Atossa quitted the terrace where she had been talking with Zoroaster, in
the full intention of returning speedily, but as she descended the
steps, a plan formed itself in her mind, which she determined to put
into immediate execution. Instead, therefore, of pursuing her way into
the portico of the inner court, when she reached the foot of the
staircase, she turned into a narrow passage that led into a long
corridor, lighted only by occasional small openings in the wall. A
little door gave access to this covered way, and when she entered, she
closed it behind her, and tried to fasten it. But the bolt was rusty,
and in order to draw it, she laid down the scroll she carried, upon a
narrow stone seat by the side of the door; and then, with a strong
effort of both her small white hands, she succeeded in moving the lock
into its place. Then she turned quickly and hastened down the dusky
corridor. At the opposite end a small winding stair led upwards into
darkness. There were stains upon the lowest steps, just visible in the
half light. Atossa gathered up her mantle and her under tunic, and trod
daintily, with a look of repugnance on her beautiful face. The stains
were made by the blood of the false Smerdis, her last husband, slain in
that dark stairway by Darius, scarcely three months before.
Cautiously the queen felt her way upward till she reached a landing,
where a narrow aperture admitted a little light. Higher up there were
windows, and she looked carefully to her dress, and brushed away a
little dust that her mantle had swept from the wall in passing; and once
or twice, she looked back at the dark staircase with an expression of
something akin to disgust. At last she reached a door which opened upon
a terrace, much like the one where she had left Zoroaster a few moments
before, saving that the floor was less polished, and that the spaces
between the columns were half filled with hanging plants and creepers.
Upon the pavement at one end were spread rich carpets, and half a dozen
enormous cushions of soft-coloured silk were thrown negligently one upon
the other. Three doors, hung with curtains, opened upon the
balcony,--and near to the middle one, two slave-girls, clad in white,
crouched upon their heels and talked in an undertone.
Atossa stepped forward upon the marble, and the rustle of her dress and
the quick short sound of her heeled shoes, roused the two slave-girls to
spring to their feet. They did not know the queen, but they thought it
best to make a low obeisance, while their dark eyes endeavoured quickly
to scan the details of her dress, without exhibiting too much boldness.
Atossa beckoned to one of them to come to her, and smiled graciously as
the dark-skinned girl approached.
"Is not thy mistress Nehushta?" she inquired; but the girl looked
stupidly at her, not comprehending her speech. "Nehushta," repeated the
queen, pronouncing the name very distinctly with a questioning
intonation, and pointing to the curtained door. The slave understood
the name and the question, and quick as thought, she disappeared within,
leaving Atossa in some hesitation. She had not intended to send for the
Hebrew princess, for she thought it would be a greater compliment to let
Nehushta find her waiting; but since the barbarian slave had gone to
call her mistress, there was nothing to be done but to abide the result.
Nehushta, however, seemed in no hurry to answer the summons, for the
queen had ample time to examine the terrace, and to glance through the
hanging plants at the sunlit meadows and the flowing stream to
southward, before she heard steps behind the curtain, and saw it lifted
to allow the princess to pass.
The dark maiden was now fully refreshed and rested from the journey, and
she came forward to greet her guest in her tunic, without her mantle, a
cloud of soft white Indian gauze loosely pinned upon her black hair and
half covering her neck. Her bodice-like belt was of scarlet and gold,
and from one side there hung a rich-hilted knife of Indian steel in a
jewelled sheath. The long sleeves of her tunic were drawn upon her arms
into hundreds of minute folds, and where the delicate stuff hung in an
oblong lappet over her hands, there was fine needlework and embroidery
of gold. She moved easily, with a languid grace of secure motion; and
she bent her head a little as Atossa came quickly to meet her.
The queen's frank smile was on her face as she grasped both Nehushta's
hands in cordial welcome, and for a moment, the two women looked into
each other's eyes. Nehushta had made up her mind to hate Atossa from the
first, but she did not belong to that class of women who allow their
feelings to show themselves, and afterwards feel bound by the memory of
what they have shown. She, too, smiled most sweetly as she surveyed the
beautiful fair queen from beneath her long drooping lids, and examined
her appearance with all possible minuteness. She remembered her well
enough, but so warm was the welcome she received, that she almost
thought she had misjudged Atossa in calling her hard and cold. She drew
her guest to the cushions upon the carpets, and they sat down side by
side.
"I have been talking about you already this morning, my princess," began
Atossa, speaking at once in familiar terms, as though she were
conversing with an intimate friend. Nehushta was very proud; she knew
herself to be of a race as royal as Atossa, though now almost extinct;
and in answering, she spoke in the same manner as the queen; so that the
latter was inwardly amused at the self-confidence of the Hebrew
princess.
"Indeed?" said Nehushta, "there must be far more interesting things than
I in Shushan. I would have talked of you had I found any one to talk
with."
The queen laughed a little.
"As I was coming out this morning, I met an old friend of mine upon the
balcony before the king's apartment,--Zoroaster, the handsome captain.
We fell into conversation, how handsome he has grown since I saw him
last!" The queen watched Nehushta closely while affecting the greatest
unconcern, and she thought the shadows about the princess's eyes turned
a shade darker at the mention of the brilliant warrior. But Nehushta
answered calmly enough:
"He took the most excellent care of us. I should like to see him to-day,
to thank him for all he did. I was tired last night and must have seemed
ungrateful."
"What need is there of ever telling men we are grateful for what they do
for us?" returned the queen. "I should think there were not a noble in
the Great King's guard who would not give his right hand to take care of
you for a month, even if you never so much as noticed his existence."
Nehushta laughed lightly at the compliment.
"You honour me too much," she said, "but I suppose it is because most
women think as you do that men call us so ungrateful. I think you judge
from the standpoint of the queen, whereas I--"
"Whereas you look at things from the position of the beautiful princess,
who is worshipped for herself alone, and not for the bounty and favour
she may, or may not, dispense to her subjects."
"The queen is dispensing much bounty and favour to one of her subjects
at this very moment," answered Nehushta quietly, as though deprecating
further flattery.
"How glad you must be to have left that dreadful fortress at last!"
cried the queen sympathetically. "My father used to go there every
summer. I hated the miserable place, with those tiresome mountains and
those endless gardens without the least variety in them. You must be
very glad to have come here!"
"It is true," replied Nehushta, "I never ceased to dream of Shushan. I
love the great city, and the people, and the court. I thought sometimes
that I should have died of the weariness of Ecbatana. The winters were
unbearable!"
"You must learn to love us, too," said Atossa, very sweetly. "The Great
King wishes well to your race, and will certainly do much for your
country. There is, moreover, a kinsman of yours, who is coming soon,
expressly to confer with the king concerning the further rebuilding of
the temple and the city of Jerusalem."
"Zorobabel?" asked Nehushta, quickly.
"Yes--that is his name, I believe. Do you say Zerub-Ebel, or Zerub-Abel?
I know nothing of your language."
"His name is Zorob-Abel," answered Nehushta. "Oh, I wish he might
persuade the Great King to do something for my people! Your father would
have done so much if he had lived."
"Doubtless the Great King will do all that is possible for establishing
the Hebrews and promoting their welfare," said the queen; but a distant
look in her eyes showed that her thoughts were no longer concentrated on
the subject. "Your friend Zoroaster," she added presently, "could be of
great service to you and your cause, if he wished."
"I would that he were a Hebrew!" exclaimed Nehushta, with a little sigh,
which did not escape Atossa.
"Is he not? I always thought that he had secretly embraced your faith.
With his love of study and with his ideas, it seemed so natural."
"No," replied Nehushta, "he is not one of us, nor will he ever be. After
all, though, it is perhaps of little moment what one believes when one
is so just as he."
"I have never been able to understand the importance of religion," said
the beautiful queen, spreading her white hand upon the purple of her
mantle, and contemplating its delicate outline tenderly. "For my own
part, I am fond of the sacrifices and the music and the chants. I love
to see the priests go up to the altar, two and two, in their white
robes,--and then to see how they struggle to hold up the bullock's head,
so that his eyes may see the sun,--and how the red blood gushes out like
a beautiful fountain. Have you ever seen a great sacrifice?"
"Oh yes! I remember when I was quite a little girl, when Cambyses--I
mean--when the king came to the throne--it was magnificent!" Nehushta
was not used to hesitate in her speech, but as she recalled the day when
Cambyses was made king, it suddenly came over her that any reminiscences
of the past might be painful to the extraordinary woman by her side. But
Atossa showed no signs of being disturbed. On the contrary, she smiled
more sweetly than ever, though there was perhaps a slight affectation of
sadness in her voice as she answered:
"Do not fear to hurt me by referring to those times, dear princess. I am
accustomed to speak of them well enough. Yes, indeed I remember that
great day, with the bright sun shining upon the procession, and the cars
with four horses that they dedicated to the sun, and the milk-white
horse that they slaughtered upon the steps of the temple. How I cried
for him, poor beast! It seemed so cruel to sacrifice a horse! Even a few
black slaves would have been a more natural offering, or a couple of
Scythians."
"I remember," said Nehushta, somewhat relieved at the queen's tone. "Of
course I have now and then seen processions in Ecbatana, but Daniel
would not let me go to the temple. They say Ecbatana is very much
changed since the Great King has not gone there in summer. It is very
quiet--it is given over to horse-merchants and grain-sellers, and they
bring all the salted fish there from the Hyrcanian sea, so that some of
the streets smell horribly."
Atossa laughed at the description, more out of courtesy than because it
amused her.
"In my time," she answered, "the horse-market was in the meadow by the
road toward Zagros, and the fish-sellers were not allowed to come within
a farsang of the city. The royal nostrils were delicate. But everything
is changed--here, everywhere. We have had several--revolutions--religious
ones, I mean of course, and so many people have been killed that there is
a savour of death in the air. It is amazing how much trouble people will
give themselves about the question of sacrificing a horse to the sun, or
a calf to Auramazda, or an Ethiopian to Nabon or Ashtaroth! And these
Magians! They are really no more descendants of the priests in the Aryan
home than I am a Greek. Half of them are nearly black--they are Hindus
and speak Persian with an accent. They believe in a vast number of gods
of all sizes and descriptions, and they sing hymns, in which they say that
all these gods are the same. It is most confusing, and as the principal
part of their chief sacrifice consists in making themselves exceedingly
drunk with the detestable milkweed juice of which they are so fond, the
performance is disgusting. The Great King began by saying that if they
wished to sacrifice to their deities, they might do so, provided no one
could find them doing it; and if they wished to be drunk, they might be
drunk when and where they pleased; but that if they did the two together,
he would crucify every Magian in Persia. His argument was very amusing.
He said that a man who is drunk naturally speaks the truth, whereas a man
who sacrifices to false gods inevitably tells lies; wherefore a man who
sacrifices to false gods when he is drunk, runs the risk of telling lies
and speaking the truth at the same time, and is consequently a creature
revolting to logic, and must be immediately destroyed for the good of
the whole race of mankind."
Nehushta had listened with varying attention to the queen's account of
the religious difficulties in the kingdom, and she laughed at the
Megoeric puzzle by which Darius justified the death of the Magians. But
in her heart she longed to see Zoroaster, and was weary of entertaining
her royal guest. By way of diversion she clapped her hands, and ordered
the slaves who came at her summons to bring sweetmeats and sherbet of
crushed fruit and snow.
"Are you fond of hunting?" asked Atossa, delicately taking a little
piece of white fig-paste.
"I have never been allowed to hunt," answered Nehushta. "Besides, it
must be very tiring."
"I delight in it--the fig-paste is not so good as it used to be--there
is a new confectioner. Darius considered that the former one had
religious convictions involving the telling of lies--and this is the
result! We are fallen low indeed when we cannot eat a Magian's pastry! I
am passionately fond of hunting, but it is far from here to the desert
and the lions are scarce. Besides, the men who are fit for lion-hunting
are generally engaged in hunting their fellow-creatures."
"Does the Great King hunt?" inquired Nehushta, languidly sipping her
sherbet from a green jade goblet, as she lay among her cushions,
supporting herself upon one elbow.
"Whenever he has leisure. He will talk of nothing else to you--"
"Surely," interrupted Nehushta, with an air of perfect innocence, "I
shall not be so far honoured as that the Great King should talk with
me?"
Atossa raised her blue eyes and looked curiously at the dark princess.
She knew nothing of what had passed the night before, save that the king
had seen Nehushta for a few moments, but she knew his character well
enough to imagine that his frank and, as she thought, undignified manner
might have struck Nehushta even in that brief interview. The idea that
the princess was already deceiving her flashed across her mind. She
smiled more tenderly than ever, with a little added air of sadness that
gave her a wonderful charm.
"Yes, the Great King is very gracious to the ladies of the court," she
said. "You are so beautiful and so different from them all that he will
certainly talk long with you after the banquet this evening--when he has
drunk much wine." The last words were added with a most special
sweetness of tone.
Nehushta's face flushed a little as she drank more sherbet before she
answered. Then, letting her soft dark eyes rest, as though in
admiration, upon the queen's face, she spoke in a tone of gentle
deprecation:
_"Shall a man prefer the darkness of night to the
glories of risen day?
Or shall a man turn from the lilies to pluck the
lowly flower of the field?"_
"You know our poets, too?" exclaimed Atossa, pleased with the graceful
tone of the compliment, but still looking at Nehushta with curious eyes.
There was a self-possession about the Hebrew princess that she did not
like; it was as though some one had suddenly taken a quality of her own
and made it theirs and displayed it before her eyes. There was indeed
this difference, that while Atossa's calm and undisturbed manner was
generally real, Nehushta's was assumed, and she herself felt that, at
any moment, it might desert her at her utmost need.
"So you know our poets?" repeated the queen, and this time she laughed
lightly. "Indeed I fear the king will talk to you more than ever, for he
loves poetry, I daresay Zoroaster, too, has repeated many verses to you
in the winter evenings at Ecbatana. He used to know endless poetry when
he was a boy."
This time Nehushta looked at the queen, and wondered how she, who could
not be more than two or three and twenty years old, although now married
to her third husband, could speak of having known Zoroaster as a boy,
seeing that he was past thirty years of age. She turned the question
upon the queen.
"You must have seen Zoroaster very often before he left Shushan," she
said. "You know him so well."
"Yes--every one knew him. He was the favourite of the court, with his
beauty and his courage and his strange affection for that old--for the
old Hebrew prophet. That is why Cambyses sent them both away," added she
with a light laugh. "They were far too good, both of them, to be endured
among the doings of those times."
Atossa spoke readily enough of Cambyses. Nehushta wondered whether she
could be induced to speak of Smerdis. Her supposed ignorance of the true
nature of what had occurred in the last few months would permit her to
speak of the dead usurper with impunity.
"I suppose there have been great changes lately in the manners of the
court--during this last year," suggested Nehushta carelessly. She pulled
a raisin from the dry stem, and tried to peel it with her delicate
fingers.
"Indeed there have been changes," answered Atossa, calmly. "A great many
things that used to be tolerated will never be heard of now. On the
whole, the change has been rather in relation to religion than
otherwise. You will understand that in one year we have had three court
religions. Cambyses sacrificed to Ashtaroth--and I must say he made a
most appropriate choice of his tutelary goddess. Smerdis"--continued the
queen in measured tones and with the utmost calmness of manner--"Smerdis
devoted himself wholly to the worship of Indra, who appeared to be a
convenient association of all the most agreeable gods; and the Great
King now rules the earth by the grace of Auramazda. I, for my part, have
always inclined to the Hebrew conception of one God--perhaps that is
much the same as Auramazda, the All-Wise. What do you think?"
Nehushta smiled at the deft way in which the queen avoided speaking of
Smerdis by turning the conversation again to religious topics. But
fearing another lecture on the comparative merits of idolatry, human
sacrifice, and monotheism, she manifested very little interest in the
subject.
"I daresay it is the same. Zoroaster always says so, and that was the
one point that Daniel could never forgive him. The sun is coming through
those plants upon your head--shall we not have our cushions moved into
the shade at the other end?" She clapped her hands and rose languidly,
offering her hand to Atossa. But the queen sprang lightly to her feet.
"I have stayed too long," she said. "Come with me, dearest princess, and
we will go out into the orange gardens upon the upper terrace. Perhaps,"
she added, adjusting the folds of her mantle, "we shall find Zoroaster
there, or some of the princes, or even the Great King himself. Or,
perhaps, it would amuse you to see where I live?"
Nehushta received her mantle from her slaves, and one of them brought
her a linen tiara in place of the gauze veil she had twisted about her
hair. But Atossa would not permit the change.
"It is too beautiful!" she cried enthusiastically. "So new! you must
really not change it."
She put her arm around Nehushta affectionately and led her towards the
door of the inner staircase. Then suddenly she paused, as though
recollecting herself.
"No," she said, "I will show you the way I came. It is shorter and you
should know it. It may be of use to you."
So they left the balcony by the little door that was almost masked by
one of the great pillars, and descended the dark stairs. Nehushta
detested every sort of bodily inconvenience, and inwardly wished the
queen had not changed her mind, but had led her by an easier way.
"It is not far," said the queen, descending rapidly in front of her.
"It is dreadfully steep," objected Nehushta, "and I can hardly see my
way at all. How many steps are there?"
"Only a score more," answered the queen's voice, farther down. She
seemed to be hurrying, but Nehushta had no intention of going any
faster, and carefully groped her way. As she began to see a glimmer of
light at the last turn of the winding stair, she heard loud voices in
the corridor below. With the cautious instinct of her race, she paused
and listened. The hard, quick tones of an angry man dominated the rest.