A DREAMER OF DREAMS
He was sleeping, yet not so sound but that his rest was visited by a
strange and terrifying dream.
He thought he was in the desert, galloping his good horse in pursuit of
an ostrich, winged with plumes worthy to tuft the spears that guarded
the Great King's tent. But for all his efforts of voice, hand, and
frame, Merodach laboured strangely in the deep sand, of which the
long-legged bird threw back such volumes as to choke his lips and
nostrils, wrapping him in a dim revolving cloud, that whirled and
towered to the sky. Like a stab came the conviction that he was in the
midst of the pitiless simoon, and he must die. Once more he strove to
rouse Merodach with heel and bridle; but the horse seemed turned to
stone, till, plunging wildly, he struggled forward, only to sink under
his rider and disappear beneath the sand. Then the cloud burst asunder
to reveal the glories of a dying sunset, fading into the purple sea.
He was on foot in the desert, fainting, weary, and sore athirst; but he
heard the night-breeze sighing through palms and whispering in lofty
poplars; he heard the cool ripple of water against the shore, and the
pleasant welcome of a stream, singing in starts of broken melody as it
danced down to meet the waves; then he saw a yoke of oxen, a camel at
rest, a few huts, and a boat drawn up high and dry on the beach.
He was no longer a warrior in the armies of the Great King, but a rude
fisherman amongst fishermen. He ate of their bread, he drank from their
pitcher; yet was he still hungry and athirst, still wore a sword at his
girdle and carried a bow in his hand.
He took his share of their labour; he drew in their nets. It seemed to
him he had seen their faces before, though they knew him not; but he
marvelled why they moved so slowly, and neither spoke nor smiled. While
he helped them, too, it was as if the whole weight of rope and meshes
hung on his arm alone. So night fell; and they took him into a hut,
pointing to a cruse of water and a mantle spread in the corner, but
withdrawing in the same sad silence, calm and grave, like those who
mourn for the dead.
He could not sleep. The moon rose and shone in on him where he lay.
After long hours of tossing troubled waking, a figure blocked the window
where her rays streamed in on his couch. Then a great horror came over
him without cause or reason, and tugging hard to draw his sword, he
found it fastened in the sheath. Solemnly, slowly the figure signed to
follow. Leaving his couch, he felt his heart leap, for it resembled
Ishtar! But in the porch of the hut he seemed to recognise the clear
proud features of the queen. Nevertheless, when its face was turned to
the moonlight, he knew it was Assarac under the garb of a fisherman, but
bearing the lotus-flower always in his hand. Without exchanging word or
look, with averted eyes and stealthy steps, these two set the little
bark afloat and took the oars. Then at last was broken the long weary
silence, by a voice that came up from the deep, saying, "Ferrymen, bring
over your dead!"
Light, buoyant, and high in the water, the boat had danced like a
sea-bird on the surface; but now, though never a form was seen nor sound
heard, she began to sink--deeper, deeper, so that the waves seemed to
peer over her sides, leaping and sporting about her in cruel mockery, as
though eager to break in and send her down.
It was a hard task to row that heavy freight out to sea. Weary and
horror-stricken he tugged at his oar till the sweat dropped from his
brow.
The moon went down, and a great darkness settled on the waters--the
thick clogging waters, through which their oars passed so heavily. Was
it the sea of the plain whereon they were embarked? Yes, surely, it must
be the sea of the plain, the Dead Sea.
Was he never to approach the term of this numbing oppressive labour?
Must he row on for ever and ever, without pause or respite, having bid
his last farewell to the shores of earth and the light of day? Thus
thinking, he felt the boat's keel grate against the bottom, while the
oar started from his hand.
He took courage to look about him; but mortal eye could not pierce that
thick darkness; and though the toil awhile ago had been so severe, a
chill air curdled his blood, and crept into his very heart.
Still and silent as the grave seemed that shadowy land, till the same
voice he had heard on the other shore called out the name of one he knew
well and loved with a brother's love. There was no answer; but the boat
lightened perceptibly, and her keel no longer touched the shingle.
Another name was called, and yet another, always in the same calm
passionless accents, always with the same strange solemn result.
At every summons the boat rose higher in the water. When Sataspes was
called, she swung to the flow and wash of the sluggish wave against her
sides; at the name of Ninus, the Great King, she floated free and
unencumbered as before she put out on her mysterious voyage.
With a heart lightened as was the boat that bore him, he pushed her off
to return; for something warned him that now his task was done. He would
fain have spoken with Assarac; but the surrounding gloom seemed so to
oppress his lungs and chest, that the words formed by his tongue could
not find vent through his lips.
Once more he was bending to the oar, when, as it were out of his own
heart, came a voice whispering his name, "Sarchedon! Sarchedon!" in low
sweet tones, which yet he knew vibrated with the sentence of his doom.
An unseen power raised him to his feet, and would have lifted him to
shore, but that the priest held him back by his coarse fisher's garment,
which dragged on chest and throat till he was fairly choked. Then, in
extremity of fear and agony, he found his voice to call on Assarac for
help at the moment when his vesture, yielding to the strain laid on it,
parted asunder to let the cold night air in on his naked breast.
So he awoke, scared, trembling, panting for breath, and even in his
waking seemed still wrapped in the gloom of that Isle of Shadows--seemed
still to catch the tread of muffled footsteps, the breath of airy
whispers, faint echoes from another world.
In that age, and amongst a people ever striving after a mystic ideal,
yearning for communion with a higher world, dreams, and the
interpretations thereof, were held of no small account.
Sarchedon, warrior though he was, and, like his great chief, little
imbued with the superstitions of his time and country, could not yet
pass over such a scene as his imagination had even now pictured without
much cogitation and concern. He sat up and considered it in no small
perplexity, inclining to regard the vision now as an omen of fortune,
anon as a warning of fate. In his suffocating struggles to wake, his
hands had been pressed close against his breast; a few moments elapsed
ere he became conscious that he held in them a jewel he had never seen
before. Rising from his couch at the foot of the tower, he hastened to
examine it by starlight under the open sky. It consisted of an emerald,
on which was cut the figure of a dove with outspread wings, following,
as it seemed, the course of an arrow flying upward through the air. That
it had come to him by supernatural influences during his sleep, he never
doubted, and interpreted it, as men always do interpret the
inexplicable, in the manner most agreeable to his own wishes. This dove,
he said to himself, must mean the girl he had so lately seen at the Well
of Palms; for what could be more dove-like than the maiden sweetness and
innocent bearing of Ishtar? The arrow doubtless signified, in its upward
flight, his own future career. He would become illustrious as a warrior,
and Ishtar would follow him in his brilliant course to fame. Was it an
arrow, or the initial of a name? He was forced to confess, from its
shape and direction, that it seemed intended to represent the weapon
itself, and not the letter of which he would fain consider it a symbol.
Nevertheless, it must be a sign that the gods intended him for great
things, and it should be no fault of his if the only woman who had yet
touched his heart did not share with him the good fortune thus promised
by the stars.
Meantime it wanted many hours of dawn; so he returned to his cushions
and mantle for the remainder of his night's rest, stopping by the table
at which he had sat with Assarac in the evening for a pull at the golden
flagon, not yet emptied of its good Damascus wine.
Nevertheless, long before sunrise, he awoke refreshed, invigorated,
happy; feeling the amulet resting on his breast, he accepted its
presence for a fortunate omen; and ere daylight paled the beacon-fire on
the tower of Belus, was galloping Merodach through the desert on his way
to the Well of Palms.
"Surely," thought this dreamer, "she will be watching there for the
first glitter of spears that shall give token of her father's return?
Then will I tell her when to expect the host, and how to distinguish
between its vanguard and the spearmen of its strength, having Arbaces at
their head, who march with the chariot of the Great King. She will give
me to drink, and I will say unto her, Maiden, as this draught of water
to one athirst and stifled with the desert sand, so is a whisper from
the lips and a glance from the eyes of the fairest damsel in all the
land of Shinar to him who has ridden from the great city only to look on
her face ere he departs to see her no more. Then she cannot but lift her
veil, and speak kindly to me, bidding me tarry but a few moments, while
she draws water for my horse. So will I tell her the whole tale; and
hereafter, when my lord the king has rewarded his warriors for service
done with bow and spear, I will take to Arbaces a score of camels, a
hundred sheep, and a talent of gold, together with the armour I won of
that swarthy giant beyond the sweet river; and how shall he say me nay?
So will I lead her home to my tent, and then shall I have attained full
happiness, and need ask for nothing more on earth."
Thus it fell out that Kalmim, arriving in the temple of Baal soon after
daybreak, missed both the object of her real and her fictitious search.
The queen after a heated restless night, bade her chief tiring-woman
seek in that edifice for an amulet, which Semiramis affirmed she could
only have dropped at the foot of the tower of Belus, where some one, she
added, was sleeping, who must be brought to her and interrogated
forthwith. Kalmim's experience, in her own person and that of her
mistress, led her at once to guess the truth; therefore she hurried off
to apprise Sarchedon he was wanted without delay in the royal palace. On
her arrival, it might be said that she found the nest still warm, though
the bird had flown; for a priest was carrying away the cloak and
cushions that had formed the young man's couch, and his dark eyes
glittered with a roguish smile while he peered into the flagon of
Damascus, to find little left in it but dregs.
"These warriors seem to know the use of good wine when they can get it,"
said he, "and I doubt not it sings and mantles under helm of steel no
less than linen tiara or fillet of gold; but they clasp bow and spear
through many a long night for one that they spend with goblet of Ophir
in hand. Men sleep little in the camp too, and feed sparingly, they
tell me, nor day after day must they be cheered by the sight of a
woman's veil or the sound of a woman's voice. To say nothing of a fierce
enemy and a place in the fore-front of the battle between two hosts in
array, where it is scarcely more dangerous to fight than to fly. Truly
it is better to be a servant of Baal than of the Great King."
"It is better to be a boar in the marshes than a lion in the mountain!"
retorted Kalmim with high disdain; "a vulture battening on a dead camel
than an eagle striking the wild goat from its rock! Conquering or
conquered, up or down, a warrior is at least a _man_, and a match for
men!"
"While a priest is a match for women," answered the other, laughing. "Is
that what you would say? Nevertheless, Kalmim, it must be a priest who
will serve your turn this morning, for there are here a thousand in the
temple, and never a hand among us to draw bowstring or close round the
shaft of a spear."
"There was a warrior in the porch even now," replied Kalmim; "a goodly
young warrior with dark flowing locks, and a chin nearly as smooth,
Beladon, as your own. What have you done with him? He bore hither the
Great King's signet, and if he has come by harm, not all the gods of all
your temples will shield you from the fair face that never looked on man
in anger but he was consumed."
Beladon, a handsome young priest, with bright roguish eyes and swarthy
complexion, turned pale while she spoke--pale even through the rich
crimson of his cheek and the blue tint of lips and chin, where his beard
was close-shaven, and rubbed down with pumice-stone in imitation of
Assarac's smooth unmanly face.
"The youth lay here scarce an hour ago," said he, trembling. "He mounted
the noblest steed that ever wore a bridle--a white horse, with eyes of
fire--and rode off through the Great Brazen Gate into the desert like an
arrow from a bow. Surely he will return."
Kalmim burst out laughing at his discomposure.
"Surely he will return!" she repeated; "and when he does return, surely
you will bring him to me by the path through the great paradise without
delay. Semiramis hath been dealing justice amongst the people since
sunrise, but she will pass the heat of the day as usual in the fishing
temple, and you will find me in its porch. You do not fear to present
yourself before Dagon? His worship requires no sacrifice of sheep nor
oxen, no blood of priests to flow from the gashes they cut in their
naked flesh, before his altar."
She spoke in a jesting tone ill befitting the solemnity of the subject,
and he answered in the same vein.
"The sheep and oxen we offer are consumed without doubt by Baal himself,
while his servants live miraculously on the light of his countenance and
the fragments that he leaves! Touching our self-inflicted wounds,
notwithstanding all the blood spilt before the people, we scarcely feel
the pain; and this too cannot but be by a miracle of the god. I make no
secret with you of our mysteries. Tell me, in return, what mean these
warlike preparations that have set the whole city astir to-day?"
Her tone was still of banter and sarcasm.
"Would you wish the Great King to be received," said she, "with no more
ceremony than a shepherd bringing a stray lamb in from the wilderness on
his shoulders? When he returns a conqueror, shall not the triumph be
worthy of the victory?"
"But if every man who can bear arms is to stand forth in array with bow
and spear; if the women and children, on pain of death, are not to come
down into the streets; if the priests of Baal and the prophets of the
grove are to be marshalled like warriors, with knives unsheathed and
sacrificing weapons in hand, our welcome will seem to Ninus more like
the assault of a fenced city than the return of my lord the king to his
home!"
"So be it," answered Kalmim. "It is not the flash of a blade or the
gleam of a spear that will frighten the old king. By the serpent of
Ashtaroth, he fears neither man nor demon; and when his queen raised a
temple in Bactria to Abitur of the Mountains, he profaned his altar and
defied the Chief of the Devils in sight of our whole army. It angered
her, and she hath not forgotten it. Why, men say, he believes no more in
Baal than--than you do yourselves!"
He looked about him in alarm.
"Hush!" said he. "It is not for me to judge between my gods and my lord
the king. The divining cup of Assarac has not failed to tell him that
Ninus shall one day take his place with the Thirteen Gods. It may be
that he knows the golden throne is waiting for him even now."
He scrutinised her face narrowly, but saw on it only a light and
careless smile.
"Were I the queen, I'd have a younger one next time," was her reply. "Of
_your_ years, say you? No, thank you, Beladon--not for me. Well, you may
come with me to the Jaspar Gate and as far as the outer court; I dare
not pass alone through all those oxen, lowing, poor things, as if they
knew not one of them would be left alive to-day at noon."