THE TURN OF A WOMAN'S TONGUE
For many days the mind of the King was troubled by a fractious mood. He
strove to nurse an anger against Semiramis, yet, even as he brooded, his
thought would trail away from the wrong she had put upon him, and linger
on the witchery of the woman's eyes.
"_Heh!_" he muttered, savagely. "This imp is not an imp to be forgotten
in a day!"
There were hours wherein he was prone to pass the matter by, to forgive
these lovers who had balked his will by a wit more subtle than his own;
yet moments would come when he longed to strip her shoulders bare and
watch the lash laid on; and in such a mood he caused her to be brought
before him as he lolled in his garden in the noontide heat.
His couch had been set beside a fountain's edge, beneath a trellaced
arbor whereon a vine of Syria climbed, the great black grapes in
clusters peeping from their leaves and set apart for the lips of the
King alone. At his hand were a jeweled flagon and a dish of fruit on
which he regaled himself from time to time as he waited for Semiramis,
while at his head stood a eunuch who waved a fan of feathered plumes and
watched lest a buzzing insect rest upon his monarch's skin.
King Ninus, smiling grimly, watched Semiramis coming down a garden-path,
and hardened his heart, for now, alone with her, he would speak his mind
as befit the master of the world, and even learn, perchance, if her
arrogance would break beneath the lash.
Then presently she stood before him, clothed in a white simar, whose
edges were stitched with pale blue feathers of some tiny bird, crossed
on her breast and caught by a silver girdle at her waist, the soft folds
falling to her sandaled feet. Her hair was drawn from her temples in a
drooping curve, confined with jeweled pins in a knot behind, and was
covered by a gauzy veil, now lifted from her face in deference to the
King.
In the eyes of Ninus she was fair beyond his fondest dreams of
womankind, yet, withal, she galled him by her calm assurance of the
power to charm. So, for a space he regarded her and spoke no word, till
Semiramis, uninvited, perched herself upon a stool and inquired into the
monarch's health as though she had been his leech in charge.
"Woman," growled the King, "knowest thou why I bring thee
here--alone--where none may hear my words or thine?"
She smiled and looked into his eyes, striving to read the mind beneath,
then plucked a bunch of his sacred grapes from the vine about her head
and began to eat them thoughtfully.
"Mayhap my lord is weary of himself and willeth to be amused."
The King half raised himself upon his arm in angry astonishment, for the
impudence of both her act and speech was past belief. Serene and
undismayed, she spoke as an equal, to _him_--the lord of all
Assyria--and pecked at his royal fruit with the recklessness of some
wanton bird. His mouth went open, while he vainly sought for words
wherein to shape his wrath; yet, ere he could find them, Semiramis had
poised a luscious grape between her thumb and finger and thrust it
between his lips.
"Eat, my lord," she murmured, smiling happily, "for never have I tasted
fruit that lay more sweet upon my tongue."
So the monarch, marveling at a weakness which he could not understand,
devoured the grape and cast its skin into the fountain at his side.
"The grapes of Syria!" laughed Semiramis. "Ah, good my lord, their
flavor, like unto a memory, leadeth me among my native hills--to the
lake of Ascalon and the vine-clad temple crouching on its shore. If my
lord would hunt, I can lead him where the beasts of prey are fierce and
strong--where--"
"Nay," said the King who stretched himself at ease upon his couch, "I
would hear the story of Shammuramat."
She bowed her head in obedience to his will, and, as before she had
spoken to Menon on the steps of Dagon's temple, so now again she told
the tale of a babe that was nursed by doves, the while she fed her royal
listener with grapes, and watched his anger fade. She told him of her
home with Simmas, the father-dove, and of her other home in Azapah,
whence she fled by night to join the battle of the Kurds.
The eyes of Ninus were sparkling now, his lips had twitched into a
smile; and when he learned how the tax on Syria was raised, he laughed
till the tears ran down and the pain in his wounded side aggrieved him
sorely.
Was this the woman above whose back he longed to hear the whistle of a
scourge? Nay, strive as he would, he failed to harbor wrath against
Semiramis, yet in his breast there rankled still a wound to pride.
Someone must suffer because of the disobedience; if not the woman, then
justice must fall upon the man. Should Menon be blest above all other
men--to enjoy the love of Ninus and also the love of one who was fit to
mate with kings? Nay! By the necklace of the five great gods, this
thing was not to be!
So Ninus nursed a grave displeasure against his general, while he lay
with half closed eyes and hung upon the words of his general's wife. He
watched her lips, her eyes, the curve of her rounded breast, and the
tiny veins on her velvet skin where the blood of passion drowsed. In
the soil of his soul a seed was planted deep, and though he knew not its
name, it would grow in might, a sturdy vine that twined its soft,
insidious tendrils round a monarch's heart, till it dragged him to the
earth with the weight of its ripened fruit.
The palace gardens lazed in a silence of the noon-day's heat that was
broken only by the fountain's gurgling song, the flutter of a bird that
dropped to drink, and the voice of Semiramis, low, melodious, and sweet.
The sounds on the city streets below were hushed in the hour of rest,
and the lisp of the breeze was but a whisper among the palms. Farther
and fainter the Syrian's murmurs trailed away, till they seemed to the
King the nameless voices of the night, when a hunter sprawls beside his
camp-fire, listening, listening, while he slides from weariness to
peace--and Ninus slept.
In his dreams he sat upon the throne at Nineveh and looked toward the
east. His eye could pierce the snow-capped mountain range, and the
rolling mists beyond which hung above the walls and citadel of Zariaspa.
He saw his armies swarming up the battlements, to be beaten back and
tumble headlong to the earth, while his foemen waved their bloodstained
arms and shouted, though their shouts he could not hear. He strove to
cry commands, but a hot wind blew them back into his throat, and the
Bactrians leaped from their battlements to smite the children of
Assyria. Yet, suddenly, they seemed to pause in fear, retreating to
their walls before the charge of a single chariot which swept across the
plain. It was drawn by three white steeds that fought with hoof and
teeth, the taut reins held in the shield hand of Semiramis. Her locks,
unbound, were streaming in the wind. The sun's rays lit her golden
armor with a flash of fire that burned through the ranks of her fleeing
enemies. Straight at the walls she drove, while the King looked on and
trembled in his dread. A stone from a catapult went hurtling out and
burst upon her shield, but she laughed and urged her steeds. He saw her
splash through a bloody moat, and, shuddering, closed his eyes; yet when
he opened them again, lo! the city walls had crumbled into dust, and the
chariot raced across great mounds of smoking wreck. Westward it came,
through passes and defiles, up, up to the summit of the Hindu-Kush, to
thunder down into the plains beyond, wheel swiftly to the west and speed
for Nineveh! She was coming! Semiramis was coming! Ah, he could see
her clearly now--her great eyes blazing from a splotch of red and
gold--her white throat gleaming through a web of wind-blown hair. She
passed the city gates, which burst before her rush, and drove full swing
between long rows of winged bulls and crouching lions. The King could
now discern the beat of hoofs, the ring of the driver's voice as she
urged her steeds, and the crack of her pitiless lash. He heard the
shock of her chariot wheels when they struck the palace steps, and the
splintering crash of Raman's statue as it overturned; then the massive
doors of the hall fell in, while a queen of battle thundered over them,
to check her panting steeds beside the throne.
"Bactria is no more!" she cried, and leaped to a seat beside the King.
Then Ninus flung wide his arms, yet ere he felt her weight against his
breast, a black cloud slid between them--and the lord of dreams awoke.
Semiramis had gone, and in her place stood Menon, waiting till the
slumbers of his master ceased.
"My lord," spoke Menon humbly, as he bent his knee, "the armies of
Assyria lie beyond the wall, ready to march on Zariaspa at the King's
command."
For many moments Ninus scowled upon this man who in days of old had been
his friend in joy and grief, in peace, in victory and defeat.
"Then lead them forth at dawn," he answered, sternly; "and mark thou,
Menon, this for thine ear alone. On Zariaspa's fall will hang the fate
of those who disobey my will."
Menon looked up swiftly, and the King spoke on:
"Thy deed in Syria hath grieved me sorely, the more because of a trust
misplaced, and so thy hand shall dip no more in the fleshpots at thy
master's board. Go, then, without the love of Ninus which was like unto
the love of a father for his son, and sue for pardon when our enemies
shall cease to be."
The monarch waved his hand as a sign that the conference was done, yet
Menon lingered still.
"And she, my lord?" he asked, striving to quell the tremor in his tone.
"If Bactria falleth, what then of my wife Shammuramat?"
The King lay still and pondered for a space, till at length his dark
eyes glowed with the fires of craft. A plan was born wherein he might
compass his own desires, and at the self same time hold Menon in the
grip of unceasing diligence.
"Shammuramat," said Ninus, smiling in his beard, "remaineth a hostage
here at Nineveh till the war be done. My army, once beyond the
Hindu-Kush, shall divide in twain, the one half mine, the other thine,
albeit Ninus is the chief of all. Then will we each lay siege to
Zariaspa, the one upon the east, the other on the west; and as thy men
are spurred to deeds of valor by promises of high reward, so will I urge
mine. And look thou, boy, the walls are strong, their copings manned by
sturdy foes; yet to him who first shall stand a conqueror on the summit
of their citadel, that man shall receive a prize."
"And the prize, my lord?" asked Menon, shivering at a dread to which he
dared not give a name.
"_Shammuramat!_" cried Ninus, bringing down his doubled fist, till the
table rocked and the flagon overturned, the dark wine gurgling out upon
the earth like the blood of a stricken warrior. "To the conqueror shall
go this prize--by Asshur I swear it!--though he be her wedded spouse or
the spawn of a Hittite serf. Now go! and set thy hope on the citadel of
Zariaspa."
For an instant Menon lingered still, his gaze fixed fast upon the eyes
of Ninus, his hot blood surging madly through his veins, his sword hand
playing nervously about his blade; then he laughed and turned upon his
heel without salute, albeit his laughter was like unto the cry of a
strangled wolf.
"Wait!" called the King, and as Menon paused, he pointed a warning
finger at his under-chief. "No parting word may be spoken with thy
wife, save in my presence and in my audience hall this night. And more;
should thy lips tell aught which Ninus gave in secret to thine ear, then
marvel not if my men-at-arms cast lots amongst them for a concubine!"
So Menon went out from the gardens of the King, and, with a head that
drooped upon his breast, rode slowly to the camp beyond the city wall.