MOLOCH CLAIMS HIS SACRIFICE
Artemisia and Thais looked from their window at the scud of flying clouds and beneath them the Macedonian fleet assembling south of the city. Thais' eyes danced with excitement, and Artemisia's cheeks were flushed.
"This time we shall win!" Thais exclaimed, throwing her arms about her companion. "You are beautiful this morning, Artemisia; Clearchus will be pleased with you."
The color in Artemisia's cheeks deepened and a happy smile parted her lips.
"I shall make him leave the army," she said. "Of course I am proud of his bravery; but, after all, there are better things than to be always killing other men."
She raised her chin with a charming affectation of pride. "He is an Athenian, you know," she added.
Thais frowned. She found in Artemisia's words an implied reflection upon Chares.
"Don't be silly," she replied. "Do you want to make him one of those curled idiots who spend their time in company with philosophers, chasing shadows or trying to find out why crabs walk sidewise? You would wake up some day and find that one of them had proved to him that there is no such thing as love. Or perhaps you would rather have him a dandy, with race-horses and a score of dancing girls to amuse himself with! Let him be a man, Artemisia; let him love you and fight his enemies with all his heart. For my part, if Chares talks of deserting Alexander, he may look elsewhere for some one to love him; for I shall not."
Artemisia listened to this outburst; but she shook her head, and a soft light shone in her eyes.
"You want power and splendor," she said "but I would rather be alone with Clearchus in a desert than sit beside him upon the throne of Darius. I will have no rival in his heart."
"And with half a dozen children around you," Thais said scornfully. "You might as well complete the picture."
"Yes," Artemisia answered bravely, though she blushed as she said it, "if the Gods permit it; and if the first is a boy, he shall be named Chares."
Thais turned swiftly and kissed her, all her anger gone in a moment.
"There, sister, I did not mean it," she said. "May the Gods give us both our hearts' desire!"
She clapped her hands, and the tiring women who had been awaiting the summons entered.
"Give me my saffron chiton," she cried, "and my topaz necklace. We shall have visitors to-day, girls."
She seated herself before a large mirror while the women dressed her hair and robed her as she had directed. They could not hide their admiration when their task was finished and she stood before them like a living image of gold.
But Artemisia chose a linen robe of pure white, unrelieved by color. The spotless purity of her dress set off the delicate flush upon her cheeks and the soft brown of her hair.
So eager were the young women that they were scarcely able to taste the fruit and cakes that the servants set before them. They kept jumping up and running to the window to see what progress the Macedonian fleet was making, and whether the attack had begun.
"What a storm!" Artemisia exclaimed. "I wish it would stop; it hides the ships."
"Zeus is fighting on our side to-day," Thais replied gayly, as a long growl of thunder shook the walls of the house. "Tell me, what is going on in the city?" she added, turning to a Cretan maiden among the women. The girl was beautiful in face and figure, although her expression was one of sadness. She had once ruled as favorite of Phradates, and it was whispered in the household that she still loved him, in spite of the fact that she had had a score of successors since her brief day of ascendency.
"They are preparing a sacrifice to Baal-Moloch," she replied, "in the hope of persuading him to aid them."
"What is this sacrifice? I have never seen one," Thais asked.
"I do not know," the girl said. "There has been none since I came to Tyre."
"I know, mistress," another of the women volunteered. She was a Syrian, with a supple figure and bright black eyes, who had been a slave from her infancy.
"Describe it, then," Thais said.
"Baal-Moloch is the most powerful God in the world," the woman said volubly. "His image is made of iron, and is terrible to look upon." She shivered as she spoke. "I never saw it but once, and that was when the Babylonian king threatened to make war upon us. We offered sacrifice to prevent it, and Moloch would not permit him to come. The priests went about the city and took the children—even the little babies—and carried them away to the temple. When the doors were opened, we could see Baal sitting there in the darkness. There was a fire inside of him, and his eyes glowed at us. He reached his hands down, and the priests gave him the children, one by one, and he lifted them up and devoured them. It was awful to think of those little children!"
Artemisia listened with an expression of horror on her face.
"I do not see where they are going to get the children now," Thais remarked. "They have all been sent away."
"They are taking the children of the Israelites who remained here," the Syrian explained, "and they say—at least, Mena says—they are going to sacrifice a virgin, too. Ugh! I don't want to see it."
"Little good will it do them!" Thais exclaimed. "Not even Baal can save their city now."
"Hush!" the Syrian said, affrighted. "He is a great God."
Sounds of commotion and of hurried footsteps in the lower halls of the house interrupted them. Thais listened.
"Go and see what it is," she commanded.
The Syrian went, and in a moment came flying back into the room with terror on her face.
"Oh, my mistress!" she cried. "Why did you speak so of Moloch? His priests are in the house! Save us!"
"Silence!" Thais exclaimed, rising to her feet. "You shall not be harmed."
She raised her head proudly and faced the doorway, while the slave women huddled behind her with frightened eyes. Artemisia stood beside her, trying to emulate her courage; but a strange sinking laid hold upon her heart, and a mist swam before her eyes.
There was a rush of feet outside, and four black-robed men, followed by a guard of soldiers, entered. Their leader was a man of stern and grave expression, whose eyes seemed to glow in his pale face with the power of his compelling will. He was Hiram, who had been chosen hastily to act as chief priest when Esmun failed to return from the royal palace. His ascetic countenance contrasted strongly with the gross faces of his followers, brutalized by self-indulgence. The other priests both feared and hated him, for it was said that Baal had endowed him with powers that were beyond the understanding of man.
"What seek ye here?" Thais demanded, flashing a haughty glance at the zealot.
He paid no heed to her and made no answer. His dark eyes caught those of her companion and held them.
"Artemisia!" he said, in a solemn voice that sounded like a summons, "our Lord, Baal-Moloch, the Saviour, awaits thee! Come with us to his temple."
To Artemisia the words sounded far away; yet she heard them distinctly, and they seemed to leave her no choice but to obey. A deep sense of peace crept over her as she looked into the fathomless eyes of the priest, that were fixed steadfastly upon hers, and from which she could not withdraw her own. Dimly she felt that never again should she see Clearchus or behold the land of Attica. Never should she hear his beloved voice or feel his arms around her, clasping her close to his breast. It was the will of the Gods. Everything earthly seemed to recede and fall away from her as in a dream, leaving her alone with the grim priest, her master. They two were floating upon a mighty current that was bearing them, she knew not whither. She was at peace, and all was ended. The terror she had felt a few moments before had left her. It seemed remote and long ago, and she smiled to think of it and of how foolish it had been.
Hiram saw her form droop and her muscles relax, and these signs of his victory did not escape him. The expression of his face did not change, however, and he still kept his eyes fastened upon hers. The sombre figures of his subordinates stood motionless beside him, and the soldiers of his guard, lean and weather-worn, blocked the doorway, glancing now at the two young women and now at the slave girls cowering in the background.
"Come with me!" Hiram said quietly, stretching his strong hand toward Artemisia.
She made an uncertain step toward him, but Thais caught her by the arm and drew her back.
"What do you mean by this mummery?" she cried, with blazing eyes. "Get thee gone and tell thy God that Artemisia is not for him!"
"Chafe not, daughter," Hiram replied calmly. "The will of Baal must be obeyed. There can be no escape."
"You shall not have her!" Thais cried. "Your creed demands a willing sacrifice!"
"And she is willing," the priest said, in the same even tone.
"She is not!" Thais said.
"Follow me!" Hiram exclaimed, slightly raising his voice.
Artemisia made a feeble effort to obey, and Thais felt the arm that she held draw away from her grasp.
"Sorcerer!" she cried desperately, retaining her hold, "she is not willing of her own will. Release her from thy spell!"
"She is willing," Hiram repeated, "and thou shalt see her place herself voluntarily in the hands of the Giver of Life."
He made a slight sign, and the three priests who followed him stepped forward. One of them twisted Thais' hand from Artemisia's arm, retaining her wrist in his clutch, while another seized her on the opposite side, rendering her helpless. The third took Artemisia gently by the hand. She offered no resistance, but suffered herself to be led down the marble stairs with wide-open eyes that seemed to see nothing. Thais followed between her captors. Her face was pale to the lips, and yellow flames danced in her eyes.
"Priest of Baal!" she said, "thou hast shown no mercy and none shalt thou receive—neither thou nor thy God!"
"Blaspheme not," Hiram said; "the vengeance of our Lord is bitter."
"More bitter still shall be the vengeance of men," Thais exclaimed in her despair, "and they are now beating at the walls who shall make thee feel it!"
Hiram made no reply. If he felt a misgiving, his face did not betray it. He led the way with measured tread down the staircase, followed by his two captives and by the guard.
"Artemisia!" Thais cried in anguish, "speak to me!"
Artemisia made no response, nor did she turn her head. It was evident that she had not heard. Laying aside her pride, Thais determined to make a final effort. When they reached the deserted entrance hall, she raised her voice.
"Phradates! Phradates!" she cried. "Save us from these men!"
Her cry echoed through the recesses of the hall, but it brought no response.
"Phradates!" Thais called again as the outer doors swung back, revealing the wind-swept street.
This time a figure emerged from the marble columns. It was that of Mena the Egyptian, who advanced with a malicious smile upon his sharp face.
"My master is upon the walls," he said impudently, though he bowed low. "He is fighting to save the city from your friends."
Something of the suppressed triumph in his bearing struck the attention of Thais, agitated as she was.
"Is this thy work?" she demanded, looking at him between narrowing eyelids. "Thou shalt pay for it, slave, upon the cross, to the last drop of thy blood!"
"Thou dost me too much honor," Mena replied, bowing again in mock humility.
"Come," said one of Thais' captors, roughly. "Baal must not be kept waiting."
The slanting rain smote their faces as they emerged into the street, where throngs of men and women were crowding toward the Temple of Moloch. On this side, as yet, nothing could be seen of the fierce conflict that was raging for the possession of the children in the Hebrew quarter. The sounds of it were lost in the rushing of the wind and the crashing of the thunder.
The people of Tyre hastened forward in silence and with bowed heads. A nameless dread possessed them. Amid the confusion wrought by man and the elements, friends and neighbors touched shoulders without a glance of recognition. A weight of oppression seemed to dull their minds and restrict their lungs. They were like creatures that listen furtively in hidden terror to catch the forewarning of some catastrophe, the nature of which they know not. All bonds were dissolved. Husbands became separated from their wives in the press and made no attempt to rejoin them.
Even the priests of Moloch who followed Hiram were affected by the universal uneasiness, and Thais felt the hands that clasped her wrists tremble. Hiram himself walked gravely and slowly, apparently oblivious of what was going on about him. He seemed indifferent alike to the pelting of the storm and the danger from falling stones. A mass of rock plunged into the crowd close before him, crushing a man beneath its ponderous weight. The step of the pontiff did not waver, and he passed the spot without so much as a glance at the mangled body pinned down by the missile. His consciousness of the protection of Moloch freed him from all sense of personal danger.
The people made way for him in silence, huddling to the sides of the street and closing in after the soldiers had passed. Artemisia walked with her eyes upon the sombre figure that strode before her. Her face was as colorless as the linen chiton that clung to her figure in the rain, disclosing the maidenly outline of her bosom. Her breathing was even and regular, as though she were sleeping with open eyes.
Anger raged in Thais' breast as in that of a lioness, bound with chains, which sees her cubs taken from her. She knew the hopelessness of struggling with her captors, for even if she could free herself, she would still be powerless to rescue Artemisia.
Around the gloomy temple stood thousands of men and women, mournfully and silently waiting in the rain for the procession to enter. The great bronze doors stood open, revealing the dark interior of the building, where a few torches cast a flickering light upon the face of the monstrous idol, whose cruel features seemed to be twisting themselves with hideous grimaces.
Streamers of pale blue smoke were drawn through the apertures over the head of the image by the wind, and the inside of the temple was filled with a smoky haze that increased the obscurity. This came from the fire of scented wood that the priests had kindled in the body of the idol. They fed it continually from behind; and the faint smoke, rising from carefully disposed openings in the breast and shoulders of the figure, partially veiling its face, added to the mystery and solemnity of the ceremony.
As Hiram approached the entrance, two lines of black-robed priests issued silently to right and left, pushing back the crowd and forming a lane which led up the two flights of shallow stone steps to the doorway. The spectators reverently bowed their heads. Their faith in the power of Baal, bred in them from infancy, was strong upon them, and deep was their fear of his wrath. Many times had he listened to their prayers, and more than once had he refused to listen, permitting the calamity that they besought him to avert. But never since he had become their God, at a time beyond the limit of tradition, had they gone to him in such dreadful extremity. Would he intervene, or would he leave them to their fate?
All eyes were turned to the impassive face of Hiram, searching there for an answer to the question that was in every mind. The chief priest gave no sign. He paced slowly into the open space between the ranks of the priests, his black vestments fluttering about him in voluminous folds. His eyes looked straight forward into the temple, seeking the face of Baal. In his footsteps walked Artemisia, her head now drooping slightly, like a flower cut from its stem. The priests began a slow chant, so low that its words of praise could hardly be understood.
Halfway up the second flight of steps, behind the row of priests, Pethuel appeared in the crowd. He had managed somehow to reach the temple in advance of his flock. The rain glistened upon his white hair and snowy beard. Pressing forward as Hiram advanced, he raised his voice above the mystic words of the chant.
"Priest of Baal!" he cried to his rival, "thy God is fled! Behold, his image shall be broken in thy temple. The wrath of the Lord God of Hosts is upon you; for the cup of Tyre's iniquities runneth over!"
He ceased and a murmur ran through the crowd; but no hand was raised against the old man. The priests looked at Hiram, who passed on without so much as turning his eyes, and they continued their chant. Not even when the brother who walked beside Artemisia was struck down by an arrow on the threshold of the temple did Hiram pause. The shaft, falling obliquely, buried itself between its victim's shoulders, and he fell upon his face in his death agony. His comrades lifted him quickly and bore him out of sight; but the people continued to gaze at the stain of blood upon the stones where he had fallen.
As Artemisia and Thais vanished in the doorway, the sounds of conflict caused by the rising of the Hebrews reached the temple.
"It is Alexander!" said one to another in the crowd, and because of the words of Pethuel, the cry was more easily believed. Panic seized upon the multitude. Thousands of those who had assembled fled back to their homes. Others ran toward the royal palace, and still others sought the harbors. Scores found refuge in the temple, fighting with each other to enter first through the wide doorway. The dread that had weighed them down had taken shape. The evil was upon them.