Within the wide area that encircled the temple of Baal, his priests, though so numerous, were drawn out in orderly array that must have gratified the military eye of the Great King. Terrace by terrace the long lines of white stretched in endless perspective, every votary, from bearded patriarch to boy-faced eunuch, with a lotus-flower in his hand.

To the image of each deity in turn, as it was borne before the monarch, they prostrated themselves with devout obeisance; while at every prostration clouds of smoke ascended from the altars, golden cups were emptied in drink-offerings, and blood spouted from the throats of fresh victims as sheep and oxen fell prostrate at the propitious moment under one well-directed blow.

Shamash pa.s.sed on--the G.o.d of light, with his burnished disk representing the sun's dazzling surface, and identifying that statue of solid gold, under the weight of which its bearers, tall stalwart priests, seemed to fail and labour; Ishtar too, with her pale reflected beauty, like the moon she typified, gentle sister to the Lord of Day; and Bar and Nebo, versatile, pliant, representations of progress, improvement, human intelligence and skill; Merodach, king of battles, bold, defiant, standing on the lion's back bending his bow; and Ashtaroth, spirit of beauty, love, and light, peerless, radiant, alluring, with the bright star on her forehead and the serpent in her hand. Other images followed, of different minor influences: winged monsters threatening man, or coerced in turn by some superior spirit--the beetle, the scorpion, lions with human faces, wild bulls fighting head to head, or flying from each other heel to heel; Dagon, with more than human beauty to the girdle, foul, hideous in fins and scales below; Ashur too, monarch of the G.o.dlike circle; and Baal himself; Nisroch with the eagle's head, the burnished pinions, supreme, all-powerful, immutable, the Destiny from whose award there was no appeal, from whose vengeance no escape. Lastly, the symbolical and mystic representation of some power that must yet be superior even to Fate, some abstract essence, some intelligence infinite, inconceivable, expressed, vaguely enough, by a circle of gold encompa.s.sing a wheel of wings.

Only on such solemn occasions as the present was this emblem carried in the place of honour, immediately preceding the monarch, when he officiated in the sacred capacity of priest as well as king. It seemed to be regarded with an awe-struck reverence by all; and even Ninus, impatient as he was of such ceremonies, believing in little but his queen and his sword, could not forbear a gesture of respect while he pa.s.sed beneath it, at the lowest of the steps he was about to ascend into the secluded precincts of the Talar.

Here a.s.sarac, with another prostration, laid at the royal feet a square casket of gold, and a representation of the fir-cone, worked in the same metal, emblematic, as it were, of the two elements, fire and water; the inflammable properties of the fir-cone, with its reproductive vitality, representing the generative powers of heat; while the golden vessel seemed suggestive of that fluid which, pervading all nature and embracing the whole earth, tempering and allaying the ardour of its opposite, may be considered as the feminine influence in creation.

Thus flung down before him, these offerings signified that the Great King in his present capacity a.s.sumed vicariously the attributes of Ashur, or even Baal himself. a.s.sarac, with considerable ceremony, now presented a cup of wine, for his sovereign to pour out in drink-offering to the host of heaven so soon as he should have reached the summit of the temple. While Ninus took it from the high-priest's hand another look of immeasureable scorn pa.s.sed over the old lion face--a look that seemed lost on the eunuch, whose final prostration expressed the deepest homage, the utmost devotion, that could be rendered by a subject to his king.

The Southern night had fallen; the stars came out by countless thousands in the calm fathomless sky. Once more, high above trumpet-peal and clash of cymbal, lute and viol, harp and tabor, rose a deafening heart-stirring shout--irrepressible tribute of honour and admiration for the greatest warrior of a great warlike line. It was the farewell of his a.s.syrian people to their a.s.syrian king.

While it rang in his dull old ears, and brought the light back to his dim old eyes, the heavy folds of a curtain hanging at the foot of that sacred staircase he alone was privileged to ascend, parted, to close again for ever on the grand old form, n.o.ble even in its last decline, and majestic in the very ruin of its decay.

a.s.sarac drew a long breath of relief; and Beladon, at the extremity of one of the lower terraces, whispered to the priest standing next him,

"What think you, brother--will they come down for him to-night in chariots of fire, as it is written in the stars?"

To which the other replied:

"Sacrifices and drink-offerings have been rendered, enough to propitiate a thousand G.o.ds; and surely brother, the stars cannot lie."

But on the face of his people, from which he had never turned in fear nor scorn, it was the Great King's destiny to look no more. Ascending into the seclusion of the Talar, he had no sooner entered its cedar-house than a strange lethargy and drowsiness enwrapped his senses.

Ere he could pour out his drink-offering to the four quarters of heaven, his eyes grew heavy, his perceptions failed, his feet seemed glued amidst the rushes, strewed ankle-deep on the wooden floor, and he sank wearily into the throne prepared for him, like a man overcome with sleep.

He must have been dreaming surely, when in a corner of that chamber, at the level of his feet, he saw a dark face, brought out by a sudden glare of light--a face of which the stern lineaments, familiar surely, yet now so distorted as to be unrecognised, denoted some set purpose ina.s.sailable by pity or remorse. In the gleaming eyes, fixed steadfastly on his own, he read a horror that seemed to freeze his blood; but even then in his ghastly trance the stout old heart laughed within him, to acknowledge no sense of fear.

Yes; he must be dreaming. What else could mean these gathering shadows that oppressed his lungs, that smarted in his eyes, that numbed his faculties? He was in a glow of torpid warmth now, conscious but of a heavy drowsiness, broken by leaping flashes of light; while there pa.s.sed before him, like a spirit floating across a sea of fire, the delicate head, the pale proud face, the matchless beauty of his queen. He stretched his gaunt old arms, he strove to rise, to cry out; but his limbs failed him, his head drooped, his tongue clove to his mouth.

"A dream," he thought again; "surely a dream."

But it was the last dream of the Great King, fallen into that sleep from which he never woke on earth again.

CHAPTER XX

GONE TO THE STARS

Bowed in the dust, his heart torn with anguish, as his mantle was rent from hem to hem, Arbaces grovelled on his chamber floor, blind to the shades of coming night, deaf to the sounds of sacred riot and religious festivity that rang through all the city round. He was like a man in a trance; and yet, though such noises were powerless to rouse his faculties, they woke at once to a distant echo, that his practised ear knew for the tramp of an armed party, to a faint familiar music his fighting instincts warned him was the clink of steel.

With one spring he leaped to his feet, s.n.a.t.c.hed spear and shield from the wall, drew his sword-belt tighter round his loins; and so, with prospect of danger and necessity for action, felt he was a man again.

Brave and wary, he ran on to a terrace of his palace which overlooked the court. His heart sank to perceive that it was already filled with spearmen, amongst whom two or three white-robed priests of Baal were conspicuous. Something told him then that his enemies were upon him.

Remembering his fidelity to his old warrior lord, and the hostility he had never shrunk from provoking in that monarch's service, he knew, even while he recognised the spearmen as belonging to the queen's army, that some powerful conspiracy was in the ascendant, and he must die. At the same instant came across him the warning that Ishtar had read in his divining cup, under the semblance of blood.

They were in the court; they were crowding to the staircase. The only chance of saving his daughter was to make such a desperate stand before the women's apartments as should give her time to escape by the terrace on the roof to an adjoining dwelling, and thence fly to take refuge.

Where? Not in the temple of Baal; not in the palace of Semiramis. No, the last hope of safety must lie under the roof of the Great King.

Most of the retainers were absent, partaking in the festivities of the night. Half a score or so gathered round him on the stairs, and of these he must dispatch one to warn Ishtar that they were a.s.sailed.

Even in that anxious moment he remembered how, long ago, he had held a pa.s.s in Bactria, though sore out-numbered, and the Great King said it was well and bravely done.

They called on him to surrender. They must search his palace, said their leader--one who had formerly been under his own command, whom he recognised as a bold, remorseless, and desperate man.

"You have no authority," replied Arbaces, eager but to gain time, minute by minute. "I am chief captain of all his hosts, under my lord the king."

The other was prompt and resolute enough.

"May the king live for ever!" said he mechanically; adding, in short sharp tones, "Open out, spearmen! Advance, archers, and bend your bows!"

The front rank of spears stepped aside, unmasking a line of bowmen, with every weapon drawn to the arrow's head.

To pause was instant death. Arbaces raised his buckler, leaped down the staircase, and dashed into their midst.

At first, archers and spearmen gave way before the a.s.sault of that practised warrior; but what was one in the midst of scores who had sworn to put him to death? With a gash from temple to chin, with a spear-head in his body, a javelin through his thigh, he fell where he had been lying when they roused him, under the very feet of his own image, sculptured on the wall to celebrate his fame.

An arm was raised to strike, the angry steel quivered above his head; nevertheless that threatening spearman had followed Arbaces to victory more than once, and he would have forborne to slay his old leader, had he dared. But a hoa.r.s.e voice rose, fierce and savage, above the din.

"Strike," it said, "and spare not! Baal hath spoken, and the stars cannot lie!"

The pitiless words came from a priest whose white robes hovered on the skirts of the encounter. They were followed by a downward thrust, a gush of blood, and a hollow groan. Turning on his face to die, Arbaces gasped a few broken syllables. The spearman who slew him, less remorseful now, like a wild-beast that has tasted blood, heard them many a night afterwards in his dreams, though they only murmured, "The king hath spoken. O king, live for ever!"

Panting, pale, beside herself with fear, Ishtar had taken refuge, as her father bade, on the roof of the palace, with the intention of escaping thence into the street. At the very spot where she had met Sarchedon, watched a cloaked figure, and her heart leapt for one wild moment with the thought that the man she loved had dropped from the skies to save her at her need. Ere she could perceive he was not unattended, almost before she was conscious of her illusion, she found her arms pinioned, a shawl cast over her head, and herself borne forcibly away on stalwart shoulders, while a sweet soft voice whispering terms of pa.s.sionate endearment in her ears, left no doubt as to the object and results of the outrage to which she was exposed.

Blindfold, gagged, half-stifled, she scarcely felt she was carried rapidly down several steps into the street ere she became unconscious.

With the fresh air outside the walls, her senses returned, and she knew by its sidelong pace and the rate at which it travelled that she was riding a powerful dromedary, docile as an ox, swift as a courser, and to all appearance no more sensible of fatigue than a boat.

Then a horror of despair came over her; for she felt that those two she loved best in the world must be lost to her for ever. Had Arbaces been alive he would have rescued her. In such a captivity as seemed imminent, how was she ever to set eyes on Sarchedon again? The shawl was still round her head; but its folds had been loosened, so that she might breathe more freely; and she could perceive the soft surface of the desert sand pa.s.sing beneath her, as she glided on smooth and noiseless like a ghost. Utterly broken down, she bowed her head on her knees in an agony of despair; and still that whisper stole into her ear at intervals, with its hateful protestations of a love she loathed and an admiration she despised.

So she journeyed into the desert, while her father lay dead in the court of his palace, and her lover sought her wildly, hurrying to and fro in a paroxysm of grief and fear.

Once, in an early stage of her fearful journey, she was conscious that the dromedary had been urged to its utmost speed. She fancied, too, that she could distinguish shouts, and other sounds of strife. m.u.f.fled and confused, it was fortunate for her that she did not know their cause.

With the first shades of evening, Sarchedon had taken advantage of the darkness to escape. He had no difficulty in finding an egress from the temple of Baal; nor did he meet with any interruption from the priests, who, busied in their several offices, bore without exception an air of considerable excitement and preoccupation. One figure indeed he pa.s.sed, wrapped in a mantle that completely shrouded face and form, of which there was something feminine in the graceful outlines, though the height was as the height of a man. It never moved, nor seemed aware of his presence, when he glided by, remaining in an att.i.tude of profound meditation, conscious only of its own engrossing train of thought. Could he have seen the beautiful face, so fixed and rigid, behind that veil, could he have read the purpose burning under that gentle brow, he would have fled from the Great Queen in horror and loathing, faster even than he hurried towards Ishtar in anxiety and hope. No sooner was he clear of the temple than his spirits rose, his energy returned, and his project of escaping from Babylon with her he loved while there was yet time grew to a fierce over-mastering desire, like that of a man who is suffocating for the air which is his life.

Hastening to his home, he made ready Merodach for a journey, and bridled the good horse with his own hands; then took his way through the city, now ablaze with innumerable torches and ringing with sounds of festival, towards the palace of Arbaces.

But the streets swarmed with revellers, and his progress was necessarily slow. When he arrived at the well-known dwelling, it was too late.

The dead body of the chief captain lay stark and grim where it had fallen. The servants had fled, the place was empty, and Ishtar nowhere to be found.

In such a catastrophe the first impulse of a brave man seems to be one of resistance and defiance, as though his combative instincts were aroused, and he could face his fate more calmly because he feels the worst has come at last. Cool and collected, Sarchedon soon satisfied himself that the woman he loved had been carried away by force from her father's dwelling; and a few cautious questions in the streets enabled him to discover the gate by which she had left the town.

Little by little he learned the maddening truth, and traced her through the gardens and vineyards that surrounded the city walls into the desert. Once on the sand, with a rising moon to help him, he could track the footmarks of her dromedary surely as the bloodhound tracks a wounded deer. He had not travelled many furlongs ere he came up with a small band of wayfarers, plodding on their patient a.s.ses into the wilderness, and recognised the Israelite whom a.s.sarac had released, and to whom, during his captivity in the camp of the a.s.syrians, Sarchedon had himself done more than one slight service.

He reined in his horse, and learnt that a party such as he was in search of had pa.s.sed them not long before. There were scarce half a score; they were armed; they travelled fast; their horses were of the n.o.blest breed, and the dromedary in their midst seemed to have the wings of the desert wind. Had he not better tarry with his informants where they meant to encamp till morning? He would never overtake those whom he pursued.