Alone, the Syrian raised her eyes toward the sky and once more listened to the voices of the night. The river's hymn was hushed; no sentry's call rang out from distant Nineveh, and across the plains came only a foolish wind that murmured among the trees. Yet other voices rose in the heart of Semiramis, to cry aloud with every quickened beat. Menon! Menon! they shouted, till the echo mounted to the burning stars, to catch their flame and tumble back to the heart which sent it forth. Thus cried Derketo, that mother whose passion stirred in the daughter's blood, till her eyes grew dim in yearning tenderness. As a song it sounded in her ears—a song of fire and love; yet with it rose a strain more harsh, the voice of her unknown sire—perchance a war-god from the Southern Seas. It rose in a stern command and was taken up on the tongues of marching multitudes, in the snarl of the battle-horn, and the rumble of charging chariots.
To the south lay far Arabia, whence peace might follow in the thread of love; yet Semiramis stretched her arms toward the east where Zariaspa sat, unconquered, on the plains.
From the darkness came Huzim on the back of a goodly steed, leading another by its bridle rein. To the saddle-skin of each was bound a food-sack, arms, and a woolen cloak to shield the body from the chill of night. Likewise, for Semiramis, he had brought a brave attire, for henceforth she must travel, not as a woman, but as a man; so, from a screen of the hillock's trees, she discarded her wet simar and soon stepped forth in the guise of a youthful warrior. From her shoulders hung a linen tunic, belted and falling to the knee, while her limbs were encased in heavier cloth, bound round with thongs. Her arms were bare, and on her head sat a brazen helm, of a pattern worn by fighting chiefs on the Syrian coast, its stiff rim lined with a veil of many folds.
With a laugh Semiramis leaped astride her steed, causing her dog to be set before her on the saddle-skin, for their pace would be swift, and Habal might not follow with his broken foot.
"See, mistress," whispered Huzim, coming to her side and stretching forth his arm toward the south; "there lieth our road which leadeth by devious ways to the desert home of Prince Boabdul, whence we journey at my lord's command."
"Aye," the Syrian nodded, "'twas even so two moons agone, yet now the world hath somehow gone awry, till Arabia no longer lieth in the south. Come, hasten! that we catch this wandering land ere it shift again."
With another laugh she wheeled her steed and raced toward the north, while for an instant Huzim gazed after her, his jaws agape in wonderment; then he cursed, and spurred upon her track. For a space she held the lead, till the Indian cut it down and at last stretched forth his hand which closed on her bridle-rein.
"How now," he cried, when the steeds had come to a fretful stand, "what madness wouldst thou do? Come, turn southward, for to Arabia we journey, else Huzim must first be slain."
For the first time since the battle with the Kurds she marked a frown of anger upon the servant's brow, yet little she reckoned of the wrath of any man.
"Huzim," she answered, and her teeth shone white in the light of a riding moon, "I know not what path is best for fools to take, nor if you would hide in idleness beneath the desert's sands; but as for me, as Ishtar hears my oath, I go to Bactria."