Читать книгу Sarchedon: A Legend of the Great Queen - G. J. Whyte-Melville - Страница 17

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Leaning on his spear within a day's march of the Great City, the tall figure of a warrior loomed massive and indistinct in the early light of morning breaking on the Assyrian camp. Line by line, shade by shade, as dawn stole slowly upward, his form came out in bolder relief. Presently a dark blurred mass, some few paces off, took the shape of a sleeping camel; soon shadowy tents, dusky banners, spoil, arms, accoutrements, all the encumbrances of an army on the march, grew into their real outline, filled with their respective colours; and the man's features, under his steel headpiece, became plainly visible in the light of day.

He was arrayed in the utmost splendour of armour and apparel. The former, inlaid throughout with gold, shone bright and polished like a mirror, though the goodly silks and heavy embroidery that formed the latter were sadly rent and frayed by the press of many a hot encounter, the wear and tear of many a weary march. He wore in his girdle a short straight sword with jewelled hilt and ornamented scabbard, carried a bow and quiver of arrows at his back, and a shield studded with precious stones on his arm. From his shoulders hung an ample mantle of crimson silk, bordered with deep fringes of gold; while the head of the spear, or rather javelin, on which he rested, though broad, sharp, and heavy, was plated and ornamented with the same costly metal.

In such an arm it seemed no doubt a formidable weapon; for the man's square frame and weighty limbs denoted great personal strength; while his marked features wore an expression of habitual fierceness, in accordance with a swarthy complexion, thick black brows, and ample curling beard.

He was buried in thought of no pleasing nature, to judge by the working of his lips and the scowling glances he directed towards a tent standing apart, of which two upright spears tufted with ostrich-plumes marked, and seemed to guard, the entrance.

As morning brightened, the whole camp came into view from the mound where he kept guard, and whereon the Great King's tent was pitched—a camp of many sleeping thousands, ranged in warlike order under a hundred banners drooping heavily in the still clear air.

Suddenly the warrior started from his listless attitude into life and action; for a light step was approaching, and a figure advanced to the tufted spears that denoted the abode of royalty.

"Stand!" he exclaimed in threatening accents, advancing his shield and raising the javelin to strike. "Nay, pass, Sethos," he added with a scornful laugh. "I have no orders to stop the king's cup-bearer; but you are on foot betimes this morning, though you wot well the old lion stirs not before break of day."

Sethos patted the wine-skin under his arm—a homely vessel enough, though its contents were to be poured into a jewelled cup.

"The old lion laps ever at sunrise," said he; "and the hunter who brings him to drink need not fear to enter his lair."

"Fear!" repeated the other with an accent of contempt. "He who deals with lions must forget the meaning of the word. 'Tis thus, man, they are trapped and tamed."

"Of a truth," answered Sethos, "I once believed that in all the hosts of Assyria or of Egypt was to be found no frown so dark as gathers on the brows of the Great King when he is angered. By the beard of Ashur, Sargon, I have seen a fiercer look of late on the face of one who used to be ready with smile and wine-cup as with bow and spear; and it comes from under the helmet, my friend, that keeps your head."

"Have I not cause?" muttered the other, speaking below his breath in the quick concentrated accents of intense feeling. "When the host marches into Babylon, and the women come out with song and timbrel to welcome the conquerors; when each man makes his boast, showing his treasure, his spoil, and the captives of his bow and spear; when my lord the king rewards his servants, giving gifts—to this a dress of honour, to that a beautiful slave, to another a talent of gold and spoil of household stuff—what shall be done for Sargon, the king's shield-bearer, returning childless and bereaved by the king's own hand? Boy, it is well I hold not your place. I might be tempted to mix that in the cup which should cause Ninus to pour out his next drink-offering amongst a host of heaven in whom he professes to have no belief."

"Dangerous words," answered Sethos, "and empty as they are rash. Why, man, you yourself cover him in battle with his shield. It is but lowering your arm a cubit, and the king's life is in your hand."

"I could not do it," said Sargon, drawing himself proudly up. "It shall never be said that the great Assyrian fell to point of Egyptian arrow, or gash of Bactrian steel. Nay; though the fire on Sargon's hearth may be quenched, his name extinct, let Ninus fulfil his destiny, and sit amongst the gods like his forefathers. It may be they are waiting for him even now. Listen, Sethos; he calls from his tent. Hie thee into the lion's den, and pour him out such a morning's draught as shall keep him fasting from blood at least till noon."

Sethos—a handsome light-hearted youth, who as the king's cup-bearer enjoyed many privileges and immunities, of which he availed himself to the utmost—passed swiftly between the tufted spears, and with a low prostration raised its curtain, to enter the tent of the oldest and mightiest warrior in the world.

Ninus, half risen from his couch, ruder and simpler than that of any captain in his host, stretched his long gaunt arm with impatience for the wine he so craved, to replenish the exhausted energies and wasting powers of extreme old age. The Great King's face was pale and sunken; his eyes, deep in their sockets, were dull and dim; while his thin scattered locks, shaggy brows, and long flowing beard had turned white as snow. Nevertheless, the wreck of that mighty frame, like some hoary fortress crumbling and tottering into ruin, still showed the remnant of such grand proportions, such fabulous strength as was allotted to the men of olden time, when earth was new and nature inexhaustible. Yet was it whispered through the host, that as their fiercest champion would have seemed a mere child by the side of their king in his prime, so was Ninus but as a babe compared with great Nimrod, his ancestor, the god of their idolatry, and mighty founder of their race.

Sethos tendered the wine-cup as in duty bound, then stood with hands crossed before him, and looks bent lowly on the earth. The king drained his morning draught to the dregs; and for a moment there rose a faint flush on the ashen features, a lurid glow in the wan weary eyes—but only to fade as quickly; and it was a sadly tremulous hand, though so broad and sinewy, that grasped his wine-cup; while the deep voice came very hoarse and broken in which he asked Sethos,

"Who waits outside? Is it near sunrise?"

"Sargon, the royal shield-bearer," was the answer, "has been on guard since cock-crow; and Shamash, Prince of Light, will doubtless show himself above the horizon so soon as my lord the king appears at the door of his tent."

Ninus bent his shaggy brows in displeasure on the volubility of his servant.

"Halt!" said he. "Rein in thy tongue, lest the dogs have their share of it without the camp. Fill yet again; and let me hear no more of this endless jargon about the gods."

It was death to laugh in the king's presence; but Sethos, replenishing the goblet to its brim, did not repress a smile. The old warrior's second draught seemed somewhat to renew his strength.

"Reach me that gown," said he—"the heavy one; and the girdle yonder. Fool! that in which hangs the sword—my good old sword! Ha! if Baal and Ashtaroth had done for me but one half the service of horse and weapon, they might take their share of the spoil, and welcome. By the belt of Nimrod, they shall not have one shekel more than a tenth this time! Thirteen gods, by my beard, and every god a thousand priests! Why, it is enough to ruin the richest king that ever built treasure-house. I must reduce them. I will about it at once, when the people are busy with the triumph. I wonder what she will say—my beautiful! I angered her long ago, when I refused to worship Satan up yonder in the mountains. I would be loath to anger her again, though I will worship nothing but the eyes that are watching fondly for my return."

Old, exhausted, weary as he was, there came a gentle look over his grim war-worn face while he thought of the woman he loved so fondly, whom it had cost him so much of crime and cruelty to possess. But the passion of acquisition, almost inseparable from age, was strong in the king's heart; and it chafed him to think the votaries of Baal should so largely share in the fruits of this his last and most successful expedition beyond the Nile.

Sethos, standing before him in the prescribed attitude of respect, marked every shade of his lord's countenance, drawing his own conclusions, and preserving his usual air of imperturbable good humour and self-conceit.

The early flush of sunrise now stole under the hangings of the tent, crimsoning the cup-bearer's feet where he stood, so that his sandals looked as if they had been dipped in blood.

"Bid them sound trumpets," said the king. "Go tell Arbaces that the vanguard must set themselves in array at once. Where is Ninyas? He should have been waiting before his father's tent ere now. Wine, sloth, and pleasure—he loves them all too well. Yet the boy drew a good bow in his first battle, and rode through Pharaoh's horsemen, dealing about him like Nimrod himself. Go, bring him hither; and, Sethos, as you pass through the camp, order the captain of the night to call in the watches. So soon as the camels are loaded I shall march."

A warrior to the very marrow, Ninus loved such minute details as the marshalling of a vanguard, or the ordering of an encampment, better than all the pomp of royalty; and felt more at ease in steel harness, on the back of a good steed, than seated in purple and gold, with the royal parasol over head, the royal sceptre in hand, an object of worship to adoring crowds in ancient Nineveh, or even great Babylon itself.

His son Ninyas, on the contrary, though scarcely yet verging on manhood, was already steeped in sensuality, and a slave to that reckless indulgence of the appetites which so soon degenerates from pleasure into vice. His grim father perhaps would have been less patient of excesses and outbreaks in camp and city but for the lad's exceeding beauty and likeness to his mother, Semiramis, whose race and womanly graces were reproduced with startling fidelity in those delicate boyish features, that lithe symmetry of form.

Sethos was a prime favourite with the prince, who approached his father's tent, leaning on the cup-bearer's shoulder, in respectful haste, denoted by his flushed face and disordered apparel. Though careless of the displeasure with which Ninus visited such unwarlike negligence, as he was of everything save the folly of the moment, he had put on neither harness nor headpiece, had neither taken a spear in his hand nor girt a sword upon his thigh.

The old king's shaggy brows lowered till they almost hid his dull stern eyes.

"What maiden is this," said he, "who comes thus unveiled into the camp of warriors? Go, take needle in hand, and busy them with cunning embroidery if those unmanly fingers be too dainty to bear the weight of heavier steel."

It was death to laugh in the king's presence, death to assume any other than the prescribed attitude with bowed head and crossed hands; nevertheless a merry peal rang through the tent, the boy tossed the king's goblet in the air, and caught it again, while his fresh young voice answered lightly,

"There is a season for all things, father, and I like fighting at the proper time as well as old Nimrod himself. But this is a day of victory and rejoicing. I begin it with a drink-offering to my lord the king."

He held the cup to Sethos while he spoke, laughing to see how little of the generous fluid was left in the wine-skin. His mirth was contagious, and the old lion smiled a grim smile while he laid his large wrinkled hand on the lad's shoulder, with a kindly gesture that was in itself a caress.

"Begone with you!" said he, "and if proven harness be too heavy for those young bones, at least take bow and spear in hand. It was thus your mother came riding into camp the first time I ever saw those arched brows of hers. You have her fair face, lad, and something of her proud spirit and wilful heart."

He looked after the boy sadly and with a wistful shake of his head; but just then a trumpet sounded, and the old warrior's eye gleamed, his features assumed their usual fierce and even savage expression, while he summoned his armour-bearer to rivet harness on his back, and the captains of his host to take their short, stern orders for the day.

And now the whole camp was astir. Tents were struck and camels loaded with a rapidity only acquired by the daily repetition of such duties under the eye of discipline and in presence of an enemy. Ere long, where horses and beasts of burden had been loosely picketed, or wandering half tethered amongst bundles of unbound forage, between the lines of dusky weather-stained tents—where spears had been piled in sheaves, amongst cooking utensils and drinking vessels—where bow and arrow, sword and shield, helm and habergeon, had been tossed indiscriminately on war-chariots, horse furniture, or scattered heaps of spoil—where the movable city had seemed but a confused and disorganised mass, was fairly marshalled the flower of an Assyrian army, perfect in formation, splendid in equipment, and no less formidable, thus disposed in its smooth motionless concentration, like a snake prepared to strike, than when drawn out in winding shining lines to encircle and annihilate its foe.

Even the captives had their allotted station, and with the spoil were disposed in mathematical regularity, to be guarded by a chosen band of spears. These prisoners were of two kinds, separate and distinct in every detail of feature, form, and bearing. The darker portion, some of whom were so swarthy that their colour looked like bronze, scowled with peculiar hatred on their conquerors, and, as it seemed, with the more reason that several bore such wounds and injuries as showed they had fought hard before they were taken alive, while a whiter-skinned and better-favoured race, with flowing beards, high features, and stately bearing, who kept entirely apart and to themselves, seemed to accept the proceedings of their captors in the forbearance of conscious superiority, not without a certain sympathy, as of those who have interests and traditions in common with their masters.

The admiration of all, however, was compelled by the imposing appearance of those war-chariots and horsemen that formed the strength and pride of an Assyrian army.

As the old king, tottering somewhat under the weight of his harness, appeared at the door of his tent, the entire host was set in motion—bowmen and slingers in front, followed by a body of horsemen glittering in scarlet and gold, raising clouds of dust, while their trumpets sounded above the neigh and trample of those horses of the desert that knew neither fatigue nor fear; then, with stately even tread, marched a dark serried column of spears, bearded, curled, and stalwart warriors, every man with shield on arm, sword on thigh, and lance in hand; next, the war-chariots, thousands in number, with a roll like distant thunder, as they came on in a solid mass of moving iron, tipped with steel. After these a few priests of Baal, weary and dejected, walking with but little assumption of sacred dignity, bore the image of a bull and a few other idols small and portable, but formed of molten gold. These hurried on, as if they feared to be ridden down by the king's body-guard who succeeded them, picked champions, every one of whom must have slain an enemy outright with his own hand, mounted on white steeds, and glistening with shields and helmets of gold. In their rear rode Arbaces, the captain of the host, and immediately behind him came the chariot and led horse of the monarch himself.

As these reached the mound on which the royal tent was pitched, the whole force halted, and a shiver of steel ran like the ripple of a wave along their ranks, while every man brandished his weapon over his head, and shouted the name of the Great King.

Ninus stood unmoved, though for an instant the wrinkles seemed less furrowed on his brow. They gathered, however, deeper than ever, when his quick eye caught sight of Ninyas reclining in his chariot, with his favourite Sethos beside him, and a cup of wine half-emptied in his hand.

The king's own chariot was in waiting; but he caused it to pass on, and bade them bring his war-horse, a fiery animal, that came up curvetting and champing at its bit. Sargon, with the same scowl that had never left his face, went down on hands and knees for his lord to mount with greater advantage from off his back, and Ninus, settling himself in the saddle, while the war-horse plunged with a force that would have unseated many a younger rider, looked his son fixedly in the face, observing in a tone of marked reproach,

"Couches for women! chariots for eunuchs! May you never learn to your cost, boy, that his good horse is the only secure throne for an Assyrian king!"

Then he signed with his hand, and while trumpets rang out, and warriors recovered their weapons, a globe of crystal, emblematic of the sun, and suspended above the royal tent, was illumined by a priest with sacred fire. As it flashed and kindled, the whole army set itself in motion, and the King of Nations was once more on the march towards his last triumph, after his last campaign.