Menon followed after, shouting, begging her return, as he sought her among the trees and tangled undergrowth.
"Shammuramat! Shammuramat!" he called aloud, and only the echoes of his yearning voice came back to taunt him. For a weary space he searched, yet his search was vain; and when hope had departed utterly, he turned him homeward, skirting the lake shore with a lagging step.
Then a girl crept out from the shadows among the trees and sat on the temple steps. She rested her arms upon her knees, her chin upon her arms, and watched till Menon's drooping figure passed from sight.
Once more she cast her robe aside, tore off her sandals and flung them down; and then, in the wondrous beauty of her form unveiled, she stood in wrath before the fish-god Dagon, her eyes aflame, her red hair tumbling in disorder on her neck.
"What!" she stormed. "Did I—Shammuramat—drag out this liar from the lake, to save him for a minx at Nineveh?"
She snapped her fingers scornfully and turned upon her heel; then she dived for her string of pearls.
CHAPTER VII
A MASTER'S KISS
For a year, since his appointment, the Governor of Syria had dwelt at Azapah, a central point where his army camped, and whence his agents and his spies went forth to every tribe. Yet Azapah was a home in name alone, for Menon's eye was ever set on the works of his under-officers. He would ride from point to point, descending at uncertain times on those whose duties dozed in lethargy, or on others whose fingers stuck by chance to certain taxes of the King. And as Ninus made examples on the walls of Nineveh, so Menon dealt with those who disobeyed his will; for the body of a wicked, slothful servant was held to be of higher value when detached from the head which led his steps astray. Thus Menon won the name of a cruel master, albeit a whisper now and again went forth of many a poor man's taxes paid in full from the Governor's own purse.
He journeyed ever on his noble steed of Barbary, whose name was Scimitar, in honor of Boabdul's blade, and, likewise, was attended by the Indian slave who came as the Arab's second gift. In Huzim he found a jewel and a friend, whose heart he won by a stroke of policy. From the first the Governor had been kind to him, and when the borders of Arabia were passed, Huzim was given his freedom, to return if he would to his home upon the Indus; but the Indian fell upon his knees, to kiss the master's hand and cover it with tears. His freedom he accepted with a grateful heart, yet prayed to remain in the service of his lord, to whom he proved a faithful watch-dog unto the end. His mighty bow and shafts brought many a dish of flesh to Menon's board, and at night his body lay athwart the master's door, where none might pass and live to slink away again.