So, upward ran Prince and King, the one upon the right, the other on the left, each panting in his toil till their veins were swelled into throbbing, purple knots; each casting aside all reckoning of life and death save the one desire to outstrip his fellow animal in the race toward the roof. The roof!—whereon a woman stood—one mould of mortal clay, yet mixed with the blood-red wine of passion, whereof men drink, and in their madness trample on the altars of their gods.
Upward, still upward, till a single flight remained, and none might say which held a vantage of the lead; then Menon groaned aloud and sank exhausted on the stair. Huzim, watching from above, leaped down to seize his master in his arms and bear him upon the roof; yet, alas! too late, for the mighty sinews of the King would win to the summit of the citadel. The race was well-nigh run. Between the lord of all Assyria and his goal there stood one man alone—Kedha the faithful—he who loved Semiramis as a dog may love the master of his heart; he who loved in silence since that bygone day in Syria when a red-locked imp of war had cursed him in his teeth and with him charged a wall of battling Kurds. At the coming of the King he crouched upon the stair, not in fear, but in awe of that crowning flash of Destiny when a man and his spirit reach the parting of the way. An arm shot out and seized the monarch's thigh; a shoulder pressed him, and the two plunged downward, rolling to the bottom of the stair.
In the fall poor Kedha lay beneath the King—beneath two hairy hands that in fury gripped his throat. These hands had builded Nineveh; they had played with nations as a juggler toys with sharpened blades; they had woven the thongs of servitude—from sun-baked Egypt to the frozen waters of the North—and now they closed, till the neck of one last slave was snapped and his body lay in a bleeding, huddled heap. Thus Kedha passed, in the cause of those he loved, and, in passing, wrought a nobler deed than the lord of all Assyria could boast, with scepter and with sword.
When Ninus at last came out upon the roof, Menon rested from the toil of battle and the stress of his racing climb, breath-spent, with fast-closed eyes which noted not the coming of his King. In his heart of hearts the monarch yearned to raise the victor in his arms and hurl him from the battlements, but Semiramis leaned upon his hunting spear, even as Huzim leaned upon his mighty hammer haft; therefore the monarch smiled. He raised Prince Menon and set him upon the battlements, and then, in the sight of the watching hosts, proclaimed him conqueror; whereat a mighty roar went up, till the soul of the King grew faint with fury, though his hand was steady, and he smiled.
* * * * *
When darkness fell, great braziers of oil and fat were lighted in the hall of the conquered citadel, and there the King made feast in honor of his victory. Beside him sat Menon and Semiramis, on whom the monarch looked with a look of love, hiding his flaming jealousy in smiles. Beyond them sat the brave Prince Asharal, on whom King Ninus also smiled, with a devil of hatred clawing at his heart. So the feast went on and on, and joy was rife throughout Assyria and Babylon.
When the wine was half consumed, and when beasts and captives had been slain in sacrifice of Asshur, then Ninus arose and spoke concerning the splendor of all things which had come to pass. To those deserving praise, he praised without stint of measure, promising such reward as the treasures of plundered Bactria might yield; yet Menon he set in honor above the rest. He bade his warriors look upon this man as the son of Ninus—son of his loins and heart—who would henceforth share in the stress of war and the rule of the King's dominion over men.
"For who," he cried, "shall sit upon Assyria's throne if Ninus, perchance, be gathered to his fate?"
A silence fell throughout the hall, and each man looked upon his fellow, wondering. Semiramis, too, sat silent, her eyes fast fixed upon the master's face, striving to read his hidden heart, even as a seeker after truth may scan a graven lie upon a monument.
So the feast, at last, was done, and each man sought his rest, the King to toss upon his couch and plan a war of craft, while Semiramis, because of a wounded knee, was borne in the arms of Menon to his tent, and slept from weariness.