On the same night that Ruth lay down to sleep in the mud cottage, Atossa,
betrothed of Belshazzar, “queen designate of Sumer and Akkad” not to add
titles more, was pacing the leafy avenues of the Hanging Gardens. As
the summer advanced she had been removed to the chambers beneath this
mountain forest, from the sultrier rooms of the palace. Here, with the
cool mould and the ocean of tossing green interposed betwixt her and the
parching sun, one could almost forget that out in the dusty world the
wretched Jews of the labour gang were panting and groaning, that all the
fields about the city were searing brown with the pitiless heat, and
the canals were creeping riverward through beds half empty. No sensuous
delight was wanting to lull the Persian into forgetfulness of the past.
Belshazzar had spared nothing. The maids, the young eunuchs, that served
her were the handsomest, the most soft-footed and skilful-handed that
could be found in all the slave-markets betwixt Carthage and India; the
waters that sprayed from the fountains breathed rare essences and Sabæan
nard. There were fresh flowers sprinkled each morn in lieu of carpets,
and a cool wreath always ready; the fragrance of the petals wafted on
every wind. Each day they brought the mistress some new dance, or some
new music. And in the evening, after the sun’s copper ball had sunk
behind the long shadows of Imgur-Bel, and the broad Euphrates flashed
in ever darkening ripples, then it was joy to quit the lower chambers
and roam over the wondrous garden domain. There the fireflies would flit
out with their beacons from behind fern and thicket, and the nightingale
would throb and the thrushes whistle from their safe coverts in the
trees, till the night seemed one enchantment, and the Hanging Gardens
indeed the Chaldee’s “Garden of the Blest.”
But on this night Atossa was not watching the stars creep out of the
feathery palm trees, nor knew she the silence when the last tired bird
ceased trilling, and hid his head behind a wing. She was waiting for
Darius.
Masistes had brought her the message, and said he had it from Ariathes.
The prince would meet her in the Gardens at this hour, for there was
something of weight that he must tell. The dangers, said Ariathes, had
all been foreseen and provided for; there could come no peril. As for
Atossa, she thought very little of the dangers or of anything else, save
this one fact, that speedily she would be face to face with the man she
loved.
Atossa was alone in the Gardens. To secure the solitude had been easy.
Long since her servants had learned that the Persian desired nothing
better than to be left alone of an evening, with only the unseen birds,
the whispering trees, and the friendly stars for her company. None
wondered when she did the like this evening. The Gardens were safe as the
harem, every ingress and exit guarded below by soldiers. What danger to
let her roam at will?
She sat upon a moss-bank, and felt for the little cool weeds at her feet,
pulling them one by one. There was a sweet northeast wind crooning over
the Gardens, and setting all the groves to whispering. “The breeze is
from my own Iran,” she spoke aloud, while the hidden crickets answered
her; “it has blown over Ecbatana and Susa; it has kissed the mouth of my
mother, my father; it bears their kisses to me.” She shook her coronal
of golden hair, and let the soft breeze caress her neck. The Gardens
were growing very still. Once or twice arose a distant chant from the
river boatmen, singing as they plied their oars. Save for that, she might
have dreamed herself a thousand furlongs removed from human kind. As the
silent night crept onward there spread an earthy smell about, the smell
of green things growing, and the very odour made the breeze a delight.
The great trees above her head continued their murmur,—the cadence just
varied enough by the puffing wind to make music sweeter than that of
harp or flute. She was letting the dreamy mood possess her, when her ear
caught the snap of a twig under gentle stepping sandals. Some one had
mounted the privy staircase; a form was approaching through the soft
darkness.
Atossa sprang to her feet; she gave one little cry. The stranger bounded
toward her; and she heard the voice and felt the touch of Darius, son of
Hystaspes....
They sat and talked together upon the cool moss, for a long while, in
tones so low that the sage old thrush who had stirred on his bough over
their two heads gathered nothing, though he listened long. But at last,
when their minds passed down from heaven to earth, their voices grew
stronger, for their lips were no longer so near.
“Lady mine,” spoke Darius, his strong arm still holding fast, “do you
know what Isaiah the Jew has told me? Do you know for what end Belshazzar
brought you here?”
“Have I not heard from Isaiah’s own lips the story of what befell in
these same Gardens and of the king’s unholy guile?”
“You know all and are yet so calm?”
She looked into his face almost defiantly.
“Because Ahura grants to you the fame of being ‘King of the Bow’ and
of swinging the stoutest sword in wide Iran, has he denied that I also
should be strong to bear? Am I not Cyrus’s own child, and must I show
these ‘lie-loving’ Chaldees only tears and pain?”
“By Mithra, Lord of Light, I think it is I that must gain the courage
out of you, for when I hear of your state, and the treachery with which
Belshazzar had ensnared you, I was close to weeping like a maid, and
doing deeds of madness!”
A faint sound, as of something moving, startled her.
“What is this?” she cried, leaping from the moss-bank. “There is danger!”
The sound, be it what it might, had vanished. Darius peered into the
gloom; black shadows, the dim tracery of leafage, the distant sheen of
the star mist—that seemed all.
“No peril,” he protested, drawing her back to the soft cool carpet.
“Boges is on watch below; the eunuchs proved exceeding corruptible.
Naught will be suspected.”
“So Ahura grant,” she murmured, pressing closer, “yet I hear that spies
are all about you. You are in danger, grievous danger. Would that you
were back in Susa, were anywhere, save here,—in the chiefest place of
peril.”
Darius laughed softly. “Are you so glad to have me vanish? I declare to
you by all the host of the holy ‘Yazatas,’ the just spirits who ever wait
on God, that where you are, were it in the foulest prison, or parching
desert, or in remotest star, there would be my _Garo-nmana_, my ‘Abode of
Song’!”
“Folly!” she replied, but her laugh was sweet as the dying winds. “What
am I?—a voice and a blooming flower; to-day I am joy to you, or to
another, because my face is fair to see. To-morrow all is past; faded
like every blossom, I lie down and die, and the world knows of me no
more. But you,” and there was pride in the light of her smile, “there
will be other tales to tell of Darius, son of Hystaspes, long after the
day when your tongue is cold and still. And that should be your task,
doing fair deeds in the sight of men, not wasting griefs or tears on such
as me.”
But his answer was a hand upon her lips, and he answered her: “I will not
give wisdom for your foolishness, the barter is unfair. But this I know,
concerning the Great Day when every soul must cross the Chinvat Bridge
to enter into the world hereafter (for you have heard our Aryan tale as
chanted by the Magi), then to every man there shall come a maiden, in
beauty or foulness after his own righteousness or guile. And she shall
say to him, ‘See, I am thine own conscience, come to meet thee, and
to dwell with thee through unending time.’ And my prayer to Ahura the
Merciful is but this, that when my own dread ordeal comes, and my maiden
looks me in the face, her eyes and her smile may be that of Atossa, the
daughter of my king.”
“Folly!” cried she again, and again her laugh was sweet. But then her
mood grew grave. “It is night,” she said, “the stars are circling onward;
soon they will wonder why I linger here so late, and some will come to
see if all is well. Alas! that we have tasted of this bliss; the morsel
truly is most sweet, but it is supped and gone. Am I not Belshazzar’s
betrothed, full soon his bride? And you, what is left save but to speed
back to Susa, and tell my father all, and how he robbed me of my joy and
all for naught?”
But Darius’s voice grew low, he tightened the grasp upon her hand.
“You speak but ill. You shall never be Belshazzar’s bride. I, son of
Hystaspes, have so sworn, though all the Chaldees rise to say me ‘nay’!”
“Never?” He felt Atossa thrill. “What is this you say?”
His head was again close to hers when he answered. “Listen, then; for as
you say, I must tell all quickly. Belshazzar asked your hand as a pledge
of eternal peace betwixt Persian and Chaldee; but to make a pledge there
must be no oath broken, and he has broken his. You are his betrothed,
but not his bride. No law of man or God binds you to him, nor, as the
Most High gives me wit and might, shall it ever bind! My position since
returning from the lion hunt, whereof you must have heard the palace
rumours, has been intolerable! There is never a moment when I do not
tremble for my life. I fear every messenger of mine to Susa is waylaid
and halted. Cyrus must not be suffered to remain blind forever. My soul
loathes flight from a foe, but what is left me?”
“And have they refused you convoy back to Susa?” pressed Atossa.
“Not once, but many times,”—the prince’s voice was very bitter,— “I have
been to Bilsandan the vizier, and only met smooth excuses and scarcely
veiled lies. Now the Elamite mountain tribes make all travel dangerous;
now there is such restlessness in the gulf cities that not a soldier can
be spared for escort. And yet, to cast the vizier’s words back in his
teeth, the garrison of Babylon grows stronger day by day, and the walls
mount higher.”
“You must go back to Cyrus,” spoke she, with beating heart; “you must
tell all to my father. But, oh!” and her woman’s voice nigh faltered,
“his wrath and the war will be most terrible. Aryan blood and Chaldee
blood, each poured out in rivers, and my sacrifice will all be in vain. I
had one joy left me, that through my own grief I was giving peace to my
people, but now at last even this is taken away!”
“Not so,” cried the prince, almost sternly, “for out of Belshazzar’s
cruelty and falsehood shall spring my joy and yours also. For now you
are free, and I am free to bear you away in my flight. All is provided,
horses fleet as the desert winds, and my Persian followers are with us
to the death. Seven days from this night you shall look on your father’s
face at Susa, Ahura prospering us—my own! Gaze long, gaze hard, upon this
city,” he pointed over the slumbering vista of _ziggurats_, palaces, and
the dark river; “to-morrow at this hour you shall see its accursed beauty
no more,—except, indeed, as you ride under its gates at the side of your
father when he enters it to conquer.”
“Ah!” she cried, his own bright hopes kindling before her eyes, “and how
may you persuade him to give me to you?”—she broke short—“Am I wrong? Do
I not hear a noise?”
The prince rose once more; again eyes and ears brought him nothing.
“There is naught beholding us save God’s bright stars; and are not the
stars best friends to man and maid in love? How shall I persuade Cyrus?
Did you not see how he tossed in his mind, and how his heart was torn
almost as yours or mine, when he resolved to send you to Belshazzar? Let
him hear the tale we have to tell, the tale that will make every ear in
Iran from Media to Bactria to tingle with hot wrath, and I know little of
men, if Cyrus prove hard of heart. Let Babylon fall, as fall it will, and
in these same Hanging Gardens—not then your prison, but your joy—shall
they kindle the torch for our marriage feast.”
But Atossa glided out of his clasp.
“Ah!” said she, outstretching her arms in the starlight, “your words are
but as words spoken in a vision; I feel such sweetness cannot be. You
wake dear phantoms, but they are phantoms still. I know not why; but
there is a voice that tells me now, as it has told me long, that I must
not look for any sudden joy. I must learn to be yet stronger, and learn
to bear not only these, but new ills also. And Susa and my father are
very far away.”
“And do you doubt my boast?” he flashed, nigh wrathfully, at her failing
to warm to his own sanguine joy.
“I doubt you?” she cried, as if scarce understanding his words,—“you? For
your least wish, how glad a thing to die! But the power of Angra-Mainyu
is strong, and he and his fiends put forth their might against us.
Ahura will conquer, but the triumph is delayed. Fly alone; that will be
safer—and let the sword of Cyrus be the key to my golden prison.”
“Not save _you_?” reëchoed the prince, all the might of his strong nature
rising up in refusal at her command.
“Hush! Not so loud!” warned she, and again she started; “surely in the
thicket—”
“There may be other eavesdroppers!” spoke a voice from the covert
directly behind them, and the words were the words of Avil-Marduk.
A shout from Darius, a cry from Atossa, answered him in the same instant.
The sword shot from the prince’s scabbard and flashed in the starlight;
one stroke, and Avil would have uttered no more fell counsellings, but
the priest stepped deliberately forward and caught the upraised hand
before Darius could gather wits enough to smite.
“Nothing rashly, your Highness,” was his admonition, he himself perfectly
calm. “Your life is in no danger, and I make bold to presume that any
hurt that might befall your humble slave would meet with no slow
requital.”
And even as he spoke there emerged from his hiding-place, or out of the
ground of the garden rather, for aught Darius could see in the gloom, the
figures of six men, a trembling torch in the hands of one, naked swords
borne by the others.
Darius stood facing them, his head thrown back haughtily, his weapon
still raised high.
“Do not think to slay me without dear payment!” rang his despairing boast.
But Atossa had fallen on her knees, crying to the Babylonians, “Spare
him! Spare!” for her only thought was of Darius.
“And has not Avil already told you your lives are safe?” added a
newcomer, who needed no torch-glimmer on his eagle features to proclaim
him the king himself. “Put away your sword, son of Hystaspes; it avails
you nothing. The Lady Atossa trembles at sight of bare steel, and well
she may!”
In the faint light they saw Darius break his sword across his knee and
dash the hilt away.
“You are right, O king,” he cried, shrill with anger, “for her sake I
must bow my neck in peace. Only wreak the vengeance all on me. It was
_I_ who sought this meeting, who plotted all; she had no part, and is
guiltless.”
“The noble Persian wrongs himself,” spoke Avil, as sweetly as when he
commented on his dinner; “neither he nor the Lady Atossa arranged this
meeting in these delightful gardens. The author is your most obedient
slave.” Whereupon he salaamed.
“You?” burst forth the prince. “What snake’s part is this of yours? By
the aid of what _dæva_ came you here with the king? My plans were well
laid, my servants trusty.”
“Excellently laid, and exceedingly trusty,” quoth Avil, still perfectly
cool; “alas! that Wisdom is not ever the bedfellow of Faithfulness. It
did not need the knowledge of Ea to discover that your Highness would
love nothing fairer than an evening’s talk with her ladyship. That being
the case, and we being greatly desirous to discover your noble plans
and the reports you were anxious to transmit to the king’s illustrious
ally, Cyrus the Persian, I took it upon myself to make this interview in
every way most easy. It was I that arranged that the eunuchs and guards
should prove conveniently corruptible, that nothing should hinder your
easy access to these Gardens, or interrupt your agreeable conversation
until you had unbosomed your hearts one to another. I must confess
myself deeply pained to have to disarrange the least of your Highness’s
projects.”
“You have overheard?” questioned the prince, controlling himself by an
effort. “Be so gracious, then, as to inform a barbarous Persian like
myself by what wings you flitted up into these Gardens.”
“By the wings of the same privy staircase soon after your Highness
ascended. You may deign to recollect you left your Boges on watch below.
It was no grievous matter to overpower and gag without a cry escaping.
Afterward I conducted his Majesty and these worthy guardsmen to this
thicket, whence we could hear all that passed. As Marduk liveth! I
believe we could have made more commotion than we did, and to little
harm; you two had ears only for each other.”
“And you understand Persian, priest?” asked Darius.
“Indifferently well,” answered Avil, modestly,—“at least, very little
that was said escaped me!”
“Then escape not this!” shouted Darius, and with the word he flung
himself bodily toward Avil-Marduk.
The pontiff gave one leap backward, and in the darkness his foe just
missed him, but fell with all his might upon an unlucky soldier who
interposed. The man went down upon the greensward with a rattle in his
throat, as Darius smote him. But the others instantly piled upon him, and
after a desperate and aimless struggle the Persian was plucked from his
prey. He faced Belshazzar while two guardsmen clung tight to his terrible
arms.
“Well, your Majesty,” rang his demand, “how long is left to me to live?”
“You are safe,” answered Belshazzar, from a distance; “you saved my life
from the auroch. I will not take yours at present.”
“So I am a prisoner, envoy of Cyrus though I be? You refuse my demand for
instant return to Susa?”
“After what has passed here and now,” retorted Belshazzar, grimly, “I
think you will not marvel if I dare to delay you.”
“Better the executioner, and have done!” cried the prince, almost
struggling out of his captors’ hold.
“We gain little by bartering high words, Persian,” thundered the king, in
unconcealed triumph; “you are a prisoner. They shall give you the liberty
of your rooms, until you prove yourself disobedient to my will.”
“Am I then a hostage?”
“You shall see. In dealing with Cyrus—”
But the king said no more, for Atossa deliberately placed herself betwixt
the two in their anger.
“Will the king hear me?”
All her courage had returned the instant she knew Darius’s life was for
the moment safe. She was the great king’s daughter still, and she stood
before Belshazzar, fair and strong. He told himself he had never seen man
or woman more calm, more beautiful.
“I will hearken,” was his sole answer, and Atossa continued her speech,
that came very slowly.
“Lord of the Chaldees, when my father sent me to Babylon, I loved this
man,” her eyes were on Darius, “beyond all the Indian’s pearls,—yes,
beyond very life; but I was content to be the price paid for the peace
of my people. I was resolved to be your true and faithful wife. But
I come to find the price paid all in vain,—to find treachery blacker
than blackest night, to learn that oaths are only to be blown out as
a rushlight, at the first convenient season. My love gone, my joy all
blasted, for naught, the prospering of the sapient Avil’s serpent guile,
and that of his cringing master.” Avil had winced under the flash of her
eye, but now she looked on Belshazzar. “King of Babylon, thus far have
falsehoods borne you; count up well the cost. Do not think oath-breaking
can prosper man or king forever. Let the walls of Babylon mount yet
higher; higher still are God’s heavens whence He looks downward, and
beholds us all, and all the secrets locked up in the heart. You can still
repent. You can send Darius to his own land, and I will yet be to you an
obedient wife. You can still regard the oaths taken to Cyrus as sacred,
and as such keep them fast. Thus far you have done naught that may not be
undone; go no farther. But let the prince, the inviolable envoy, guarded
alike by Persian and Chaldee gods, endure one hour of prison, and only
heaven shall judge the war. Do not think my father is all blind. The moon
cannot fall from the sky, and no man marvel. This is the moment, and the
last when you may choose,—the moment which we Persians say to every man
is granted,—to make choice of the Right Mind or the Wrong Mind, the
great spirits ever at strife. I do not pray this for myself, nor for
the son of Hystaspes, but for you, O king of the Chaldees, whom I would
honour as husband if I might. To you is this word,—choose the path, of
righteousness or guile, of peace or war,—choose!”
The king gazed on her, and she returned his glance fearlessly. Her
beauty seemed doubled in that shimmering torchlight, her presence seemed
self-illumined, glorious. For an instant, before the eyes of Belshazzar’s
mind there passed a vision of peace; he saw himself like the great
Nebuchadnezzar, fighting as he must, but glorying in peace and not in
war. He saw his kingdom prosperous and glad, and Atossa beside him on
the throne, his counsellor and guide in all fair enterprise. And on the
monuments in the after days, men should grave these words, “In the reign
of Belshazzar the land was blessed; no war raged; no mouth lacked corn.”
Fair vision! And this was truly the moment of choice—to dismiss Darius or
to imprison; should he thrust this vision by? But at that instant some
demon or god put speech in the mouth of Avil-Marduk.
“Verily by Bel himself,” and the pontiff gave a low and mocking laugh,
“the Lady Atossa will almost persuade his Majesty to burn his war
chariots and set his sword-hands to digging ditches!”
One laugh; did Avil know that the fate of the “Beauty of the Chaldees”
hung on that single breath? But Belshazzar spoke now, the spell of
Atossa all broken: “Surely as Samas and Sin bear rule in the heavens, so
surely have I chosen. I know the path. And who shall teach another way to
_me_?”
He made a menacing gesture in Atossa’s face. She never quailed.
“You have indeed chosen,” said she, in icy tone; “hereafter there is
war: betwixt darkness and light, _dæva_ and angel, Angra-Mainyu and
Ahura-Mazda, implacable, truceless,—till the abasing of the ‘Lie’!”
Belshazzar motioned impatiently to the soldiers. “Let the prince be taken
to his chambers as commanded, and let the Lady Atossa go below to her
eunuchs.”
The two Persians sped one glance upon each other—but neither spoke
farewell.
[Illustration: DANIEL DELIVERS A MESSAGE]