The hill of Samaria was in a blaze of color. Every tent of the army of
Sanballat floated its gay streamer. Rivalling these were the displays of
the various chieftains of neighboring tribes, who had come to honor with
their presence the wedding of the Samaritan princess. The extravagance
of Oriental fashion vied with that of martial splendor; gaudy turbans
with polished helmets; brilliant robes with gleaming breastplates;
palanquins of fair women with the mail of the heavy war horses. Furlongs
of bright cloths hung from the trees, and draped the stone columns that
still stood as the relics and reminders of the glory of this old capital
of Israel. In cool nooks were skins of wines, while troughs were
overrunning with the new-pressed juices of apples and grapes. There were
jars of confections, spiced to kindle the thirst that the free-flowing
liquors were to quench. Games, dances, songs, the thumbing of stringed
instruments, the whistle of pipes and the ringing of trumpets, gave vent
to the spirit of abandon among the motley crowds of people.
Sanballat entertained within the palace the great chiefs, whose spears,
adorned with their various insignia, were stuck into the ground, in
semicircular array, in front of the grand entrance. There was Geshom,
the Arabian, and a score of braves from Idumea, Moab, and Philistia, who
lounged at the tables. Even Tobiah, the Ammonite, was not forgotten;
indeed, his presence was a special pleasure to Sanballat, whose
magnanimity rose with the conviction that he had at length circumvented
his rival in gaining alliance with the Jews. These worthies drank to one
another, and to one another's gods: to the sun-god, to Baal-Shâmayim,
lord of heaven; to Melkarth of Tyre, to Chemosh of Moab, to Milcom of
Ammon, to Moloch of Philistia, to Dagon of the coast, to Succoth-benoth
of Babylon, to Nergal of Cuth, to Ashima of Hamath, to Nibhak and Tartak
of the Avites, to Adranmelech and Anammelek of Sepharvaim, to Jehovah of
the Jews, and to Astarte, the goddess of love. With clinking cups and
hilarious shouts they invoked the blessings of all gods upon the bride
and groom. They drank until they knew not to whom they drank, each one
making a god of his own belly. Then they be-praised every one his own
possessions and prowess, and they scattered oaths and blows; indeed, all
had a right merry time, as the proprieties of the occasion and the rude
manners of the age and people prompted, until the soberer servants
removed both the viands and the guests together.
At nightfall the hill of Samaria seemed a mass of flame. Torches flared
upon the palace walks; bonfires filled the grove with ruddy light, amid
which the trees and the moving people seemed like weird spectres.
A bugle blast sounded from afar. The crowds gathered near the open
roadway that led to the palace. The clatter of hoofs was soon heard,
nearer and nearer, louder and louder, while shouts rent the air. A band
of wild riders dashed up the garlanded avenue. The soldiers and populace
battled against them with waving torches, tufts of grass, and shrieks of
mimic rage. The cry of the assailants was--
"Manasseh! Manasseh!"
They pressed up to the palace front. Some, dismounting, beat upon the
gates. These were flung wide. In the opening stood Sanballat, surrounded
by as many of his noble guests as were able to get upon their feet. With
angry voice the Satrap demanded the cause of this irruption. A chorus of
hoarse voices replied:
"Nicaso! Nicaso for our Lord Manasseh!"
Sanballat parleyed with them.
"Would you rob a father of his only child?"
"Yes," was the response, "and of a hundred only children. One for each
of us if they were like Nicaso." And a score of witticisms, some sharp,
some scurrilous, were hurled at him.
At length, with well-feigned fear, Sanballat led forth his daughter. She
was elegantly robed and crowned. A spirited horse, superbly
caparisoned, was led to her side. Without awaiting the proffered
assistance, Nicaso leaped upon his back. The horsemen led her captive,
followed by a procession of maidens who wailed in feigned lament the
fate of their comrade, amid the amorous gibes and jokes of the young
men. They brought Nicaso to the happy bridegroom's tent.
Thus far they had followed the custom of the East-Jordan tribes in mimic
seizure of the bride.
Nicaso, however, delighted in breaking through all proprieties. The
flashing lights and shouts excited her wild blood, and, instead of
dismounting to receive the embrace of her new lord, she dashed away from
the crowd, crying, "Let him have me who can catch me!"
Her horse was sure-footed and keen-eyed, and galloped among rocks and
through by-paths without the guidance of even the single rein that his
mistress threw upon his neck. Down among the tents of the soldiers, out
on the high-road towards Shechem, back through the woods, now flitting
like a spectre in the darkness, now all agleam with her bejewelled crown
and robe as she passed some bonfire; thus the daring girl led, and yet
eluded, the pursuing crowd.
Manasseh, though surprised at this unexpected postponement of the moment
when he should clasp his fair possession, really admired the adventurous
frolicksomeness of his bride, and accepted her challenge with equal
spirit.
Was it the happy guidance of some goddess of love, or the quick eyes of
Nicaso that watched his coming, that brought their horses together at
two converging paths? Their beasts reared and plunged at the shock, like
two waves clashing in counter seas. Nicaso's steed galloped away
riderless.
Cries rose: "She is thrown!"
In fact, at the moment of the collision she had thrown herself from her
horse fairly into Manasseh's arms, and, with crown awry, hair
dishevelled, her black eyes flashing with merriment, a magnificent
picture of wild queenly beauty, was borne by her lover to his tent.
As she jumped to the ground some portion of her clothing caught upon the
trappings of the horse, and she would have fallen had not Marduk
extended his arm and relieved her.
"Marduk, you have fulfilled your part of our covenant," said Manasseh.
"Let me take my bride from your hand, as you took yours from mine."
The bridal pair disappeared in the nuptial tent.
For seven days the festival was kept up. Then the young Jew set out for
Jerusalem with his bride. The Phoenician's party accompanied them.
Nicaso's wardrobe burdened as many camels as did the merchant's wares.
Among his rich robes was stored a strange article for such a
collection--a heavy leathern suit of a Phoenician soldier.