CHAPTER XXII
WHO RULETH, FIRST MUST RISE
A sumptuous feast was held, whereat the greater and lesser chiefs of every camp assembled, each in his appointed place; moreover, throughout the army of Assyria no soldier went unfed, or thirsted for a gulp of wine.
At the head of the royal board sat Ninus, in his robes of state, with Menon on his left, Semiramis on his right, while below them ran a double row of grim-faced warriors from many lands, the bearded nobles of Assyria's court, the swart barbarian clad in skins; yet pieces all in the bloody game of war. With thumpings of hairy fists they bawled for wine—red wine from the hills of Syria—and in the riot of a drunken toast they thundered forth the name—Shammuramat!
King Ninus smiled into Menon's eyes, dropping his hand upon the shoulder of the youth, while Menon smiled in turn, lifted the monarch's hand and pressed it to his lips. And thus amid wild music of the sheep-skin drum and the zither's tinkling whine, beneath the flickering glare of torches filling the air with resinous reek, a truce was made; a treaty betwixt Prince Menon and the King, wherein all enmity should cease, and the youth once more might claim a foster-father's love. In peace might he dwell with his wife Semiramis, and, fearing naught, lead forth his men-at-arms to storm the walls of Zariaspa.
Deep into the night a din of revelry was heard, till the vault of the skies turned gray and the burning stars winked out, even as the brawlers one by one dispersed, to rest till a span of sleep brought back their fires again. Then Menon and Semiramis gave thanks unto the King for his bounty and his love, made low obeisance, kissed his robe, and hand in hand went forth into the night.
Outside the tent, amid a glare of torches, a chariot stood, its steeds grown restless at the weary wait, and thither Menon led his wife, now his for all time by the oath of Assyria's King; yet ere they could mount and loose the reins, a white-clad figure stole from the shadow of a lesser tent, stood full in the chariot's path and raised his arms. Menon peered beneath the hood, then bent his knee to the High Priest Nakir-Kish.
"What wouldst thou?" he asked, and the High Priest answered, solemnly:
"Of Menon—naught!" Then he laid a finger upon his lip and beckoned to Semiramis.
Marvelling, she followed him to a point beyond the hearing of her lord, and by the light of a dying moon she marked his features, grim and cold, his thin lips twitching beneath a manelike beard. A man of commanding beauty was Nakir-Kish, strong in the vigor of his two score years, and stronger still in the pride of his mystic power; and now with folded arms he looked upon Semiramis, keenly, without a show of haste, then, presently, he spoke: