Indian slave whom the Prince called Huzim, a giant from the Indus, with shoulders of mighty girth and whose bow no arm save his alone could draw. So Menem, in sadness, parted from his host and journeyed into Syria, where he came upon Surbat, the drowsy Governor thereof. This man he removed from office and sent the head of him to Nineveh, taking council with the gods of craft that he save his own. Then he rode upon the back of Syria, as a mahout drives a fractious elephant, goading with a goad of tax, till the hills resounded with its echoed trumpetings. |
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