LOTH
A lover's perceptions are not easily deceived; neither veil nor mantle
can hide that subtle, mysterious idiosyncrasy which makes the one woman,
while wholly distinct from the rest, a type and ideal of her sex. It was
indeed Ishtar whom Sarchedon had seen amongst the spectators of his
entry into Ascalon, nor is it necessary to add that she had recognised
him almost ere he passed through the gate. In those long weary days
since they parted, how many drink-offerings had she poured out, how many
prayers had she offered to Baal, Nebo, Merodach, all the host of heaven,
especially to Ashtaroth, Queen of Love and Light! Behold them accepted
and answered now! Her lover was in the same town with her; all the
cunning she had practised to keep him at bay whose ardour she so
loathed--her assumed fatigue, her feigned sickness, her feminine arts of
defence--were to be rewarded at last. Doubtless she would meet Sarchedon
in the streets--on the wall--what matter where?--before another sun had
set; and to look in his face, if only once again, would be happiness
enough for Ishtar. Her influence over the volatile young prince gave her
authority in his household, so that she could roam unquestioned through
all parts of the town and fortress where he reigned supreme. Sarchedon,
tossing uneasily on his couch, little thought whose hand had trimmed the
lamp by his head, strewn the rushes on his floor, and filled with the
purest coldest water in Ascalon the pitcher that stood ready to his
hand.
During the first watch of night, Ishtar paced to and fro in her own
chamber, restless, perturbed, fevered with a wild joy far too keen for
happiness, her whole being, sense, heart, and brain, filled with the
image of the man she loved. When the archers had been relieved on the
wall, and the spearman's echoing tread had died out among the ramparts,
a well-known footfall passed along the gallery to her chamber: she
recognised, with indescribable fear and loathing, the step of the man
who loved _her_!
Ninyas, weary of a banquet too late prolonged, of wine poured out too
freely, tresses unbound too readily, smiles lavished ere he provoked
them, and favours offered that he had little inclination to ask, broke
up the sitting with less than his usual cordiality, and flung his
festive garland under foot with something of the petulance shown by a
spoiled child, that destroys its playthings because of the one
unattainable gaud it has been forbidden to possess.
His male attendants discreetly emptied their goblets and held their
peace; but some of the women showed signs of displeasure and discontent
ere they withdrew; Rekamat, indeed, a comely dame from the northern
mountains beyond Nineveh, who deemed her own ruddy cheeks and amber hair
too rare beauties thus to be wasted in Ascalon, spoke her mind freely
enough.
"My lord is wrath," said she, "with his handmaidens, because, forsooth,
we grudge neither word nor deed, dance nor song, to do him honour. Shall
we not rejoice in the light of his countenance, as the golden fruit of
the palm deepens under the rays of a southern sun? When the date is ripe
it should be gathered ere it fall."
"The dates are musty, and the palm-tree bare," answered Ninyas; "I am
weary of it all!"
"Let not the anger of my lord be kindled," replied Rekamat in a voice
that betrayed considerable irritation, "while I tell him he is plunging
his hand through the thorns to pluck a cluster of wild-grapes; he is
pouring streams of fair water on a growth of bitter wormwood, and yoking
a team of oxen to plough the desert sand. O, my lord, have you not free
choice among all the birds of heaven? and cannot you refrain from the
poor gray linnet that sits sad and moulting in her cage?"
"The linnet's plumage is sleek, and her song pleasant to hear," retorted
Ninyas with a mocking laugh. "The vulture's neck is bare and peeled, her
voice an ugly croak."
"I thank my lord for the comparison," replied Rekamat, now quivering
with vexation. "He used not to think so when he hunted the lion under
the walls of Nineveh: the vulture had bright eyes and sweet tones when
she flapped her wings in Babylon before the Egyptian campaign, and my
lord seemed well-pleased to find her hovering over him in Ascalon when
he arrived with half-a-score of attendants, and a maiden swaddled up in
sere-cloths on a dromedary. O that I had never come here! never seen
this hideous, hot, and hateful town! never, never, _never_ looked on the
face of my lord!"
Skilful in the science of such warfare, Rekamat burst into a storm of
sobs, veiling her bright face with her delicate hands, to hide the
tears, which were not perhaps forthcoming so freely as she could wish.
It was no part of the prince's nature to soften at sight of a woman's
distress, real or simulated. He laughed heartily now, and she turned on
him like a tigress.
"My lord has yet to learn the first lessons of manhood!" she exclaimed.
"What do I say? Am I not a fool to look for a warrior's beard on a boy's
chin? Out on the smooth cheek and the white skin! Give me the heart, I
say. As bright Ashtaroth is my witness, I would I were Prince Ninyas but
for a single day!"
She was very handsome with her burning cheeks and flashing eyes. It may
be, that all the evil in her listener's disposition woke up at her
petulance and audacity; but his countenance remained unmoved, his voice
seemed unusually gentle, while he asked, "Why?"
She looked in his face scared, dominated by the quiet tones that to her
feminine apprehension seemed more threatening than the loudest outbreak
of wrath.
"Why?" she repeated. "Because I would cherish the faithful heart that
beats only for me, while the stubborn slave who dared to mock my power
should be thrust out with scorn into the wilderness."
"Have you done?" asked Ninyas, still in the same placid tones, with the
same hard unchanging smile.
She fell at his feet now, and her tears began to flow in sad earnest. In
her anger, she had been ready enough to run the risk of offending him;
but she shrank from paying the penalty.
"I am but as dust in the sight of my lord," was her reply. "It is for
the prince to command, and for his handmaid to obey."
"To-morrow, at dawn," said Ninyas, "you will sit in the gate of the
city, with your garments rent and ashes scattered on your head. In the
sight of archers and spearmen, and all the people of Ascalon, you will
draw water from the well to wash the feet of Ishtar, as she takes her
place of honour, doing homage to the beauty of her who is the chosen of
your lord. I have spoken."
Then he turned coldly away, leaving the prostrate beauty cowed and
defeated, though maddened with the bitter prospect of her humiliation.
Notwithstanding his self-assertion, however, Ninyas proceeded on his
undertaking with feelings of considerable annoyance and ill-humour. To
be baffled by one woman was bad enough, but to be flouted for his
failure by another was irritating in the extreme. He resolved that this
trifling must be borne no longer, that the royal favour he offered must
be accepted forthwith. What! the girl was in his power, after all! He
had not wavered when her father lay slain on his own hearth; why should
he hesitate now? She must be taught her lesson, here in this grim lonely
fortress, and learn to accept with becoming gratitude the honours thrust
upon her by the gods.
Bold, reckless, unfeeling, he possessed the chief elements of success;
but he was young, and left out of his calculations the thousand wiles
and stratagems through which, in all encounters of their wits, a man is
invariably out-manoeuvred by a woman.
While he entered her chamber, the girl felt her heart stop beating and
her whole frame tremble like a leaf. She dropped her veil, nevertheless,
with a steady hand, standing erect, to all appearance calm and
motionless as a statue.
A flaring torch of pine-wood, dipped in pitch and fixed in a ring of
bronze against the wall, shed its wavering glare on these two comely
figures, playing over the sparkling jewels and festive garments of the
one, while it deepened into gloom and mystery the shrouded outline of
the other. Costly articles of furniture were scattered about the
apartment, such as ivory couches, dressed skins of beasts, silken
cushions, and tables of elaborate Egyptian carving. On one of these
stood two jewelled cups, and a flagon sparkling with amber wine from the
south.
Ninyas paused at the threshold; then advancing on that silent inmate,
took her hand, and passed his arm round her waist.
"I have quitted lighted hall," said he, "and circling wine-cup, because
of the Lily of Ascalon, without whom there seems no savour in the feast,
no mirth in the revellers. My lily is drooping here in solitude--lo, I
come to transplant her to a fairer garden and a richer soil."
Quick as thought she flashed one glance into his beautiful face, and
made up her mind even while she looked.
"His servant felt cruelly disappointed that my lord bade her not to the
banquet," was the deceitful answer. "It is to my shame and sorrow, if I
have in any way displeased my lord."
Thus speaking, she disengaged herself gently from the encircling arm,
and fell at his feet in an attitude that expressed the utmost humility,
but made it exceedingly difficult for Ninyas to embrace her again.
"You know," said he, "that you are always welcome to your prince. Come
when she will and how she will, he only desires to lay the lily in his
bosom, and place Ishtar beside him on a throne."
"Then my lord is no longer wroth with his handmaid," said she, unveiling
and rising to her feet, while she called into her beautiful eyes a look
that thrilled her admirer to the core. "I have sat here silent and sad,
thinking that the cloud between us was never to pass away. Lo, my lord
looks favourably on his servant, and she is glad in the light of his
smile once more."
Rejoiced, no less than surprised, by the happy turn matters seemed to
have taken, pluming himself also on his own wisdom in having left her
for a space to herself, all the heart Ninyas possessed flew to his lips
while he exclaimed:
"I love you, Ishtar! love you better than power, riches, a warrior's
fame, a king's throne, the wine I drink, the very air I breathe! O, I
love you so, my pure and precious pearl, that I sometimes think the
pleasure can never pay me for the pain!"
Fickle, self-indulgent, unstable as he was, yet in the fierce impulsive
ardour of his youth he meant it--honestly and heartily--for the time.
Ishtar could not repress a sense of triumph in the consciousness of her
power--a power that should serve to baffle the gaoler even now, and
unlock the prison door.
His eyes followed her with fond glances, while she moved to the table
and filled a wine-cup to the brim. It must have been a colder nature
than his that could resist the winning grace with which she offered him
to drink.
"My lord will not refuse to pledge his handmaid," said she, "in token of
forgiveness and good-will?"
He emptied the cup at a draught; for indeed to this impulsive young
prince there was a keen zest in every phase of luxury and indulgence:
the lust of the eye, the pleasures of the senses, feast and frolic, wine
and women--he loved them all too well. It was the strongest vintage of
the South, and succeeding his previous potations, its effects were
apparent at once. His cheek paled, his glance wandered, there came a
thickness in his speech, while he sank among shawls and cushions,
inviting Ishtar to sit beside him on the couch. Though it sickened her,
she suffered him to caress her hands, her arms, the fragrant wealth of
her flowing hair. Once more she filled for him. Once more he drank to
her beauty, her promotion, her coming happiness.
She had ceased to fear him now; for the strong wine, though it blazed in
his eyes and inflamed his senses, fastened his limbs, like a chain of
iron, to the couch.
Stretching his arms back to embrace her with the caressing gesture of a
child, he looked up in her face, betraying even more of mirth than
either love or longing in his own.
She watched him, as the physician watches the sick man about to die; and
though an icy cold crept over her, she never smiled more sweetly than
while she took his beautiful head in her hands and pillowed it on her
own beating heart.
In that fair smooth bosom thoughts of agony and horror were lurking, as
there are foul monsters and hideous secrets, wrecks and remnants and
dead men's bones, hidden beneath the smiling surface of the sea. She
longed for the wine to work its office--all the more wildly that he wore
a dagger in his girdle--and she prayed with her whole heart she might
not be driven to use that.
Softly, sweetly, she sang him a drowsy lullaby, not a quiver on her lip
nor tremble in her voice, while she soothed him with tender care, like a
mother hushing off her child.
"Sleep, my love, sleep; rest, my love, rest;
Dieth the moan of the wind in the tree,
Foldeth her pinions the bird in her nest,
Sinketh the sun to his bed in the sea.
Sleep, sleep--lull'd on my breast,
Tossing and troubled, and thinking of me.
Hush, my love, hush; with petals that close,
Bowing and bending their heads to the lea,
Fainteth the lily, and fadeth the rose,
Sighing and sad for desire of the bee.
Hush, hush; drooping like those,
Weary of waking and watching for me.
Peace, my love, peace; falleth the night,
Veiling in shadows her glory for thee;
Eyes may be darken'd, while visions are bright,
Senses be fettered, though fancy is free.
Peace, peace; slumbering light,
Longing and loving and dreaming of me."
At last! He would not wake now till dawn. She kept her eyes from his
dagger, lest she might be tempted to make too sure; then disengaged
herself with cautious sinuous dexterity from the undisturbed sleeper,
and, slipping the ring off his finger, stole noiseless as a shadow from
the place.