THE SORROWS OF A KING
King Ninus, lord of all Assyria, lay cursing in his royal litter, while
slaves and attendants bore him northward on the banks of the Euphrates.
Presently they left their course, struck eastward till they reached the
Tigris and again turned north, whence, with many rests and long, forced
marches in the cool of night, the stricken King at length was placed
upon his couch at Nineveh.
Full many a grievous matter rode upon the monarch's mind, and the pale
attending leech wrought vainly to quell his patient's fever, one
augmented by a sleepless, boiling rage within. By day the King would
fret; by night he rioted throughout his dreams and found no rest.
First there was his wound, a ragged, half-healed gash, laid open by a
lion's claw and running from a point beneath his arm-pit to his hip. It
was not the wound itself, nor the pain thereof, which fired the hunter's
wrath, but rather the truth that he, Raman-Nirari--the greatest hunter
since beasts and hunters were--should miss his kill and seek his life in
flight. Of witnesses there were only three: Shidur-Kam, a warrior whom
the King might trust to entrench his tongue behind his teeth, and a
slave who was safer still, for Ninus had cast his body into the
Euphrates; but, then, there was a girl--a red-haired girl--who perched
in the boughs of a citron tree and laughed as the King sped underneath,
a wounded lion leaping at his horse's haunch.
At another time the monarch might have held this face, and the echo of a
bubbly laugh, in pleasing memory; yet raillery, directed at a royal
personage in the stress of flight, begets a recollection of a different
breed. So the mocking laughter haunted Ninus through all the day and
caused him to wake at night and grind his teeth in fury.
"Argol," said he, to the faithful leech beside him, "give order that a
thousand horse repair to the region of our lion hunt. Command them to
scour the country round about in a circuit of thirty leagues and bring
me every red-haired wench they may chance to find. By Gibil's flame! I
have a pressing need of them!"
The leech sighed sadly, tapped upon a gong of bronze, then waited in
silence till an officer strode in, saluted, and sank upon his knees.
The order given and the soldier gone, Argol administered a sleeping
draught and sat once more at his weary post.
Yet the King slept not, for still another matter lay heavy on his heart.
There was a certain man called Azet, the venerable seer who had
prophesied with lies. Before the hunt he had opened the carcasses of
seven cranes, finding in the entrails of each and all an omen of
success. Full thirty beasts, said Azet, should the King o'ercome,
returning unto Nineveh triumphant and sound of limb. Was not this
prophet, then, to blame for the ills which had come to pass? Wherefore
should he prophesy unto evil ends, or cause witch-women to laugh from
the boughs of citron trees? Could virtue not be found in the vitals of
seven sacred cranes? or was this holy man but a monster and a fool?
The King's dark brow grew darker still with troublous thought, as he
questioned his leech for the hundredth time in fretful tones:
"Argol, good Argol, tell me, I pray thee, man, how in the name of Asshur
may I teach this wretch to mend his auguries?"
"My lord," the leech replied, as he raised his drooping lids and gazed
out dreamily to where the Tigris flowed, "my lord, the breath of man
ariseth from his breast, but in his throat are shaped his evil
prophecies."
"Eh--what?" the King demanded. "What manner of speech is this, and how
doth it run with Azet and his seven cranes?"
"Hang him, my lord," said Argol, drowsily, and turned away.
A slow smile lit the features of the King, while for a space he
pondered, plucking at his coverlet; then, summoning an officer, he gave
an order in a weak but cheerful voice, at the same time causing his
couch to be removed to a shaded spot upon the palace roof. Here, with
his watch-worn leech beside him, he could lie at ease and feast his eyes
on the glory of completed Nineveh. Across his terraced gardens where
fountains sparkled in the sun, he could see the temple of Asshur and of
Ishtar upon their hills; likewise the temple of the fire-god Gibil,
above whose dome a wreath of smoke hung low, belched upward from the
flames beneath. He could see his streets, his marts, his mighty gates
and the tawny plains beyond where the Tigris and the Khusur ran. He
could see his wall--that shield of his heart's desire--which made his
city a fortress against the world; yet the thoughts of Ninus were not
for walls and shields.
He watched a thousand horsemen pass the western gate and gallop swiftly
down the river bank, then disappear from Nineveh for the space of many
days. The chief was a man of little love beyond his sword and steed,
one, who would give short shift to devils with flame-hued hair, and the
heart of the King was glad.
Of a sudden a tumult rose from the streets below, while a concourse
gathered, and a sound of weeping ascended to the palace roof. Through
the surging throng a band of soldiers fought their way, leading the
prophet Azet toward the wall and beating back the populace with the
butts of their heavy spears.
The western gate was spanned by a monster arch, on the shoulder of which
sat the highest tower of all, and thither the soldiers led their victim
by a winding stair. When at last they appeared on the turret's edge, a
wail of anguish rang out afresh, while the multitude gazed upward,
swarming to and fro.
"Now truly," chuckled Ninus as he watched, "this fellow hath a wondrous
following, who, because of their ignorance, grieve at things they may
not understand."
From the turret the soldiers thrust a wooden beam; from the end thereof
they hanged the prophet by a noose, and, according to a writing set
above the gate, "The prophecies of Azet ceased to be throughout the
land."
Argol then bound his master's wound in a healing salve, and the sufferer
straightway slept for many hours; on waking, his fever had departed
utterly, so he mended in body and in mind. He appointed another
prophet, one Nakir-Kish, a wise and observing man whose promises of good
and ill were the like of kites, the strings thereof being held within
his hand till his eye had marked the temper of all heavenly winds. Thus
Nakir-Kish endured.
King Ninus now sent for Bobardol, a sculptor of high renown, the same
who had carven a famous bull that had, in all, five legs. This extra
limb might at first seem strange and at odds with Nature's own design;
yet, even so, it had its marked advantages. An observer gazing on this
masterpiece--no matter where he stood--might always perceive four legs;
"And that," said Bobardol, "is Art." So Ninus was pleased, and retained
the sculptor in his service.
The King gave order for a monster _stele_, whereon should be carven a
scene from the lion hunt, the monarch being pictured, not in wild
retreat, but faced about and causing great discomfiture to a mighty foe.
True, the attitudes of the King of Assyria and the king of beasts would
be quite reversed, yet Ninus was a god whose front was more imposing
than his back; moreover it _would_ have been as pictured had Azet not
prophesied with lies. Shall a King be held to blame where foolish
servants err through ignorance? Not so!
The sculptor Bobardol now set to work, while Ninus commanded a sumptuous
feast to be prepared, whereby he might celebrate his triumphs in the
chase. His soldiers and populace should pass in lines through the palace
hall and gaze in awe upon this unveiled tablet, set up to the glory of
the high lord Asshur--and to the glory of the King.
While waiting this work of art, and at the same time resting so that his
wound might heal, Ninus was wont to recline within his litter which was
borne along the top of the city wall. Here he could watch at will, or
give directions in the order of another enterprise which dwelt in his
mind and heart. Three years had now passed by since his warriors turned
tail from Zariaspa; and the time approached when Ninus must seal his
promises to rake the ashes of this city into sacks and with them feed
the waters of the sea.
The army encamped within and without the walls of Nineveh was twice so
great as that which had failed in the former siege, and Ninus gave much
thought to the plans of his second war. On the plain a wall had been
erected, in height and thickness measuring that of Zariaspa, and here
the Assyrians practiced methods of assault. Great carts they had, with
platforms twenty cubits above their wheels, propelled by slaves who were
hidden underneath, while above the platforms ladders rose and slanted
toward the wall. Up these the men-at-arms would clamber rapidly, to
grapple with defenders at the top; and so great was their zeal in this
mimic war that many lives were lost because of it. There were tall
machines which worked on pivots, whose swinging buckets could set a
score of men upon a parapet; there were towers faced by armor-plates of
brass, from the crests of which wide bridges might be flung, while
warriors swarmed across to engage the enemy. Huge catapults were built,
of new design and hurling power, some casting single rocks, and others
to rake a battlement with a volley of smaller stones. Full many a
strange machine of cunning workmanship was thus devised and stored
against departure, when the King would once more lead his armies to the
East.
In the lowgrounds and on the rolling slopes beyond the river Khusur
which flows between the mounds of Koyunjik and Nebbi Yunas, myriads of
oxen and beasts of burden were set to graze upon the pasture-lands.
These had been employed in the building up of Nineveh, and now were
resting for a further need, for their final strength would be utilized
in hauling the traps of war through desert lands and toilsome ways, on
spongy forest roads to the hills beyond, up heavy mountain slopes to
gorges between the peaks of Hindu-Kush. Thence they would scramble down
into the plains of Bactria, to become at last the food for a hungry
host; and thus the cattle served unto many ends.
The waiting army was under sole command of Menon, whose heart was now
divided between two loves. To prepare for war would have joyed him
vastly, except for his vow to wed Sozana when Zariaspa fell before the
King; and this he might not do because of Semiramis, of whom he dreamed
as resting peacefully in the valley of Ascalon. Had Ninus spoken aught
to him of the red-haired imp who laughed from the bough of a citron
tree, Menon's heart might then have borne a double weight; but the
happening was not that quality of jest on which a monarch is pleased to
regale his chiefs.
It chanced on a certain day that Menon was summoned to the palace for a
council with the King, and, striding through the gardens, he came with
suddenness upon Sozana, who sat alone. Fair was she, with the beauty of
a childish maid; yet in her green simar, and the silvery veil which was
wound about her throat, Sozana was a princess, from her raven hair to
the jeweled sandals on her tiny feet.
Since returning from Syria Menon had found no opportunity for speech
with her, and now he came forward joyously, his hands outstretched. At
the sound of footsteps Sozana had risen from her seat, but, on seeing
him, she gave a little cry of disappointment and of pain, flushed
crimson and turned away without an answer to his greeting; and when he
sought to question her concerning such treatment of an old-time friend,
she sank upon a bench, to weep as though her heart would break.
For a moment Menon stood irresolute, then, as he began to speak again, a
hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, turning, he looked into the eyes
of Memetis the Egyptian, a youth whom he loved as he might have loved
his mother's son, but who now refused his greeting coldly, spurning the
proffered hand and placing his own behind his back.
"How now," asked Menon, "is this the manner of Memetis to his friends?"
"Nay," returned Memetis, frowning as he spoke; "true friends I greet in
love and tenderness; the false may rest with Hathor ere I take their
hands."
Then it came upon Menon that Memetis and Sozana knew of the mandate of
the King, and were bitter in their thoughts of one who came between them
and their happiness.
"Memetis," the Assyrian asked, "is it, then, to the walls of Zariaspa
that thine eyes are turned, fearing lest a friend hath juggled with thy
trust as a traitor might?"
The Egyptian's black eyes glowed in anger which he vainly strove to
check, while his fingers played about the hilt of a dagger at his belt.
"Aye," he answered bitterly, "to the walls of Zariaspa do I turn mine
eyes, for with their fall falls every hope which Isis dangled before my
foolish heart. And thou!" he cried, "the false! The treacherous! who
would tear Sozana from mine arms, aye, even as the hawk would swoop upon
a nest of doves!"
Menon strove to speak, but the Egyptian would not harken to his words.
The Assyrian faced Sozana, stretching forth his hand, but Memetis sprang
between them, drawing his dagger, and in a low, fierce whisper spoke his
wrath:
"Lay but a finger on this maid, or speak her name again, and as Osiris
liveth, will I take thy life!"
Menon looked into the lover's eyes, and slowly spread his arms.
"Strike!" he murmured sadly. "Strike, and learn from other lips than
mine that Memetis is a fool."
He waited, but the Egyptian made no move, because of the sorrow on the
face of one who had been a cherished friend.
"And dost thou dream," asked Menon, pointing to the girl who wept beside
him, "that I would willingly bring sorrow to this child? Nay, listen,
both, then judge me when ye know the truth."
The Egyptian's hand sank down beside him, and his blade was tossed upon
the earth.
"Speak on," he begged, "but, oh, my friend, I pray thee show me no
mirage of hope that melteth when a thirsty traveller would drink."
So Menon sat between them on the bench and told them of Semiramis. He
told of the artifice by which he sought to gull the King, in a firm
belief that Zariaspa would not fall; and yet, should chance prove
otherwise, he would fly with his wife into Arabia, where Prince Boabdul
offered them a safe retreat. He spoke of his life in Syria, of the
wonder of his love for her whom he left behind; and as the tale went on
Sozana dried her tears and held the teller's hand in both her own, for
she and Memetis knew at last that Menon betrayed no trust in him, and
their hearts were glad because of a hope restored.
"Forgive," Memetis pleaded as his friend arose; and Menon smiled, bent
down and kissed Sozana as a brother might, then left them with a heavy
heart to seek the King.
Ninus still reclined upon his couch--for his hurt was yet unhealed--and
rested beneath the shade of a canopy on the palace roof, whiles he
waited in impatience for Menon's coming till the hour was past. Now it
is not good to linger when a wounded monarch waits, so Ninus fretted,
combing at his beard as was his wont when matters troubled him or anger
rose.
"How now," he asked, when Menon came at length with a hasty step, "am I
the master, or do I sleep, to awaken presently and find myself a
servant--_thou_ the King?"
"Forgive, my lord," begged Menon, falling on his knee; "King Ninus
sleepeth not. 'Twas the servant who drowsed beside the way. In the
garden below I chanced upon Sozana with whom I have held no speech
since--"
"Ah!" said the King, his anger fading, while a smile began to play about
his mouth. "So the eagle needs must wait when pigeons peck at love.
Speak on, my son."
Menon flushed and cast his gaze upon the floor.
"I--I sat with her, my lord, and spoke of many things, taking no thought
of how the moments flew, till--"
"Hark!" said Ninus, as he raised his hand. "Can it be that I hear Sozana
singing from the garden there?" Menon listened, nodded, and the King
went on: "Strange!" he mused. "For days she hath tasted lightly of her
food, and sighed and drooped her head; yet now at thy coming she hath
straightway plumed herself, and pipeth a saucy song. Look thou, master
fox, what miracle is this?"
Menon flushed again and smiled a foolish smile; yet he answered
cunningly, with a lingering grip on the slippery skin of truth:
"My lord, I--I whispered into the maiden's ear."
"Oho!" laughed Ninus. "Now by my beard, I'd give a goodly sum to learn
thine art. But come, what chanced to be the burden of this pretty
speech?"
"As to that," said Menon boldly, in a manner which ever pleased his
lord, "my whisper is a secret in the keeping of discretion's tongue and
the maiden's ear alone."
"U'u'm!" mused Ninus. "How many men-at-arms are now prepared to take
the field against our good friend Oxyartes?"
For a space the two discussed their plans for a second war against the
Bactrians, then Menon saluted his master's hand and took his leave.
Alone, the King lay thinking on his war, when of a sudden his thought
was disarranged by the notes of another song, no longer Sozana's voice,
but that of a man, deep, tender, and pleasing to the ear:
Like Love is the fragile Lotus bud,
When kissed by the gleaming, golden flood
Of light from shining Ra;
It blooms 'neath the warm, caressing beams
On the Nile of Life, and its blossom seems
To shine as a milk-white star.
But lo! when the fateful season turns,
And the tawny desert glows and burns,
Shimmering, parched, and dry--
As the vanquished foe to the victor stoops,
All faded and shriveled the Lotus droops--
And, withered, it falls to die!
"Strange!" mused Ninus, combing at his beard. "The Egyptian sitteth with
Sozana in the gardens down below and singeth a song of love; albeit I
mark that his song be sad.... Yet--why should he sing at all, the fool!
Doth he, too, whisper into the maiden's ear, and--"
The monarch paused abruptly, to call to his faithful leech in a tone of
petulance:
"Argol! come stroke my side in the region of my wound; for I tell thee,
man, it itcheth damnably."