Читать книгу Sarchedon - A Legend of the Great Queen - George J. Whyte-Melville - Страница 6

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The silence lasted but a short space. When his lord, ere he accompanied that priestly escort into the palace, bestowed one parting caress on Merodach, shouts longer and more deafening than ever went up into the sunny sky. The good horse, led away by half a dozen negroes, now seemed to attract universal attention; for Sarchedon had disappeared between the gigantic bulls of stone that guarded each entrance to the royal dwelling. His armour, here and there defaced with sword-stroke or spear-thrust, his dusty, travel-stained garments, and, notwithstanding bodily strength and warlike training, the weary gait of one who has seen the sun set twice without quitting the saddle, were in marked contrast to the glittering splendour and refined magnificence of all that surrounded him. The marble steps, skirted by their entablatures of gilding and sculpture coloured to the life; the broad level terrace, glistening and polished like a steel breastplate inlaid with gold; the regal front of the costly palace itself, with its colossal eagle-headed figures, its winged monsters, couching or erect, its sacred emblems, its strange deities, its mystic forms, tributes of adoration offered to a host of gods, as the long succession of lifelike carvings on the walls, brought out in high relief with boldness of design and brightness of tint, were memorials of the triumphs won by a line of kings.

Here were represented the pleasures of the chase, the vicissitudes of war, the lion, the stag, the boar, the wild bull, beasts, landscapes, rivers, chariots and horsemen, warriors, captives, towers, and towns. Above rose a hundred stately pillars to support their painted chambers roofed with cedar and other precious wood, inlaid in elaborate and fantastic patterns, brilliant with vermilion or other gaudy colours, and profusely ornamented with gold. Over these lofty rooms rose yet another story, on ivory columns carved with the utmost skill that Indian handicraft could produce and Bactrian triumphs furnish, under a roof of which the very battlements and parapets were plated with silver and gold.

High above all towered the sacred structure of cedar, which formed that mysterious retreat, remote from the gaze of man, where none might enter but the monarch alone when ministering in his holy office, and combining in his own person the sacred characters of priest and king.

Assarac left his retinue at the gate of the palace, where stood two pillars of sardonyx to render poison innocuous should it pass through, and over which a gigantic carbuncle flashed its lurid rays, that seemed to shed an angry gleam even in the darkness of night. He bade Sarchedon follow, and the pair strode swiftly on through a cool and spacious hall, propped by as many columns as there were days in the Assyrian year, or furlongs in the circuit of the city walls, till, having thus traversed the palace at its narrowest part, they emerged once more on a paradise or garden, where the first object that met their eyes was a wild stag roused from his lair, and scouring with all the freedom of his native mountains to the shelter of a neighbouring thicket.

"She seldom hunts within these gardens now," was the priest's comment on this startling incident. "She cares for no tamer pastime than to ride the lion down, and shoot him with bow and arrow when at bay. There are none left here since my lord the king slew three with his javelin not a bowshot from where we stand; so she must away to the desert, or the mountains beyond the great river, for the sport she loves so well. Follow me close; you might lose yourself in this pleasant labyrinth, and it is death, my friend—by impalement too!—for any one caught disturbing the game."

He looked keenly in the other's face while he spoke, and seemed gratified to observe that the young soldier received this announcement with perfect unconcern.

Notwithstanding the power of an Assyrian sun, its rays could not penetrate to the darkling path by which they now threaded a tangled thicket of verdure—the tender flickering of green leaves above their heads, the sweet carol of song-birds in their ears, and a carpet of velvet turf beneath their steps—while they followed the course of a rippling stream, guiding them by its murmur, rather than its leap and sparkle, back to the light of day. Emerging from this grateful shade, they found a broad sheet of water spread at their feet, its surface dotted with wild fowl, its banks fringed with flowers, reflecting in its dazzling mirror a temple of silver and ivory raised in honour of Dagon, the fish-god, and much affected by the Great Queen, who, leaving her own especial palace, loved to retire here with her women and wile away the hottest hours of the summer's day.

One of these attendants seemed in expectation of the priest; for, appearing suddenly in the portico of the temple, she made him a sign to follow, and led the way, wrapping her veil so carelessly about her as to afford ample opportunity for contemplation of her charms. At another time Sarchedon might have observed with greater interest the jetty locks and rich Southern colouring of this smiling dame; but besides his new-born taste for beauty of a fairer, paler, and more gentle type, his heart was beating, as it had never beat in the hurtle of chariots and press of horsemen, at the thought that he was about to enter her presence with whose name the whole world rang.

Immediately within the entrance of this temple hung a curtain of crimson silk embroidered in lotus-flowers of gold. Assarac raised the hangings, and stepping quickly aside, gave place while he let them fall behind his comrade. Sarchedon, prostrating his forehead till it touched the cool shining floor, found himself alone with the Great Queen.

The temple was circular, paved, panelled, vaulted, in ivory and silver, the latter wrought and frosted with exceeding taste and skill, the former carved into a thousand fantastic patterns, delicate and elaborate as needlework. In the midst, a fountain threw its jets of silver to the roof, falling back in silvery showers to an ivory basin, of which the sparkling waters were thus continually moved with a refreshing drip and murmur. White doves flitted about the building, or cooed their drowsy love-song, perched peacefully on pinnacle and shaft. An odour of some subtle perfume, like incense mingled with the scent of flowers, stole on Sarchedon's senses; while he became aware of a figure reclining on the couch of silver and ivory over against the entrance. He dared not raise his eyes, and it was but the hem of her garment that he looked on, while he heard the low musical tones of that enchantress who was destined to subjugate the world.

"Rise, trusty messenger," said Semiramis; "fear not to tell me your tidings for good or evil, and speak with me face to face. He must needs be welcome who carries a token from my lord the king."

Sarchedon sprang to his feet at her bidding, and stood before the queen, as fair a specimen of youth, manhood, and warlike grace as could have been selected from the countless myriads that formed her husband's hosts. He averted his eyes, nevertheless, and kept his head bent down while, plucking from his breast the jewel that had already gained him admission, he replied:

"The light of the queen's countenance dazzles the eyes of her servant. Let him take courage to look but once, and be blind for evermore!"

While he spoke he laid the signet on a silken cushion under her feet. She glanced at it carelessly enough, and bent her eyes on the young warrior with a smile, half soft, half scornful.

"Am I then so dangerous to look upon?" said she; "the face of a queen should be gracious to a faithful servant. I say to you, Look and live!"

A thrill of intense triumph and pleasure shot through him with her words. He took courage to scan the form and features of that celebrated woman, whose intellect and beauty had already made her mistress of the mightiest nation in the East.

She was beautiful no doubt, in the nameless beauty that wins, no less than in the lofty beauty that compels. Her form was matchless in symmetry, so that her every gesture, in the saddle or on the throne, was womanly, dignified, and graceful, while each dress she wore, from royal robe and jewelled tiara to steel breastplate and golden headpiece, seemed that in which she looked her best. With a man's strength of body, she possessed more than a man's power of mind and force of will. A shrewd observer would have detected in those bright eyes, despite their thick lashes and loving glance, the genius that can command an army and found an empire; in that delicate, exquisitely chiselled face, the lines that tell of tameless pride and unbending resolution; in the full curves of that rosy mouth, in the clean-cut jaw and prominence of the beautifully-moulded chin, a cold recklessness that could harden on occasion to pitiless cruelty—stern, impracticable, immovable as fate.

But Sarchedon only saw a lovely woman of queenly bearing, glancing approval on his glowing face. His Southern nature seemed to expand like a flower in the sunshine of her smiles.

His looks could not fail to express admiration, and she, who might have been satiated with homage, seemed well pleased to accept as much as he had to offer.

Bending towards him with a gesture of condescension, that was almost a caress, she bade him advance yet nearer to her couch.

"And now," said she, "that you have looked on this terrible face of mine without perdition, tell me your tidings from the camp. What of the war? what of the host? what of my lord the king?"

"The war is ended," he answered briefly; "the host is victorious. My lord the king will return in triumph ere another day be past."

She started, but controlled herself with an effort.

"Enough," she answered haughtily and coldly; "you have done your duty—you are dismissed!"

Then she clapped her hands, and from behind the silken hangings appeared the woman who had guided Sarchedon into the temple.

"Kalmim," said the queen, still in the same constrained voice, "take this messenger to Assarac without delay; bid the priest report to me, at sunset, all the details he can learn from him regarding the host. But stay"—her tone changed to one of winning sweetness, soft, sad, and irresistible—"not till he has had food and rest. You have ridden day and night through the desert; you have looked on your queen's face and lived. Take courage, you may live to look on it again."

With the last words she turned on him one of her rare intoxicating smiles, and the strong soldier left her presence helpless, confused, staggering like a man who wakes out of a dream.

Within the gardens, or paradise, belonging to the royal palace stood a vast pile of building, dedicated to the worship of Baal, and surrounding the lofty tower of Belus, raised on the same site, and nearly to the same altitude, as that by which human rebellion presumed to offend after the Flood. Here, at the head of a thousand priests, dwelt Assarac in solemn state and splendour, officiating daily in sacrifices offered to the gods of Assyria, and their numerous satellites—Assarac, who combined in his own person the leadership of religion and of politics; for, during the absence of Ninus on his Egyptian expedition, it had been the ambitious eunuch's aim to share, if he could not guide, the queen's counsels, and, as far as he dared, to centre in his own person the executive of government.

Sarchedon found himself, therefore, again threading the shady paths by which he had come, but on this occasion under the conduct of a guide less swift of foot than the priest but, as became her sex, more nimble of tongue. Kalmim made no scruple of unveiling, to afford her companion the whole benefit of her charms.

"A good beginning indeed," said this saucy dame, with a smile that did justice to the reddest lips and wickedest eyes in Babylon; "you are in favour, my young lord, I can tell you. To have seen her face to face is no small boast; but that she should take thought of your food and rest, and bid me charge myself with your guidance through this deserted wilderness! why, I cannot remember her so gracious to any one since—well—since the last of them—there, you needn't look so bold at an unveiled woman—I ought never to have brought you here alone!"

It was almost a challenge; but he was busy with his own thoughts, and made no reply. Kalmim, unaccustomed to neglect, attributed his silence, not unnaturally, to exhaustion and fatigue.

"You are weary," said she kindly; "faint, doubtless, from lack of food, and would not confess it to save your life? O, you men, how your pride keeps you up! and why are you only ashamed of those things in which there is no disgrace?"

He compelled himself to answer, though his thoughts were far away.

"I am not ashamed to be faint and athirst. I have ridden two nights and a day, and drank water but once—at the Well of Palms."

"The Well of Palms!" she repeated, her woman's wit marking his abstraction, and assigning to it a woman's cause. "It is the sweetest water in all the land of Shinar. It would taste none the worse when drawn for you by the daughter of Arbaces."

"Ishtar!" he exclaimed, while his whole face brightened. "You have seen her—you know her! Is she not beautiful?"

Kalmim laughed scornfully.

"Beautiful!" she echoed, "with a poor thin face, white as ivory, and solemn as Dagon's yonder, in the fishing-temple! Well, well! then she is beautiful, if you like; and we shall learn next that she is good as well as fair!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, stopping short to look his companion in the face.

Kalmim burst into another laugh.

"I mean nothing, innocent youth!—for strangely innocent you are, though the beard is budding on your chin. And a modest maiden means nothing, I suppose, who frequents the well at which every traveller from the desert must needs halt—who draws water for warriors to drink, and unveils for a stranger she never saw before! Yes, I am unveiled too, I know; but it is different here. The queen's palace has its privileges; and, believe me, they are sometimes sadly abused!"

"Not by one who has just left the light of her presence," answered Sarchedon, angered to the core, though he scarce knew why. "I have never been taught to offend against the majesty of a king's house—to believe a fenced city taken because a bank is cast against it, nor a woman my lawful prize because she lifts her veil."

Next to making love, Kalmim enjoyed quarrelling. To tease, irritate, and perplex a man, was sport only second to that of seeing him at her feet. She clapped her hands mischievously, and exclaimed,

"You are bewitched, my lord! Confess, now. She unveiled to turn her eyes on you before you got to horse and went your way. Is it possible you do not know who and what she is?"

"Good or evil," he answered, "tell me the truth."

"She bears her mother's name," replied Kalmim; "and, like her mother, the blood that flows in her veins is mingled with the fire that glitters in the stars of heaven—a fire affording neither light nor heat, serving only to dazzle and bewilder the children of earth. Arbaces took a wife from that race whom, far off in the northern mountains, the daughters of men bare to the spirits of the stars, tempting them down from their golden thrones with song and spell and all the wiles of grosser earth-born beauty;—deceiving, debasing the Sons of Light, to be by them deceived and deserted in turn, left to sorrow through long years of hopeless solitude and remorse. Old people yet speak of some who had themselves heard the voice of mourning on those mountains in the still sad night—the shriek of woman wailing for the lost lover, in whose bright face she might never look again! Ishtar, the wife of Arbaces, possessed her share of the unearthly influence hereditary in her race. Her husband became a slave. He loved the very print of her feet on the sand. Travelling here from Nineveh, while this great city was building, he halted in the desert, and Ishtar walked out from her tent into the cool starlight night. They say he followed a few paces off. Suddenly she stopped, and stretched her hands towards the sky, like one in distress or pain. Rushing forward to take her in his arms, she vanished out of his very grasp. At sunrise a camel-driver found Arbaces senseless on the plain, and Ishtar was seen no more in tent or palace. But all the love he bore the mother seemed henceforth transferred to the child. Doubtless she has bewitched him too. Beware, my lord—beware! I have heard of men leaving real springs in the desert for shining rivers and broad glittering lakes, that faded always before them into the hot interminable waste. I am but a woman; yet, had I your chance of fortune, I would think twice before I bartered it away for a draught of water and an empty dream!"

He seemed very sad and thoughtful, but they had now reached the temple, and he made no reply. A white-robed priest received the young warrior at its portal with every mark of respect, and ushered him into the cool and lofty building, where bath, raiment, food, and wine, he said, were already prepared, casting a look of intelligence at Kalmim, who answered with as meaning a glance, and one of her brightest smiles. Then dropping her veil, since nobody was there to see her handsome face, she tripped back a good deal faster than she had come to her duties about the person of the Great Queen.