Throughout the day Semiramis rested in the shade, and slept; but when night was come she chose a few from amongst her warrior-chiefs, then with Boabdul and his brown-skinned Bedouins she slipped across the sands. On camels they rode, those long-limbed, lurching beasts that devoured the leagues with a tireless, padding gait—that glided like ghosts beneath the icy stars—that slid through the wastes of red Arabia on a trail of death.
And in the silence of the night Semiramis raised her eyes and arms and cried unto the stars:
"Oh, Ishtar, Ishtar, give over this devil to the vengeance of my heart—keep, thou, my lord till I come again to him at Nineveh!"
* * * * *
King Ninus was mounted on a matchless steed of Barbary, and his eagerness to be gone from out Arabia kept pace with his matchless steed. Full well he knew that Semiramis would follow after him; full well he knew that, since Boabdul's arm was lost to him, his hope lay eastward in the distant country of India's King. Could he win to the Euphrates, cross over it, and skirt the coast, coming at last to the river Indus, he there might mock the huntings of all Assyria, and bide his time till an army could be raised—an army which should give him back his throne, his power; for these King Ninus craved, and would have them, though his years were few.
That Semiramis hunted him, was a thought of bitterness in the monarch's heart, for he loved her utterly; yet, since Prince Menon had risen from the dead, a terror, also, rose, which vied with the yearnings of his love and sent him eastward in a line as straight as an arrow's flight. His steed outstripped the flying Bedouins who had burst through Assyria's lines, and soon the King sped on alone—alone on the desert's fiery breast—and hour on hour he fled from the vengeance of Semiramis.
At evening the King grew faint from heat and his lips were parched with thirst, while even his splendid mount was drooping, and faltered in its stride. The wise steed scented the breath of a cool oasis toward the north, and would have turned thereto, but Ninus knew naught of the plainsman's lore and lashed the wise one, racing him eastward in a dead straight line.
Thus it came about that when night had fallen the horse grew lame, so Ninus dismounted and rested upon the sand. Then a cold wind rose, which sang across the desert, searching his bones till he shivered and cursed aloud; and the good steed shivered, also, because of his sweating body and the lack of a master's care. Naught had this stallion of Barbary known save love and tenderness; and now, with drooping head, he looked upon the cursing King, and wondered. No covering was there to shield his flanks against the cold; no water wherewith to bathe his wind-burned nostrils; no hand to stroke his muzzle in caress; no lips to croon the love-songs of the land of Araby. The chill of the night had entered into him, till he whinnied for the shelter of a master's tent, and coughed in pain; then man and beast lay down together in a hollow in the sands which Ninus dug with his royal nails.
When the warmth of morning came again, the two went on their way; yet a red sun rose to harry them, to pour its light upon them in a wavy glare; and the stallion of Barbary reeled toward the east. Again came night. Again came day—the pitiless, parching day, when league on league of tawny desert wrapped them round in a world of flame; when their tongues were black and swollen from the pangs of thirst, a thirst which took them by the throat and shook them, a thirst which reached beyond and gripped their hearts.
Then, presently, the faithful steed could bear his weight no more; he staggered and fell upon the sands to die. King Ninus slew him, and, in the fury of his thirst, he drank of the horse's blood; but the blood was warm and brought no ease to him, for rather did it spur his mad desire. Then the famished man rose up and wandered away on the desert's breast—alone.