THE POWER OF THE DOG
Towards sunset, Ishtar wandered into Babylon anxious, forlorn, and
desolate, yet carefully nursing in her breast that spark of true courage
she inherited from a line of warriors. In plain attire, travel-worn and
dejected, she passed on among a crowd of wayfarers heeded by none.
Desirous of escaping observation, she yet could not help reflecting
bitterly how everything about her was changed, herself perhaps most of
all.
It seemed but yesterday that the daughter of Arbaces moved abroad
attended by a retinue of servants, escorted by a troop of horsemen. Even
when most she affected privacy, she could not stir without women,
camels, foot-cloths, fan-bearers, all the encumbrances of rank. Eager
eyes were fain to pierce her veil, that they might gaze on her beauty;
kind voices wafted after her their welcome or good wishes, because of
her own graces and her father's fame. She was flattered, admired--above
all, loved. And now she must shrink beneath the wall, to avoid the rude
camel-driver and his ungainly charge. The water-carrier, tottering under
his jars, gruffly bade her stand aside to let him pass; and the only
courtesy she experienced amongst that hurrying, shifting throng was from
a curled and bearded bowman, who would fain have lifted her veil as the
price of his protection, and whose good offices she repulsed with a
scornful energy that put him to flight in considerable dismay.
She wept a little after this effort, and hurried on faster to the
shelter of what had once been her home.
In the days of mourning that succeeded his death, or, as his subjects
were taught to believe, the enthronement amongst the stars of the Great
King, a strange repressive power had made itself felt amongst all
classes in the city of Babylon. An unseen hand, cold, weighty, and
irresistible, seemed laid upon the whole people, forbidding any
demonstration of sympathy and indeed all expression of feeling whatever,
public or private. The king's host, as it was still termed, had been
recalled within the walls, and amalgamated cordially enough with their
comrades of that army which was avowedly in the interests of the queen;
but the citizens gained little from such an alliance, save more mouths
to feed, more prejudices to consult, and it might almost be said more
masters to serve. The priests of Baal too, with whom, in the reign of
Ninus, his men of war had been covertly at variance, seemed now on terms
of the closest brotherhood with all who handled bow and spear. Such a
fusion of two non-productive classes boded little good to those whose
industry supported both; and the thoughtless Babylonian, usually so
light-hearted, found himself saddened and depressed when he had fondly
expected to eat, drink, and be merry, under the easy rule of a lord who
preferred feast to fray, bubble of wine-cup to clash of sword and spear.
From a change of rulers Babylon had expected a change of those
principles which constitute government itself. Ninus, though firm and
impartial, was severe, and reined her with a strong hand; she had
therefore always looked forward to the day when his son should sway the
sceptre, as a time of ease and luxury, with license for every man to
think and speak and act as seemed good in his own eyes. But Ninus went
to the stars, Ninyas reigned in his stead; and the citizens wondered,
with blank faces, why bread was dear and water scarce, the priest
covetous, the warrior oppressive, and the royal yoke harder than ever to
be borne.
Under such circumstances none thought it worth while to bestir himself
for the bettering of his own position, or the assistance of his
neighbour. If a well was choked, he cared not to clear it: if a wall
fell down, he let it lie. There was a shadow over the city, and its
inhabitants already regretted the wise foresight and judicious
government of the Great Queen.
Ishtar felt very weary before she reached the portals of her father's
house, very sad and friendless when she crossed its threshold and looked
round on the precincts of her home. The sun was down, but a clear cold
moon poured its beams over the scene of desolation and decay. It was
obvious that the palace must have been abandoned on the night of its
attack, and that no friend or servant of Arbaces had revisited it since.
The assailants, having another object than plunder, carried away from
his dwelling only that one of his possessions the chief captain most
dearly valued, which they took with them to Ascalon. But an unguarded
house could scarce remain unspoiled for a single night in such a city as
Babylon. And Ishtar found her father's dwelling rifled and sacked from
roof-tree to door-stone completely, as though an enemy had taken it by
storm. In the court-yard remnants of shawls, silks, precious arms,
costly flagons, strewed the inlaid pavement, dinted and defaced by marks
of struggling feet; but the shreds were frayed and torn, stained with
wine or stiff with blood, the weapons bent or broken; the flagons lay
crushed and battered where they had been emptied and dashed down.
Pushing aside some rent hangings at the entrance of the court,
night-hawks shrieked and night-owls hooted, while a bat, flying out,
struck cold and clammy against Ishtar's cheek. Her flesh crept with
horror; but that sorrow mastered fear, she must have cried aloud for
help.
The moon shone brighter as it mounted in the sky. Patches of dried blood
stained courts and passages, a splintered javelin and a naked sword, lay
at her feet--fragments of alabaster and gilding broken from the
sculptures on the walls strewed the floor; but whatever loss the
assailants might have sustained, it seemed that they had borne away
their wounded and their dead. As yet she was spared the ghastly presence
of a corpse.
Cold and faint, she leaned against the wall to take breath. It had come
to this. Amongst all that shattered splendour in those very halls where
her father feasted scores of warriors, every one a captain of ten
thousand, there was now neither bread to eat nor wine to drink--no, nor
the means of purchasing so much as a draught of fair water; though so
short a while ago the palace of Arbaces had been stored with royal gifts
and costly merchandise, meat and drink, gold, precious stones, and spoil
of war.
If she could but find even an embroidered baldrick, a jewelled dagger,
whole and uninjured, something she might carry into the market, and sell
for as many skekels of silver as would put food in her mouth, and enable
her to continue those efforts for the delivery of Sarchedon, which
should never cease but with her life!
Resolving to search the palace through, she pushed on, traversing the
court she had lately entered, and so reached the well-known stairs
leading to the women's apartment, that heretofore she had so often
climbed dreamily thinking of her lover, or run down blithely with a
smiling welcome for her sire. Here were indeed traces of deadly strife.
Embroidered curtains, torn and disordered, dangled from the wall;
defaced sculptures and shattered slabs encumbered the pavement; a
slender column of bronze, supporting a brazier, was bent and twisted to
its pedestal; a broken bow lay across a torch long since extinguished
on the floor. The lower part of the hall was black in shadow, while a
flood of moonlight bathed roof and rafters, painted wood-work, gilded
pinnacle, all that elaborate ornament and finish which had been above
the level of the conflict.
As her foot touched the first step, two lurid eyes glared on her through
the darkness, and a long lean object glided swiftly by, brushing her
garments as it passed.
It was the wild-dog disturbed from his loathsome meal.
She had no fear now; only a thrill of intense suffering, with a fierce
hideous desire for revenge. Wreathing her white arms above her head, she
flung herself down by something, that an instinct of love, stronger than
the very horror of the situation, told her must be the remains of her
father.
A cloven headpiece had rolled from the smooth and grinning skull. His
fleshless fingers still closed round the handle of a sword. He lay where
he fell, his face to heaven, grim, unyielding, defiant even in death;
but the wild-dogs had stripped him to the bone, and it was a bare
bleached skeleton against which Ishtar laid her pale and shuddering
cheek.
There rose through roof and rafters, curdling her very blood, a shrill
and piercing shriek. She never knew it was the wail of agony wrung from
her by her own despair.
Alas for the brave spirit passed away, the loyal heart, cold and still,
kind and true! He had been struck down in _her_ defence; had been
willing, eager, to purchase with drops of life-blood the brief moments
that might have aided _her_ to escape; his last blow struck on _her_
behalf, his last breath drawn for the child who had sat on his knees and
lain in his bosom. The noblest warrior that ever drew bow in the service
of Ninus, fit leader of the brave who were arrayed under the banner of
Ashur at his behest. She was proud of him even then.
As the moonbeams crept across the pavement where it lay, they were so
far merciful, that they revealed to her the ghastly sight by
imperceptible degrees. She seemed to gather strength from him whose
blood ran in her veins, stretched out in that white distorted heap,
scarce retaining a semblance of human form. She thought of him in the
majesty of his strength, the pride and beauty of his manhood, recalling
the broad hand that used to rest so lovingly on her head, the noble brow
that never wore a frown for _her_; and the weight seemed lifted from her
brain, the iron probe taken out of her heart, while sobs convulsed her
bosom, and scalding tears rushed to her eyes.
She became human again. She was a woman now, and she wept.
It was a weary watch. The long night through she never left his
skeleton, never changed her position, nor ceased her silent mourning,
nor moved a limb, but to drive away the wild-dogs that glided in and out
the entrance of the court, drawing near with eager whine and wistful
eyes while she was still, scouring off in vexed dismay when she stirred,
to return again, and yet again, till dawn.
Though grief like hers may for a time dominate the requirements of the
body, these assert themselves at last. With the return of day Ishtar
felt conscious of hunger and weakness, the one threatening to overpower
her if the cravings of the other were not speedily satisfied. She knew
she must exert herself at once, lest she too should sink down, and die
by him whose bones lay bleaching beside her there.
Would it not be better so? What had she to do with life now? There was
but one consideration to rouse her from the apathy of despair. The last
obsequies must be paid to the remains of her father; and who would
insure for him that final mark of respect if she was gone? She would
live at least till this was accomplished; and therefore must she go out
into the city, and stand unveiled in square and street till she could
find a friend. Surely amongst all those men of war who went forth to
battle at his word might pass one who would recognise his daughter, and
afford the only tribute of respect left to the memory of Arbaces!
From the resolution to make her effort grew strength to attempt it. With
exertion came renewed vitality, and with vitality a spark of hope. Yes,
even through those depths of gloom and misery glimmered faint reflective
rays of that which was not quite impossible; as the light of heaven,
though blurred and dim, reaches one who is sinking in the green
bewildering sea.
Then she rose up, tore a strip of curtain from the portal, and lifting
the skeleton with tender reverent care, disposed it in a seemly attitude
under that scanty covering, so as to baffle wild-dog and vulture till
her return.
In raising her father's remains she found under them a baldrick in which
his sword had hung, embroidered by her own hands. Even this had been
gnawed and partly eaten away; but it was fastened with a jewelled clasp,
pressed down beneath the broad shoulder-blade of the dead warrior, and
had escaped alike the eyes of cupidity and the fangs of hunger. It was a
treasure to her now. Drawing it hastily out, she concealed it in her
bosom, kissing the precious relic once with eager, passionate lips,
because she must part from it so soon.
Then she disposed his strange shroud about the remains of Arbaces,
looked high and low, to earth and heaven, with wild imploring eyes,
seeking aid, but finding none, and so walked out alone into the world
from her home.