Was it the night darkness that, by its contrast with his bright dream of
Zillah, awoke Hiram? However that may have been, he aroused himself with
the purpose of making his vision as near as possible a waking reality.
He would go to her. Her hand upon his brow always exorcised his evil
spirits, and he knew a pillow for a restless head softer than that of
his divan. He struck with his finger a disk of bronze that hung by the
couch. A deep, but exceedingly soft and sweet, note floated through the
apartment, and was instantly answered by the keeper of the royal
wardrobe. This honest fellow's loyalty was limited by the conviction
that the king should be the handsomest man in his realm, and he spared
no pains to make him such. Though he was not officially barber to his
majesty, he yet wrought upon the short curls on his master's head with
the exquisite care that a jeweller's etcher might have bestowed upon the
locks of a goddess he was transferring from his imagination to a golden
plate or goblet. The king was, ordinarily, far from fastidious regarding
his raiment, and had often flung off the royal gewgaws in which his
attendants arrayed him for state display. The same indifference to
appearance at times led him to the opposite extreme; as, on the day we
are narrating, he had worn the dress with which he had presided at the
council, also on the ship and amid the dirt of the foundries and
workshops. But upon certain occasions he was not averse to the
consideration of a goodly appearance, especially when he made his visits
to Zillah. The male bird will display his plumage to the utmost, and
pipe his sweetest notes, in the presence of the female. We may leave the
explanation of this to the naturalist and the novelist; we here only
record the fact that Hiram made no objection when his attendant brought
from the wardrobe a close-fitting tunic of Sindonese silk, the raw
material of which, brought from far-away India, had been woven without a
flaw on the Tyrian looms, and embroidered by skilful and patient fingers
with scarabs, lotus-blossoms, winged globes, and royal uræi, in a
combination of lines and colors that fascinated the eye with its general
effect as much as it bewildered by its details. About his neck he
suffered three collars to be placed; the upper one closely fitting his
throat, while the lower one hung far down upon his breast; all sparkling
with tiny gems. He girded his loins with a scarf of radiant colors, in
the knot of which shone a huge diamond, like a star in the belt of
Orion. His sandals were fastened with ribbons made of threads of gold,
and wound in cross-lines above his ankles, thus setting off as fine a
calf as ever kept time to the music of the dance. Could Hiram have seen
himself in the glass with his own eyes, instead of through the imagined
eyes of his mistress, he would have blushed for his effeminate bravery,
and preferred to don the tight leathern uniform of a common soldier.
But, to make his victorious entrance into a maiden's heart, he really
thought himself arrayed in heroic style.
The house of Ahimelek was near the eastern wall, in the highest part of
the city. From the east side it looked directly down upon the two
harbors, and across the narrow strait that divided the island from the
mainland. From its western balconies the view lay over the city, and far
out over the Great Sea. The proud old merchant delighted especially in
this prospect, which on every hand reminded him of the sources of his
wealth. Far away towards Cyprus he could sight the incoming vessels, and
towards Lebanon detect the slow-moving specks that were his caravans.
The house was of cedar. Its beam-heads and cornices were carved with
objects beautiful or grotesque, as pleased the fancy of the architect;
for Ahimelek had no standard by which to estimate its excellence beyond
its expense. Its projecting windows were closely screened, one with a
latticework of bronze, another of porphyry, another of alabaster, and
one with strips of agate closely cemented. The interior apartments were
panelled in richest woods, and floored with elaborate mosaics, upon
which were skins of lions, wolves, and leopards. Objects of curiosity
which his captains had brought from all the known countries of the
world--enormous tusks of elephants, nuggets of precious minerals,
diamonds with their incrustation of stone, plumage of strange birds,
vases of malachite and lapis-lazuli, the weapons of savages, and
bejewelled swords once worn by kings: these filled tables and niches,
and stood in the corners.
Ahimelek met the king as the latter alighted from his litter in the
central court. It needed no previous suspicion on the part of Hiram to
detect something inhospitable in the merchant's welcome. As they passed
the entrance together Ahimelek stopped. He seemed to be on the point of
speaking, yet no words came. Awkwardly he made way for the young man to
precede him; and, as the lover sought the apartment of Zillah, her
father stood looking after him with troubled countenance.
His formal and acknowledged betrothal to Zillah, according to
Phoenician custom, gave to Hiram every privilege a husband has in his
wife, except that of living with her. From the moment he had put the
ring upon her finger, and had given to her father the legal document
conveying certain property pledges, he became her virtual possessor and
guardian.
At the entrance to the apartment of his betrothed, Hiram was met by
Layah, Zillah's maid, a woman whose matronly manner contradicted the
story of her youthful face. Layah had once been the handmaiden of
Hiram's mother, and, but a little beyond him in years, had grown up as a
sort of official playmate in the nursery. Upon his mother's death he had
sent her as a gift to Zillah, who needed such a companion, since she had
scarcely known a mother's protection, and, without brothers or sisters,
was alone in the care of her father's house.
Layah's pride, when she ushered Hiram into the presence of her mistress,
was warranted, for she truly thought there was no more beautiful woman
in Tyre than the daughter of Ahimelek. And, indeed, Zillah's radiance
this night was refracted in additional lustre through the toilet her
maid had given her. A simple band of ribbon, with a single pearl
studding it, bound her jet-black hair, but did not confine it. Her locks
overflowed in clustering ringlets upon her forehead and temples, and
fell in waves upon her white neck. Her features were small, but so
clear-cut as to seem larger than in reality, and so animated were they
with health and joy that the long, pendent ear-rings of crystal, which
rested upon her shoulders, seemed to borrow from her face the light that
flashed in them. Her upper garment came close to the throat, and was
gathered into a sinus beneath the breast, by a girdle which was knotted
in front. Her exposed arms were of such graceful shape that one scarcely
noticed the wristlets and armlets with which her maid had insisted on
decorating them. Her full-flowing skirt of silk was so artfully looped
at the bottom as to reveal a foot and ankle, about which a serpent of
silver coiled in loving embrace.
Zillah's first welcome of Hiram was followed by a playful frown. She
held him at arm's-length, and curiously inspected his raiment.
"For shame, my Lord Hiram! I believe you have borrowed your cousin
Rubaal's clothes--the same he came to woo me in the day before you and I
were betrothed. You are more goodly-appearing with your sailor's cap and
coarse chiton than in these fashions of Tyre. See! I have discarded my
cap of pearls, and would not put on half the jewels Layah wanted me to,
because I thought you would like me better as I am."
She dexterously loosed his triple collar, and flung it upon a divan;
then plucked the great diamond from his scarf.
"Hold!" cried Hiram. "Do not throw that away. It may buy back our
throne, if Egbalus steals it. Let me put it here, where Artaxerxes
himself would not dare to pluck it."
He inserted the glowing jewel in the folds of the sinus of her dress.
"But why do you talk so much of Egbalus, dear Hiram?" she asked, as she
drew him to her side upon the divan. "Egbalus is only a priest, not even
a prince. And you have often said you did not believe in the priests.
Why care for what you do not believe in?"
"I do believe in the priests," said he, "just as I believe in scorpions
and other pests, because they are disagreeable facts. I suppose I ought
to be above letting them annoy me, as the people in the country build
booths on the roofs of their houses, and go to sleep there, knowing that
the scorpions cannot crawl so high. But I cannot sleep if I so much as
hear these priestly vermin scratch.
Do you remember, Zillah, the stories we used to invent as children with
Layah's help? They were generally about a king who was driven from his
throne, and went wandering over the world, and lost his queen somewhere,
and could not find her. You used to call yourself the queen, and imagine
all sorts of things you did without--without me; for I was always the
king, was I not?"
"And I always found you, too; and now I am going to keep you, and not
let you go wandering even in my dreams," replied the fair girl, throwing
her arm fondly about the shoulder of Hiram, with her cheek against his.
"Even Astarte does not have so good a hold on Tammuz, or, as the Greeks
call him, Adonis, when she has found him come to life again, as I have
on my Adonai--my lord."
Her lustrous eyes, as she gazed into his, seemed to drink love from his
heart.
"Ah, but Astarte has to lose her Adonis first, and her maidens go
mourning for him. So you might lose me. The Persian king has but to say
a word, and I must leave my throne. The satrap of Syria--only a
satrap--has more power than I, a king, and could depose me. These
priests could poison the mind of Artaxerxes; or they could poison me.
Do you not regret having promised to be my queen?"
The girl rose from the divan. She straightened her form to its full
height. Her pose was majesty itself. Her black eyes flashed with
indignant pride:
"Not even a king shall question either my love or my courage!"
Hiram, though startled, was not offended at this sudden transformation.
He had been frequently treated to novel exhibitions of her character;
but each one increased his admiration for her. She was to him a garden
of graces. At every turn in their intimacy some new beauty was revealed,
or some new sweetness exhaled from her life to gladden his. He did not,
however, expect to find in his garden a stately palm-tree--a character
so lofty and ruggedly strong. He now felt that she was more royal than
he, and he could have thrown himself at her feet as a slave. But through
all Zillah's severity of countenance there played a softer sentiment,
that overtempted him to a different expression of loyalty, and he caught
her to his arms, with the rapt exclamation: "A queen, indeed! My queen!"
She pushed him gently from her, and looked deeply into his eyes as if
she would dry up the very fountain of his soul, as the sun-god dries the
springs in summer, should he dare to question again the supremacy of her
love. She then took his face between her hands, as she said:
"I shall be Hiram's queen if he reigns only in a round boat, a pauper
pirate of the sea, or carries his crown on a camel flying across the
deserts. But"--her voice trembled, steadied only when his hot kiss had
acted as a tonic--"I would rather be simply Hiram's wife. Wife means
more than queen, does it not?"
The superb woman again became a girl; the palm-tree became a spray of
delicate vine that twined itself through and through Hiram's heart.
The long and silent embrace that followed was disturbed by loud talking
in the apartment of Ahimelek, which was across the recess entering from
the court, a sort of hallway that divided the business offices of the
merchant from the portion of the house that was devoted to domestic use.
"Ah! I know that screech," said Hiram. "It belongs to the night-hawk
Egbalus. He is always flitting about in the dark. Listen! What nest is
he putting his beak into now?"
The priest was evidently threatening and entreating by turns. Ahimelek
was as clearly on guard, like some fencer who knows the superior prowess
of his antagonist. His tones of voice showed that he was now objecting,
and now yielding point after point, only protecting his retreat. Whole
sentences were at length caught by the listeners, as the excitement of
the priest betrayed his caution:
"But, sire, you cannot prevent it. I have obtained the consent of every
other member of the council but yourself. No man can withstand the will
of Baal."
"Ah!" whispered Hiram to Zillah. "Your father, then, did not vote for
the sacrifice. I half thought as much. He has always assented to my view
that we are making too much of religion. If they would only leave me to
select the victims, I would order the sacrifice myself, and roast a
score or two of priests' spawn. I would make such a feast that Moloch
would be sick from surfeit for a hundred years. But listen!"
Egbalus was now fairly hissing his words: "You dare not refuse. It is
ruin to you and to your house. Hark you, Ahimelek! Your dealing with the
Egyptian is known. You accepted a bribe of ten thousand darics to
abandon the commerce of Cyprus and Memphis to the sailors of the Nile.
This is death by the laws of Tyre. And think not that having a son for
king will save a traitor. The evidence of it is written out. It is on
this parchment. A horseman stands ready to carry the news to the Great
King at Susa. It was treason against Persia. You know the end. Sign this
order of the priests of Baal, and I will tear up this damning document.
If not--"
The two listeners looked at each other with consternation. They knew
that the priests had spun some web about the merchant. True or false,
their accusation would ruin him. Hiram's first impulse was to enter the
room, and slay the priest as he stood. A second thought showed the
unwisdom of such a course. The plot must have other meshes, though
Egbalus held the chief string. A rash deed on the king's part would
precipitate an issue between the throne and the temple, with the
advantage in favor of the latter, since their plotting had been of long
continuance, and their purposes were well ripened.
"I shall advise your father to yield the point," said Hiram, rising. "A
few miserable babies more or less for a sacrifice, what does it
signify?"
He strode across the open space, and, unannounced, stood before the men.
His sudden appearance transformed the debate into a tableau. Egbalus was
standing rigidly erect, his hand clenched, and raised above his head;
his whole soul seemingly condensed into one act of will, dominating the
soul of Ahimelek; and that will was blazing from the priest's
half-demoniacal eyes. Had he uttered no words, the very pantomime would
have been enough to crush a weaker man's resolution. Ahimelek sat limp
and pale with terror before the priest.
Without awaiting an explanation, Hiram determined to rescue the merchant
from the straits into which his loyalty had apparently put him, and
said:
"Enough of this quarrel! Ahimelek, you have your king's permission to
assent. Let the priests have what sacrifice they will."
"Your majesty! Your majesty is mad!" jerked out Ahimelek, holding up his
hands in agonizing remonstrance.
"It is enough! I have said it," responded the king.
Egbalus was surprised, and stared as one confounded. But only for a
moment did he lose his self-possession. He was a consummate actor. He
could direct his most fiery passion by cold discretion, as the moulder
leads the molten metal into his patterns of sand. A look of holy
serenity suddenly diffused his countenance:
"Baal, I thank thee! Thou hast owned thy servant! Said I not so--that
the heart of the king would be so led by Baal that he himself would
consent? Most noble king! Servant of the gods! Let me kiss the feet of
him whom Baal receives as his son!"
He threw himself upon the floor before the king, who could scarcely
restrain an impulse to trample the hypocritical wretch with his heels.
It cost Hiram a mighty effort to obey his quick, intuitive discretion.
He did not even glance at the prostrate priest, but, with a look of
scorn and pity upon Ahimelek, he withdrew.
"Oh, for the power of a king!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered Zillah's
apartment. "I swear by all the gods that for the last time have I
yielded to the cruelty of these priests. To Sheol with the whole brood
of them!"
Hiram sank upon the divan by the side of Zillah, exhausted by the sharp
conflict of emotions through which he had passed. He rebuked himself for
the display of passion.
"But for your sake, my fair one, and the sake of your father, I would
have died rather than have done it. But my time will come, if there be
any power of justice back of these villainous gods who demand such
things."
"I see," said Zillah, putting her hand upon his brow, as if to exorcise
some demon there--"I see that you, too, could be cruel, dear Hiram."
"Yes, cruel as any other human beast, until I can abolish cruelty. And I
will abolish it--abolish it by the sword."
He sat a long time in silent thought, then rose suddenly, exclaiming:
"But these are no scenes for you, my darling."
"Why not for me, if for you?" rejoined Zillah. "I am not a butterfly,
that must needs flit only in the sunshine. I would rather be like our
heroic Queen Dido, for all her troubles, than be a mere statue come to
life, like that which her brother, our King Pygmalion, made. Your cares
shall be mine, or I am not worthy to sit under the purple canopy of your
throne."
"Right royally spoken!" cried Hiram, in an outburst of admiration. "But,
for all that, I shall save you from such scenes and such priests, for I
shall decree that there shall be no gods--except that every man shall
have his own Astarte, and she shall be worshipped thus--" He laid his
ardent offering upon her lips.