THEY THAT DEPART AND HE THAT IS LEFT BEHIND
Simmas, chief warden of the royal flocks and herds, was a venerable man
both wise and strong, yet his heart was as water running before the will
of his foster-child. Unto him the lovers brought the matter of their
vows, concealing naught of the danger to themselves, nor the wrath of
Ninus should he learn how they sought to flatter him and dim his eye.
Gravely had Simmas listened, smiling indulgent smiles, though his heart
was sore afraid for her whom he loved so tenderly; and, at length when
the tale was done, he sighed and shook his wise old head.
"My son," said he, "there are valiant men who have hied them forth to
capture beasts of prey with arrows and with spears; others, more
reckless still, go armed with ropes and stones, yet never have I known
of one who laboured to that end by tickling a lion's nose with straws."
"How know we, then," asked Semiramis, "that a lion may not be vastly
pleased thereat?"
Poor Simmas was forced to laugh, for how could the man do otherwise,
with two round arms clasped tight about his neck, a pink cheek nestled
lovingly against his own? And thus his foster-child met every argument,
twisting his threads of wisdom into ropes of foolishness, until,
reluctantly, he gave them blessing, smiling through his tears.
"Down, Habal," cried Semiramis, "and lick thy master's hand." And the
dog went down.
So it came to pass that the messengers went out from Syria and knelt to
Ninus as he sat upon his watch-tower in the heat of a certain day. They
bore him a missive which that Monarch read for the seventh time, then
read again in sore perplexity, his fingers combing at his beard. It
preened his vanity as by a feather-touch of truth, and joyed his
nostrils with the unctuous odour of his own divinity--a point whereon
his pride was prodded grievously of late.
At his failure in subduing Zariaspa, a whisper leaked abroad that Ninus
was but a mortal, after all; and through his harshness unto those who
toiled on the walls of Nineveh, the whisper swelled in volume and in
frequency, till now it lay upon him in the hours of sleep. The voice of
the people grumbled sullenly, or cried aloud because of the yoke of tax;
yet, far more clamorous still, the whisper troubled at his heart, for a
god once doubted is a god undone.
Therefore, in Menon's missive, the King found goodly food for thought;
and yet, on the other hand there seemed a haunting something underneath,
a something which caused him to taste with care ere he swallowed whole.
"Now as I live," mused Ninus to his inward self, "my Menon loveth me
with a love that is rare amongst the sons of men; or else, full cry, he
followeth the trail of a woman other than Sozana. A woman of wit! A
dreadless woman--a guileful and a wise."
The monarch pondered deeply for a space, while he combed at his beard
and gazed toward the walls of Nineveh; then, suddenly, he frowned and
leaned across the parapet.
"Zomar!" he called to a mounted man-at-arms below, "ride out to yonder
chief of labourers by the western gate and admonish him to ply his whip
with a higher diligence; for it cometh to me that the villain's head is
balanced over-lightly on his neck."
* * * * *
Across the Syrian hills, beneath the splendour of a million stars, rode
Menon and Semiramis, side by side. Their hearts were full with the
fullness of a joy which conquers speech and leaves them to beat with a
voiceless pulse of peace. Their eyes alone told secrets, tender, deep,
for each had hunted through the desert for a grain of sand, and, finding
it, was glad, for they knew that its name was love.
Before them, silent too, rode Huzim, his head bowed low upon his mighty
chest, for a worm of jealousy had entered him because of this love of a
master for his bride. Was a slave not human? Should his lowly mind be
proof against the poison of forgetfulness? A slave! And yet--the
master's hand had freed him of his chains, while he himself had riveted
them again. What now? Were the cloaks of love not strange and
manifold? So gratitude rose up to choke the jealous worm; then Huzim
raised his head once more and crooned the songs of those who dwell where
the Indus runs and the sun is warm.
For league on league they journeyed through the night, each heart a
slave, each thought a link in the chain of loving servitude. In the van
rode Huzim, singing softly in his native tongue; behind him came Menon
and Semiramis, hand in hand, while, still again, as a rear-guard of the
march, the wise, untroubled Habal trotted at their heels.
* * * * *
On the hills of Syria the shepherds built their fires against the chill
of night; and many a youth looked long amongst the flames for the eyes
of Shammuramat--strange eyes that peered from the embers impishly, half
veiled in coils of smoke. They danced! They mocked! Now laughing when
some green young twig was burned; now falling into darkness with its
blackened ash. How sad they were, these ashes of a dream--as sad as the
bleat of a wandering sheep as the cry came floating down the wind. And
yet--what, then, should a goddess have to do with the herders of
browsing beasts, or they with her? Should an ox lick salt from off the
stars? Nay, not so!
Thus wisdom came to the watchers of the fires, till peace was brought by
drowsiness, and the shepherds slept.
* * * * *
In the home of Simmas an old man paced the silent rooms and found not
peace nor rest. How bare and desolate when a loved one came no more!
How pitiful they were, these homely things that her hand was wont to
touch--a broken spear--a quiver cast aside--a sandal old and worn!
He fled to the housetop from the ghosts below, but they followed,
clutching at his robe with the hands of memory. He had hunted through
the desert for a grain of sand, and found it not, for, lo! his sand was
dust. Then Simmas fell upon his knees and stretched his withered arms
toward the stars.
"_Oh, Ishtar, Ishtar,_" he cried aloud, "_fling pity to a weak old
man!_"