Semiramis: A Tale of Battle and of Love

Cover

She had come into the lion's very lair. (Page [143])

SEMIRAMIS

A Tale of Battle and of Love

BY

EDWARD PEPLE

NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
1907

Copyright, 1907
BY MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY

Published August, 1907
Reprinted, November, 1907

To
"THE LITTLE PADRE"

CONTENTS

1. [The Raising of the Siege]
2. [The Building of a City]
3. [The Governor of Syria]
4. [The Fish Goddess]
5. [A Prayer to Dagon]
6. [The Daughter of Derketo]
7. [A Master's Kiss]
8. [They that Depart and He that is Left Behind]
9. [The Eaglet Nursed by Doves]
10. [The Lifting of a Tax]
11. [The Sandal and the Straws]
12. [The Sorrows of a King]
13. [The Skin of a One-Eyed Lion]
14. [The Turn of a Woman's Tongue]
15. [An Army on the March]
16. [The Pass of the Wedge]
17. [In the Shadow of Zariaspa]
18. [The Raisin in a Skin of Vinegar]
19. [The Stratagem]
20. [The Flight]
21. [The Riddle of the Secret Way]
22. [Who Ruleth, First Must Rise]
23. [The Siege]
24. [The Citadel]
25. [Shifting the Burden]
26. [The Passing of a Man]
27. [A Path Which Led to Its Starting Point]
28. [The Cry of the Tigress to her Mate]
29. [When a Woman Ruled the World]
30. [The Desert and the King]
31. [The Crowning of the Dead]
32. [A War Queen's Prophecy]

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.

CHAPTER IV

THE FISH GODDESS

Menon, Governor of Syria, was troubled in his soul. Throughout the night he had courted sleep, yet rest came not to body or to mind, for the air was close, and vexious thought stood sentinal beside his couch.

When the cool of dawn came stealing down on Syria, he left his heated pallet, clothed himself, and wandered along the lake shore where the freshening breezes blew. He sprawled at ease upon a shelving stone, cast off his outer robe, and watched for a ruby sun to spring from out the east.

Behind him lay the village of Ascalon, where dwelt the herders of sheep, the tillers of the thirsty soil and the wardens of flocks and herds. Before him stretched the lake, deep, green and chill, the palm and pomegranate casting ghostly shadows from its shores. On the further side, in the gloom of shrubbery and trees, the temple of the fish-god Dagon seemed but the end of a morning mist that trailed across the waters. In the shallows beside the rocks swam countless fishes, now darting to cover beneath the stones, now leaping at some luckless fly that swung too near the danger line. From end to end the surface broke with myriads of fins, while ever and again a louder splash proclaimed some monster's upward rush, the widening ripples cut by minnows in a scurrying flight.

They dwelt in peace, these denizens of the deep, for the Syrians eat no fish, nor may they snare them with hooks or nets lest the wrath of Dagon utterly destroy such fools, together with their flocks and herds, their wives and children, their soil and the fruits therein. And thus the fish lived on and multiplied.

There were men, as countless as the fish of Ascalon, who envied Menon as one on whom the gods had smiled; yet now he sat with his chin upon his palm, with a foot that tapped impatiently on the wave-bathed shore, while he scowled at the glory of a coming dawn.

Wherefore should he scowl, this favorite of the gods, Chief Governor of Syria, a warrior beloved of men, a youth watched covertly from many a latticed screen till his careless passing caused a yearning sigh? Wherefore should he mutter curses in his palm and dig his heel into the sands? Had he not on yestereve received a scroll from the King himself, wherein that monarch praised him for his services afield, and, more, for his crafty rule? Had Ninus not made offer of a high reward when Nineveh should be builded at the end of two short years? Ah, here the sandal galled! Full many an older man, for very joy, might have danced upon the lake shore happily, yet Menon muttered curses in his palm and digged his heel into the sands.

Ere another moon was dead, the waiting messengers must return to Nineveh and with them bear an answer to the lord of all the lands. Agreement to the King's desire meant cruelty more bitter than he dared to dream. Refusal dragged the keystone from his arch of hope, to crush him beneath the very walls his youthful strength had raised. To seek delay—

Of a sudden Menon started from his revery, as a round white pebble struck his knee and bounded into the lake. He looked to learn whence the missile came, but all was still. Behind him in the distance stretched the rolling hills, with herders following in the wake of drowsy sheep; to the right, the lake's rim lay in peace, barren save for a fluttering bird or two, while on the left a fringe of bush ran out on a point of rocks, too low, it seemed, to screen a human form. Still wondering, the Assyrian rubbed his knee and gazed reproachfully at the fishes in the lake, when a flute-like laugh pealed forth—a joyous, bubbly laugh—that rang along the shores till every rocky ledge took up its notes and flung a mocking echo across the waves.

Menon sprang upon a stone, to explore each nook and crevice with a hunter's circling gaze. With body bent, with every sense alert, he swept the shores for the jester's hiding place; and at last, when hope was well-nigh spent, he caught the gleam of a wind-blown lock of hair from the rocky point close down by the water's edge. Menon smiled, then seemed to become engrossed in the sight of some floating object far out upon the lake; yet, the while, from the tail of his crafty eye, he watched the point whence mischief hid as behind a shield. A silence fell. No sound was heard save the splash of plunging carp, the yelp of a shepherd's dog, and the harsh, shrill cry of a crane that passed in lazy, lumbering flight.

From the water a form rose noiselessly, while a pair of dancing eyes looked out through a leafy screen; a rounded arm was raised, and Menon wheeled and caught the second pebble as it came. For an instant the two stood motionless; the one surprised at her swift discovery, the other stricken speechless with amaze at the bold, unearthly beauty, of a water nymph.

"A goddess!" he gasped at length, and stared in the wonder of a dreamer roused from sleep.

She stood at the water's edge, a girl just budding into womanhood, her fair skin glistening with the freshness of her bath. A clinging skirt from hip to knee, revealed her slender symmetry of limb, clean, lithe, and poised for nimble flight. For the rest she was nude, save for a tumbling wealth of flame-hued locks, tossed by the rising breeze, half veiling, half disclosing, a gleaming bust and throat. Above, a witch's face, Grecian in its lines, yet dashed with the warm voluptuousness of Semitic blood; a mouth, firm, fearless in its strength, yet tempered by a reckless merriment—a mouth to harden in a tempest-gust of scorn, to quiver at the sigh of passion's prayer, or fling its light-lipped laughter in the teeth of him who prayed. Her eyes—a haunted pool of light, wherein, a man might drown his soul, and, sinking, bless his torturer.

For an instant more stood Menon, gaping at the girl, till humor gripped him, and he flung back his head and laughed.

"By Asshur," he cried aloud, "a kiss shall be the price of thy sweet impertinence!"

At a bound he cleared the intervening space and stretched his hand for a wayward coil of hair, yet ere his fingers closed the girl leaped backward, turned, and plunged into the lake. In a flash she disappeared, to rise again and strike out swiftly in a line with Dagon's temple on the further shore.

"Oho!" laughed Menon, "t'is then a fish's game! So be it, saucy one, for two shall play it to the end!"

Not pausing to divest himself of clothing or the leathern sandals strapped upon his feet, he followed after, sank and shot upward, snorting as he shook his head to free his ears and eyes. With strong, free strokes he began the race, smiling happily because of its speedy end. What chance had she against his splendid strength, he who had breasted the swollen Euphrates, or stemmed the Tigris when its waters sang to the plunge of hissing arrow points? The chilling bath lent vigor to his limbs and sent the young blood bubbling through his veins. The shoulder muscles writhed beneath his skin, while his heart beat faster in the fierce exhilaration of pursuit. What joy to run such quarry down, that gleaming body moving with an easy sweep, the flame-red hair that barely kept beyond his reach!

Faster and faster Menon swam, with every grain of power behind his strokes; yet the maiden kept her lead, now pausing to fling a mocking glance behind, now darting forward till the ripples danced against her breast. And so the chase went on, till the lake was well-nigh crossed, till the temple, which had seemed to twinkle among the trees, now stood out boldly, and an image of the ugly fish-god Dagon watched the stragglers in stony silence.

Then the pace began to tell, even upon the Assyrian's strength. His muscles ached; his hot breath broke between his lips in labored gasps; about his breast a band of bronze seemed squeezing out his life, and a sweat of weakness dripped into his eyes. He was gaining now! He saw with a hunter's joy that his quarry wearied of her work. Her strokes grew feeble, while the flaming head sank lower among the waves.

"By Bêlit," he wheezed, "the kiss is mine, or I rest my bones at the bottom of thy lake!"

The space of a spear's length lay between the two, and inch by inch the pursuer cut it down, while the nymph had ceased to mock him with her laughter, and bent her ebbing strength to the effort of escape. For her the race was run. On came the panting hunter in her wake, remorseless, eager, a hard hand reaching for her floating locks. She ducked her head, eluding seizure by a finger-breadth, leaped as the struggling fishes dart, and regained a tiny lead. Once more vantage slipped away, and now was hanging on a thread of chance. Again and again the Assyrian's hand shot out, to clutch the air or a dash of spray in his empty fist. His failure angered him. He clenched his teeth and worried on, yet splashing clumsily, for exertion now was fraught with agony.

"The kiss!" he breathed. "I'll have the kiss, I swear, or—"

The oath died suddenly upon his lips, for the maiden tossed her arms and disappeared. With a cry the youth plunged after her, forgetting his pain in the fullness of a self-reproach. He reached the spot where her form had sunk, and strove to dive, but weary nature proved a master of his will. He floated to regain his wind, while scanning the lake for a rising blotch of red; but only the leaping carp made circles through the waves, and a ruby sun climbed upward from a bed of mist. The breeze hummed foolishly among the palms, and a blue crane flung an accusing cry across the waters.

Menon's hope ebbed low and lower still, to die, to spring again to life at a peal of bubbly laughter, sweet unto his ears. Behind him he caught a flash of flaming hair, the gleam of a throat that shaped the taunt, a shoulder cutting through the ripples easily—the lake-nymph, fresh, unweary, an impish victor of the race!

By a trick she had lured him to expend his strength in the chase of one who swam as the minnows swim; and to Menon came this knowledge like a blow between the eyes. He turned him shoreward with a feeble stroke, striving to keep himself afloat, for his heavy sandals weighed him down, and languor seized on every fibre of his frame. He was beaten, spent. A blurred mist rose before his eyes, while the droning call of distant battle raged within his ears. A thousand flame-hued heads danced tauntingly beyond his reach, and laughed and laughed. The world went spinning down into a gulf of gloom, and a clumsy crane reeled after it—a steel-blue ghost that stabbed him with a beak of fire. He choked; he fought for life as he lashed out madly, till the foam-churned waters mounted high and fell to crush him in their roaring might.

For the space of an indrawn breath a white face rode upon the surface of the lake, then slowly the Assyrian sank.

It was easier now! He seemed to slide from the grip of pain to a waving couch of peace. The world had slipped from out its gulf of gloom at last, to rock through league on league of emerald cloud, and the crane was gone. The lake-nymph's laughter, too, had died away. She fled from him no more, but stretched her arms and held him close, his limp head pillowed on her breast. She warmed his flesh with the coils of her fiery hair, and her child-voice rose and fell in a crooning slumber-song.

"The kiss!" sighed Menon, and the waters hung above him drowsily.

CHAPTER V

A PRAYER TO DAGON

As the young Assyrian sank, the maid smiled cunningly and edged away, fearing to be snared in a trap of her own device; yet when the moments melted one by one, her merriment gave place to fear. Full well she knew the space a swimmer might remain beneath the waves, and when at last four tiny bubbles rose, she took one long, deep breath, and dived.

Downward her course was laid in a slanting line, down to the very lake-bed, where the rocks were coated with a slimy muck, and tall grey weeds swayed gently to and fro. She worked in circles among the sharp-edged, slippery stones, groping with hands and feet where shadows closed the mouths of the darker pools; and at last she touched his hand. She strove to seize it, but her breath was well-nigh spent, and with a spring she shot toward the air.

A moment's rest and again she dived, now certain of the spot whereon he lay. She reached him, paused an instant while her fingers sought a clutching point and closed upon his belt. She raised his weight, then bent her knees to lend a springing start, and began a battle for the stranger's life.

Slowly, too slowly, was the journey made, for the body in its water-laden robes was dragging heavily, while the swimmer, with only one free arm, was hampered in her toil. But still she rose, though her lungs were like to burst, and the sinews across her chest were taut with pain. Up, still up, till youth and will could bear the double tax no more. She had ceased to move. She was sinking now, and of a sudden loosed her hold and raced for life—alone. High up she shot, till her slim waist cleared the water line. Another long, glad breath, and she sank again ere the body might once more settle among the weeds; and now she was beneath it, swimming cautiously, lest her burden slip.

How far it seemed to that wavy blur of light above, and how he weighed her down! How the lagging moments crawled, while each was a hope that slid away as the waters swept beneath her arms! His trailing hands were checking speed, and his robe was torn and entangled with her feet; yet across her shoulder hung his head, his cheek pressed close against her own.

By Ishtar, she would save him now, or rest beside him on his couch of weeds!

At last! A prayer of thankfulness to Dagon whistled across her lips with the first sweet rush of imprisoned breath; then, grasping the Assyrian's locks, she turned upon her back and swam to the temple's marble steps.

Once she had seen her foster-father bring back the life of a shepherd boy whose spark was well-nigh quenched in a swollen mountain stream; and so she wrought with Menon, first turning him upon his face and by her weight expelling the water from his lungs; then she chafed his pulses, beat with her fists upon his body, and moved his arms with a rhythmic motion to and fro. This she did and more, for, womanlike, when hope had oozed away, she took him on the cradle of her breast and sought to coax him back to life by soothing, childish words.

"Live! Live!" she breathed. "How young thou art to die! And I—a fool!—a fool!—to cause thee ill! Come back, sweet boy, and I will give the kiss! Aye, an hundred if thou wilt—but come!"

She wound her arms about him and looked into his upturned face. How beautiful he was, but oh, how still! How deep were his eyes which gazed into her own, but saw not her tears of pity and of pain! Some noble was he, perchance, in the train of Menon, the mighty Governor, who would doubtless sell her into slavery because of her wicked deed. But why should a youth do foolish things? Why had he dared the waters of her lake where fish alone or the child of fishes swim? Must a life so young, so precious, pay the price of folly? The folly of a kiss! Ah, he might have it now, though his lips were cold, unconscious, beneath the pressure of her own.

Again and again the blazing head was bowed, while the color raced from cheek to throat, and the lake-nymph's blood awoke—awoke with a flame that would one day boil the caldron of Assyria, when the froth was stirred by a spoon of passionate unrest—a flame that would parch a thousand lands and drive their hordes to madness in a quenchless lust for war.

With the strength of despair the maiden lifted Menon's body, dragged it up the temple steps and laid it at the foot of Dagon's altar; then on her knees beside it she raised her arms and prayed, in a woman's passion-born desire.

"See, Dagon," she cried aloud, "see what the spirits of thy lake hold prisoner! See how still he lieth—he who was warm and filled with the breath of youth! An offering? No, no, sweet god, 'tis not an offering at thy daughter's hands. The fruits, the garlands, and the grain are thine; the fattest kids and the first of the springtime ewes, but he is mine! List thee, mighty one! Why lookest thou across the lake in silence, unmoved, and heeding not my cry? Do I not bring thee dates and flowers, the goat's milk and the buds from the tallest palms? No boon have I asked of thee, yet grant it now! Ah, pity, pity, and give him back to me!"

The suppliant bowed her head and waited, but the fish-god gave no sign. High up he towered, a hideous effigy in rough-hewn stone, with human face and hands, with the scaly body of a fish, while below his human feet were seen, distorted, half concealed in heaps of withered blossoms borne in offering by his shepherd worshippers. Behind him lay a carven plow, in emblem of the tiller's art, a sickle, a herder's crook, and vessels of wine from the vineyard's choicest juice.

Long moments passed. The lake-nymph's eyes were shifted from Dagon's visage to the stranger at her side. His body lay in an ugly, helpless sprawl, his arms outstretched, his dark eyes fixed on nothingness, as vacant as the idol's own. Once more the maiden turned to the god who seemed to mock her with his icy calm, whose stony ears were closed to the voice of prayer. She waited, and childish reverence melted as a mist dissolves, and fury rent her heart. She sprang to her feet and beat upon the effigy with doubled fists, her eyes ablaze, her loose hair whipping at her naked breast.

"Awake! Awake! Art sleeping, Dagon, that thou heedest not? Awake, I say! 'Tis I who call—Shammuramat![#] Am I, too, not a child of gods, whom the good witch Schelah sayeth will one day rule the world? Heed, or I tear thy temple down and set a Moloch in thy stead! Awake, thou fool! Awake!"

[#] The name "Shammuramat" has been corrupted by the Greeks into Semiramis, in which form the great Assyrian Queen is better known.

The shrill voice ceased. The pale girl listened with a chill of terror till the echoes died in the temple's dome. Once more she fell upon her knees, and though her rage still stormed within her heart she softened her speech, as in after years she won by flattery where anger failed to lash obedience to her will.

"Forgive, dear Dagon," she whispered, as she clasped his feet, "my tongue is the tongue of Derketo, my mother, whom thou didst curse with a just unhappiness. Yet listen! In error didst thou cause this youth to sink in the waters of thy lake, for he, too, loveth thee, with a love as great as mine. Give me his life, divine one, and in payment will I steal rich wine from my father's oldest skins—the palm-wine, Dagon, which is sweet and strong. Also, my goat is thine. I will slay it here in sacrifice and lay its heart in the hollow of thy hand."

She paused in thought profound. The bribe was large, yet the scales of barter needed still another weight; and well she knew the gods demand in sacrifice the parting with gifts which cause the keenest pangs. Of all her treasures two were held most dear, her dog and a string of pearls; and now, as she looked into Menon's sightless eyes, her treasures seemed to shrink in worth. Yet ere she squandered all upon an altar stone, the voice of wisdom whispered at her ear and caused her to hide a smile.

"Hear me, Dagon," she murmured, meekly, "thou knowest my good dog Habal that on rest-days cometh to thy temple's door? Him, too, might I give in offering to turn thy heart, yet the deed were folly and to thee unjust; for doth he not watch my father's flocks, with a faithful eye upon the lambs which are slain for thee alone? Were Habal dead, who then might save thy lambs from the beasts of prey? Nay, Habal's teeth can serve thee unto better ends than Habal's blood."

She stole a glance at Dagon, and, finding his features placid in content, became emboldened to seal her bargain with a master-stroke. In a corner of the temple lay her robe of fine spun wool, discarded for her morning bath; and now from beneath its folds she brought her necklace, holding it up for the greedy god to see.

"Look! Look, sweet god," she cried. "This I offer thee—a treasure given by a great Armenian prince. Soften thy heart and I cast it into the deepest waters of thy lake, where none may find it and dispoil thee of my gift."

True, Semiramis herself might dive and recover it at will, albeit she hoped a point so trifling might escape the god. Yet, lest the thought occur to him, she hastened on:

"Knowest thou not the value of such pearls? With a single bead thou couldst buy an hundred Habals for thine altar's needs. Think, then, what all would mean—they are twice a score—and I give them for the life of this one poor youth, whom me-thinks is of common blood and lowly born. Heed, wise one, and hasten, lest wisdom tempt me and I keep my pearls."

A shaft of sunlight filtered through the thick leaved palms, wavered, and crawled across the temple's floor; for an instant it rested on a tangle of blazing hair, then slowly climbed the fish-god's scaly side. As the maiden watched, with parted lips, with bosom fluttering to a quickened pulse, the flame of sunlight flickered and went out. Yet at her choking cry, it leaped to life again, to splash the face of Dagon with a leering glow of happiness—and Menon groaned and stirred.

While one might count a score, the girl leaned, limp and nerveless, on Dagon's altar stone; then she cast aside the blistered cat's paw of divine appeal and set in its place a swift, more vigorous god of force. With a zeal of hope she fell upon the body of her charge in all the strength her wild, free life had built, till Menon's eyelids fluttered and a frown of half unconscious protest ridged his brow. In the twilight of understanding, he fancied himself an ill used prisoner in the hands of enemies who mauled him from neck to heel; and when with returning life came an agony of water-laden lungs that labored to be free, he turned on his side and muttered curses, deep, fervent, touched by the fires of poesy.

It was then, then only, that the toil of Semiramis gave place to indolence. She rested her chin upon her knees and listened to the music of his oaths—music far sweeter than the liquid notes of shepherd's flutes, or the echoes of sheep bells tinkling through the dusk. A seed of love had broken from its strange, unharrowed soil, and the bud had opened to look upon its god.

With a sigh of peace she rose and clothed herself in the robe of fine spun wool, clasped tight her girdle and strapped the sandal thongs about her feet; then she rested Menon's head upon her lap and forced between his teeth the rim of a wine cup of which she recklessly deprived great Dagon's shrine.

"Dagon and I," she murmured, with an impish smile, "have compassed much; yet Dagon alone, without the measure of my aid—"

She paused, for a young cloud slid across the sun, flinging a shadow on the temple floor, a shadow which crept and crept till the fish-god's visage darkened with its gloom; then Semiramis remembered, rose, and cast her pearls far out into the lake.

Once more she sat beside her charge, chafing his temples with a patient, lingering caress. Long, long she watched, her fancy looming lace-work webs of fate, while her heart marked joyfully his battle with reluctant life; till, presently, his breath flowed gently and the sweat of pain was dried upon his brow.

Menon's glance met hers, and a flush of shame grew hot upon his cheek—the shame of defeat to him, a war-tried soldier, at the hands of a shepherd girl. Yet in her smile a man might forget defeat—forget and rejoice—forget all else save the smile and the maid who smiled.

His color spread, yet the blood-warmed tint now told no more of the sting of an humbled pride. He strove to raise his arms, but they seemed as weights too heavy for his strength, and sank beside him weakly. His thews were slack; he lay as helpless as an unweaned babe, yet the victor's eyes were laughing down into his own, and were kind.

"The kiss!" sighed Menon, and the maiden bent and gave her soul into the keeping of his lips.

CHAPTER VI

THE DAUGHTER OF DERKETO

A coppery sun climbed upward on his hill of cloud; the south-wind ceased, and the lake drowsed lazily in the morning sun. The Assyrian still reclined with his head upon the lap of Semiramis, for in the beginning she would not suffer him to tax his strength with speech. She urged that he rest, while she told her name and the story of her birth; and he, content, asked nothing more than to look and listen, while his heart grew hungry and his pulses sang to a tune of joy. So the maiden babbled on of gods and men, of the shepherd's home with Simmas, her foster-father, and of her simple life with sheep that browsed upon the hills and the fishes swam in the waters of Ascalon.

Her mother, Derketo, had been a goddess whom the Syrians worshipped in her temple beside the lake, till she drew the fatal wrath of Dagon down, because of her beauty and her foolish vanities. She lured the hearts of mortals from their level paths, consuming them with mad desires which were barren and unfulfilled; playing with passion, yet drinking not its flame—a reckless sprite who mocked at hell, while she danced on a thread that stretched across its throat.

Then Dagon, troubled at her wickedness, brought forth from some far eastern land a warrior youth who sighed and sang before Derketo's shrine. Slender was he and shapely, with deep blue eyes and locks that shone as a flame of golden red; so the goddess came out to him and was pleased because of the sweetness of his song. Through the long blue night he sang and whispered in her ear, till by his arts and a subtle tongue he wrought her fall, then straightway disappeared.

A babe was born, and Derketo, in her shame and grief, stole out by night upon the hills and left her child among the rocks to die; then, weeping, she crept into her temple, hiding behind its altar's shadow from the sight of men. By day she slept; by night she crouched beside the water's edge, to fling shrill curses at Dagon across the lake.

Then Dagon in wrath waxed terrible, and sent a lightning bolt which destroyed the goddess and her temple utterly, so that Syria knew her beauty and her wiles no more.

Now a farmer who dwelt in Ascalon was sorely vexed because of theft, yet never could he lay his hands upon the pilferer, albeit he watched together with his wife and sons. The goats' milk left in crocks outside his door would disappear in the broad of day, and after a space his cheeses began to suffer likewise. Marveling, he set himself to watch again, and at dawn a flock of doves dropped down before his door. They pecked at his cheeses, or filled their beaks with milk, then winged their flight to a distant point on the hillside over against the lake. The farmer and his sons marked out the spot and journeyed thither, to find a babe that was sheltered among the stones—the same which Derketo left to perish, and now was nurtured by these sacred birds.[#]

[#] This is the accepted legend of the origin of Semiramis.

The farmers bore her tenderly to the house of Simmas, chief warden of the royal flocks, a kindly man who reared her as his own; and they called her Shammuramat, which name, in the Syrian tongue, means Dove.

Thus the offspring of a goddess, and adopted child of doves and mortal man, grew swiftly to a strength and beauty of the gods themselves. From early childhood she loved the lake, where she sported among the waves till none might match her in speed or grace of stroke; yet, truly, born of Derketo, goddess of the fishes, what marvel, then? Again, as her mystic father hunted through far off eastern lands, so the girl soon turned to hunting through the hills of Syria, with a passion which made her bow and spear a wonder among the simple shepherd folk.

"And now," said Semiramis, as she toyed with Menon's hand, "and now am I a woman grown, with lovers who come in droves as the cattle come, yet daring not to voice the yearnings of their hearts. Great, stupid youths are they, the sons of farmers and tenders of our herds, who stare at me in tongue-tied wonderment; aye, like unto the yearling calves whose thoughts we may not fathom because of their foolishness."

The Assyrian laughed and drew her down till her lips met his and clung; and she joined his merriment, in that he seemed so unakin to the yearlings of which she spoke. Then, presently, she thought to ask his name.

"Menon," he answered simply, whereat she started, pushed his head from out her lap and edged away.

"Menon—thou!" she cried. "Ah, no, my lord! A jest! That man is but a devil's leech who clingeth to the throat of Syria, taxing, taxing, till its very blood is sucked in tax! Thou—!" She paused to laugh. "The Governor is ugly, fat—and thou—"

Again she stopped, with suddenness, and blushed.

"Nay, harken," said Menon, "of a truth I am the Governor; and it cometh to me that I would tax thy country further still—tax it till I snatch from thy foster-father, Simmas, his choicest store of all."

"Eh—what!" she demanded, angered at his words. "My father—that kind old man? Shame! Shame, my lord!"

Menon pursed his lips and ridged his brow with his sternest frown.

"I fain would rob him as I say; yea, even thy sacred doves and the very gods themselves, of Syria's Pearl—Shammuramat."

The girl said naught, but gazed in silence out across the lake, while a smile played softly at the corners of her mouth. She was not ill pleased to be called the Pearl of Syria, albeit she herself had long been conscious of the pretty truth. Moreover, t'was most unseemly in a maid to gainsay a mighty Governor; and in her heart she could find no dread of this weighty tax on Syria's birds and gods. Therefore she waited for his further speech, which came at length with earnestness:

"Now as to these taxes, concerning which I am called a devil's leech, it grieveth me sorely to oppress a simple folk, and it causeth my soul's unrest by night and day."

Again the maiden laughed.

"Aye, truly," she answered, spreading out her locks for the sun to dry; "I well can believe thy words, for never have I looked upon a youth so melancholy, or one on whom his sorrows ride with a tighter knee. Yet tell me, O Prince of Woe, what in truth may chance to be thy station and thy name?"

Menon spread his hands, though he could not help but smile at the maiden's doubt of him.

"Nay, believe me," he urged, "I speak the truth. I swear it on thy fish-god's altar. I am indeed the Governor, sent hither at the King's command, to do his bidding, not my will alone. King Ninus buildeth a city for himself on a far off river bank, a city which is like unto a huge, devouring monster, swallowing up the stores of men, the fruits of the earth, and the children of every land. This, then, is why I come to tax thine honest neighbors of their wealth."

He told her of the city's walls and of how they rose from out the waste of sand; of the temples, palaces, the towers and the soaring citadel. He told of millions toiling through the nights and days, and of an army which girt the walls around, while Semiramis sat listening, drinking in his words.

"Ah!" she breathed. "Ah, now I understand! And what is this city called?"

"Nineveh—the Opal of the East."

Again Semiramis came close to Menon's side, and, at his pleading, once more took his head into her lap.

"This monarch of thine," said she, as she nodded thoughtfully, "is right. He is wise and strong. My people are fools to murmur against the justice of his tax. For listen! I, too, will some day build a city, more grand, more vast in its reach and splendour, aye, even than this Opal of the East. Its walls shall top thine highest towers—its gardens shall hang between the earth and sky. Ah, laugh if thou wilt, yet Schelah hath seen it all—as I have seen—as it rises on her kettle's smoke."

At Menon's look of wonder, she told him that Schelah was a witch who dwelt in a cave among the hills, who wrought strange spells, told fortunes, and healed disease with her arts and herbs.

"A withered crone is she," the maiden said, "ugly and of crooked limbs, whose very name the farmers fear; and yet she is not an evil witch, but kind and gentle to those who understand. Why, I fear her no more than—than—"

"Than me?" asked Menon, with a smile.

"Than thou," she nodded happily, "and I fear thee none at all. Yet tell me more."

He told her of the battles he had seen; of the siege of Zariaspa, where Ninus, baffled of desire, needs turn away till a mightier army could be raised, and engines devised to batter down the walls. He told her of other wars, long, fierce, triumphant in the end; and as he spoke Semiramis saw it all, even as she once had seen a dim and ghostly Babylon which rose from out old Schelah's kettle-smoke.

She saw vast, rolling plains, where armies met with a rending crash and roar; where warriors, locked in a grip of rage, fought desperately and died; where chariots charged as against a cliff, to totter and overturn, and the sands ran red with blood. She heard the cries of men and the clang of blows, exultant shouts of victory and the shrieks of those who fled—the rumble of wheels and hoofs that shook the earth—the clamour of ranks that reeled through tossing clouds of dust. Her bosom heaved; her cheeks, her lips, grew crimson with the rush of blood; her dark eyes kindled, and she trembled as in a chill.

"Ishtar!" she cried, as she raised her head and clenched her outflung hands. "Oh, if I but once might sing a battle-song! To struggle—to fight—!"

Menon checked her with a rich, full-throated laugh that echoed to the temple's dome.

"Fight?" he asked. "In the name of all the gods, fight whom?"

She gave no heed to his merry tone, for the spark had caught, the flames were lit, and the fuel needs must burn.

"Poof! I care not, so it be a foe—a foe who will stand and scorns to fly!" Again she raised her arms, her rich voice shrill in its pitch of feverish desire: "To drive a chariot and lash its steeds through hedges of swords and spears! To drink of the wine of war! To conquer and to reign—a queen! And see!" she cried, as she caught her flame-hued hair, "this will I cut away, that none may know me for a maid. Then, then wilt thou suffer me to follow as a youth who is in thy train. Speak, lord, I wait."

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

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

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

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

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

"What troubleth thee, my lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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