The dromedary travelled fast; but its pace, rough and fatiguing even to Sarchedon's athletic frame, was especially trying to his companion. Anxiety and agitation had done their usual work; so that when Ishtar recovered from her swoon, refreshment and a short interval of repose seemed absolutely necessary, if she was to continue her journey through the night. Towards noon, therefore, her companion thought it wise to halt at a convenient resting-place, where a clump of palms flung their slender shadows over a desert spring; and while the dromedary, after drinking its fill, browsed on the few dried shoots afforded by the scanty vegetation of the wilderness, Sarchedon did all that a lover's care and a traveller's experience could suggest for her comfort who was thus confided to his affection.

"You were wise," said he, forcing on her a share of their provision, "to carry off this morsel of food from Agron's table. I know the stations well at which we can halt to drink, and that good beast yonder, though he will grow leaner and leaner, can journey on with unfailing strength till the sun has risen twice again. Eat, then, and spare not; for on the edge of the desert, when we have passed the bitter sea of the plain, there are cities of refuge, where we can obtain such food as we require for man and beast, ere we go on our way rejoicing to the country between the rivers and the cool mountains of the North."

"Your path is mine," answered Ishtar, with a fond smile; "I am not so faint and weak of heart now, but I am very weary, and would fain sleep."

He disposed his mantle so as to shade her yet more securely from the pitiless sun, pillowed her head on his own broad breast, and watched her slumbers with feelings pure and holy as his whose loving eyes are resting on the face of the dead.

Presently he became himself heavy with sleep, and strove in vain to keep his faculties on the alert. He could not move a limb without disturbing his charge, and it was not long ere his sight grew dim, his head began to droop: with keen searching glances he swept the horizon round, and then gave way, dropping at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The sun was low when he woke with a start that roused his companion also. The snorts and restless motions of the dromedary, straining at its tether, denoted danger. The sleepers sprang to their feet, and looked in each other's faces with anxious eyes.

That danger was indeed very near. A cloud of dust had approached within a furlong. Through its dusky veil could be heard and seen the tramp of horses, the glitter of spears.

"They must be Philistines!" "It is Ninyas!" were the exclamations that rose to their respective lips; while Sarchedon, snatching the broken loaf and few remaining dates from off the sand, released the dromedary, lifted Ishtar hastily to her seat, and took his own place before her on the animal's back.

Urging it to the utmost, he was painfully conscious that although swifter and more enduring for a long journey, it was not so nimble as a horse in an effort of a few furlongs. Ere it had attained its full speed, the enemy were within bowshot. Already an archer had halted and was taking aim.

Stung with the knowledge that, from their relative positions, he was shielded by the body of Ishtar, Sarchedon pursued his flight in an oblique direction, guiding the dromedary now to the right, now to the left, in such alternate curves and bends as he thought might baffle the hostile marksman. An injury to the beast on which their safety depended would, he knew, be only less fatal than the wounding of Ishtar herself.

The Philistine dismounted to draw his bow with exceeding care and precision. Sarchedon felt the dromedary wince beneath him. In a few more paces the animal's speed sensibly slackened; and, looking back, it sickened him to see certain red drops soaking in on its track through the sand. The successful archer had remounted to follow his companions, who were rapidly nearing the fugitives.

"It is hard," muttered Sarchedon, grinding his teeth in rage and despair. "But ten out of all the horsemen of Assyria would suffice to bring us through, and for the want of them we must perish. We are forgotten of Nisroch, and are doomed!"

Ishtar's face turned very pale, while she pressed her lips on his shoulder, and murmured:

"Better even here, my beloved, than in Ascalon! Behold, the time is come, and in death we shall not be divided!"

Their pace was now reduced to a walk: the arrow had sped deeply home, and the dromedary, pierced through its loins, tottered at every step. The Philistines gathered round, calling on their prey to halt.

Sarchedon glanced at his own weapons—a bow, some half-score shafts, and a short straight sword. Then he measured the strength of his opponents—fifty horsemen at least; champions of exceeding stature, fierce and terrible; children of Anak; objects of dread even to the warlike sons of Ashur—in arms against all men, holding their tenure of the wilderness by right of bow and spear.

The dromedary stopped, drooping its head, groaning and shivering in sore fear and pain. Sarchedon made signs of surrender by unstringing his bow and casting it on the sand. The tallest of the Anakim threw up the spear he had levelled, and reined his horse along-side of the dromedary; his tribe gathering round, hemmed in their captives with an armed circle.

Sarchedon was ordered to dismount. While he obeyed, Ishtar too alighted nimbly on the ground. She had scarcely touched it ere the dromedary sank to its knees, struggled, and turned over on its side. In the shock, that loaf of broken bread on which the ill-fated pair depended for support, rolled to the leader's feet, and he lifted it greedily from the earth. He had not tasted food for many hours, and instinctively began eating, even while he gave directions to secure their prisoners. Here and there, like a scurf of mildew incrusted on some prison-wall, a white saline crystallisation flecked the sand at their feet.

Ishtar, separated from her lover, sprang at the chief's hand, tore from him a morsel of the broken loaf, dipped it in these shining particles, swallowed it hastily, and seizing the hem of his coarse homespun garment, claimed the protection of her act.

"Bread and salt!" said she, "the host's honour—the guest's right! I demand the safeguard of bread and salt!"

It was unanswerable. To have renounced the duties such an appeal exacted would have been to forfeit rank, character, respect in the tribe, authority in his own tent. Had she been his deadly enemy, thirsting for his blood, who had slain his kindred, carried off his maidens, defiled his father's grave, there was no help for it—she had eaten of his bread and salt! Henceforth his relations with her must be those of courtesy, friendship, and support—even to drawing of sword and bending of bow in time of need.

"It is enough!" said the chief; turning to his followers: "Place the damsel on my own steed—I will myself lead it gently to our tents. For her companion, he at least is a captive and a slave. Disarm him, and bind him fast. Bread and salt is the only obligation I regard, and I swear, maiden, by your own comeliness, you were but just in time."

He laughed while the last morsel disappeared down his stalwart throat. Ishtar, casting longing looks at Sarchedon, could not refrain from tears.

The Anakim had taken his sword from his thigh, and bound him securely with his own bowstring. He learned by the chief's gestures that Ishtar was safe for the present from insult or ill-usage, and this was his only consolation. Standing, too, among his captors, he saw how hopeless would have been resistance, even had there ridden at his back those ten Assyrian horsemen he longed for so heartily but now. Himself a man of goodly stature and powerful frame, he did not fail to remark that the least of these giants towered fully a span over his own head, while their weighty limbs and fierce bearing brought to mind all the stories he had heard of their warlike prowess, their haughty defiance of Ninus himself,—who hugely admired, while he waged a war of extermination against them,—the many deeds of desperate courage for which they were celebrated, and the marvellous strength which made a common proverb of the question, "Who shall stand before the children of Anak?"

It was natural enough for these sons of the desert to show considerable interest in the dying dromedary. An animal of such extraordinary qualities, as their critical eyes told them it possessed, would have been a far more precious capture in the wilderness than a score of maidens beautiful as Ishtar, a host of warriors stalwart as Sarchedon. A creature that, travelling on without stint or pause, from rise to set of sun, could leave their fleetest horses panting many a league behind, was simply the most valuable property a robber by profession could possess. Therefore, not until the last resources of their skill and experience had been exhausted to preserve life, did they turn sorrowfully from its carcase to the rider who had fallen into their hands.

There seemed some difficulty in disposing of him. Two loose mares, indeed, followed by their foals, had galloped up with the troop; but of these the chief, twisting his bowstring into a halter, mounted one, while the cumbrous furniture of the dead dromedary was packed on the other. Sarchedon could hardly be expected to keep pace with his conquerors on foot, and they took counsel accordingly.

"Better slay the Assyrian where he stands," said a swarthy giant, coolly balancing the profit and loss of retaining an inconvenient prisoner. "The sand is hot, the way weary. It seems cruel to bid him walk, and men like us, my brothers, cannot ask their steeds to bear a double burden." He looked proudly round on his kindred, adding conclusively,

"Besides, we have mouths enough to fill in the tents where our wells are already dry, and there is no millet left to grind!"

"You have said it, my brother!" exclaimed his nearest comrade, tall and savage as himself, raising, while he spoke, the spear that Sarchedon felt another movement of that brawny arm would drive home to his heart. Nevertheless, his eye quailed not, nor did his cheek turn pale. A true son of Ashur, he could look death in the face without flinching. The striker paused with grim approving smile. His comrades, gathering round, expressed in hoarse gutturals their admiration of such manly courage.

Ishtar's looks had never left her lover. Riding beside the chief, she caught him by the garment, and claimed his interference.

"I am your guest," said she, "here in the open desert, even as under the shadow of your tents. All of mine should be sacred in your eyes, and I call upon you to save that man's life."

In two bounds of his lean active mare he was beside the prisoner, and his powerful grasp had seized the threatening arm.

"Hold!" he thundered out. "If I see fit, I will reserve that work for myself. And now, damsel," he added, turning to Ishtar, "you claim this man's body, and why?"

Trembling with fear, she could only think of one unanswerable plea.

"I am his wife," she answered, blushing, with downcast eyes.

"His wife!" repeated the chief. "Who is he, then?"

Thoughts of ransom, flight, freedom, flitted through her brain, all to be accomplished with less difficulty by the prisoner of humble grade.

"I will speak truth to my lord," said she, "and so find favour in his sight. His servant is but a simple archer in the hosts of the king of Assyria."

"What are you doing here in the wilderness," was the next inquiry, "many days' journey from the walls of Babylon and the footstool of the Great King?"

"The servant of my lord has been a prisoner in the land of Egypt," replied Ishtar; "he was taken by the spearmen of Pharaoh. I followed him into captivity, and ministered unto him till we found a fitting time to escape."

"But the dromedary?" pursued her questioner.

"We stole it," she answered simply; and the son of Anak became less inclined to doubt the probability of her statement.

"An archer?" he repeated, pondering, as it seemed, with all his might. "But for the damsel herself, the tale seems likely enough; yet must the wives of his captains be marvellously fair, when a mere bowman in the Great King's host can come by so white a skin as that! Nevertheless," he added, turning to Ishtar, "if he be in truth an archer, and you his wife, no doubt he can bend a bow to some purpose, and you are not afraid to trust his skill. We shall prove you both on the spot."

With these words, he halted his followers and gave them the order to dismount. Sarchedon's arms were then freed, and a heavy bow, requiring no slight strength to draw, was placed in his hands. Though surprised, they laughed to observe that he was equally master of the weapon with the tallest man in their tribe.

One of the band then measured out, spear-length by spear-length, the distance of a furlong on the desert sand. It seemed a considerable flight for an arrow; but every child of Anak was bowman from his youth, just as he was horseman, swordsman, spearman, and spoiler of all who came across his path.

The chief himself, lifting Ishtar from the saddle, led her to the spot his follower had marked out. Then, taking off his own belt, he buckled it so as to form a loop half a cubit in diameter.

"Hold this in your hand," said he, "and stretch your arm to the farthest. If an archer of the Great King is skilful as the Assyrians boast, he can drive me a shaft through that loop without risk to a hair of his wife's head."

In vain Sarchedon protested; in vain he entreated that he might be pitted against the fiercest champion of the tribe with sword or spear, foot to foot and breast to breast.

"No," said the Anakim; "the damsel told us he was an archer. As an archer he shall be proved. Surely it is the wife's duty to give life, if need be, for her lord."

Not a shade was on Ishtar's brow, not a tinge of fear in eye, mouth, or attitude, while she stood there over against him firm, erect, and beautiful; but Sarchedon felt his heart turn sick, his head swim, as he thought with horror of the result, should his hand fail him, or the desert wind divert the arrow but a cubit from its course.

He could not; no, he could not. Once, twice, he took aim—slowly, steadily, with true unfaltering eye—but the third time his powerful arm drew the bow to its utmost compass, directing its shaft at the sky, and sending it high over Ishtar's head, to quiver in the earth as far behind her as the marksman stood in front.

"An archer! an archer!" exclaimed the Anakim with one accord. "Not a man of us, with the wind against him, could have measured such a flight as that!"

"An archer, and a good one," assented their leader; "but the damsel is no wife of his, nevertheless. If he were indeed her lawful lord, he had not surely weighed the scratch of an arrow on her skin against his own freedom and his life."