"Aye, Zariaspa!" she repeated in impatience. "The town—the city! What! Is my lord a frog? Come, lace thy wits. Will Ninus conquer Zariaspa in the end?"
"Nay," said Menon, "for the walls are high and strong, while the food of the garrison is brought by some mysterious means, the which is a puzzle unrevealed by thought, or search, or vigilance. Again, and yet again, will Ramân-Nirari fail."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis, nodding in the manner of some venerable judge. "Then write thy King in this wise: I, Menon, Governor of Syria, greet my lord and master, even as a son might greet his father, in love and reverence. Because of the honor he hath done me, my heart o'erfloweth with a joy, and in glad obedience to a monarch's will, I accept his dau—"
"Hold!" cried Menon, angrily. "Now by, the beard of—"
"Nay," laughed Semiramis, "but wait the end." Again she borrowed of an aged judge's mien. "—I accept thy daughter's hand. And now, O Radiant One, I crave a boon—not for myself alone, but for my King. When Zariaspa shall be overthrown, and another gem is set in the war-crown of my lord, then let these nuptials be proclaimed. Thus, men will marvel, saying among themselves: Of a verity King Ninus is divine; for who but a god would share the glory of his name with an humble warrior—one unworthy of reward so high." Semiramis paused to smile. "In closing thy letter, praise the King because of the city which he buildeth on the sand. Contrive thy words with an artful edge of truth, in that you touch his vanity. A touch—no more. Yet, above all else, be brief, and of a not too marked humility."
A light of understanding crept into Menon's eyes, yet a cloud arose to mar his perfect happiness.
"But—but," he stammered, "if, peradventure, King Ninus conquereth this city, after all—then—"
"Poof!" scoffed Semiramis. "At worst we will have loved for two untroubled years—and much may chance in that goodly span of time."
For answer, Menon, caring not a fig if a thousand shepherds saw, laughed happily, then drew her down to him and kissed her laughing lips.
Across the hills of Syria the lovers journeyed at a crawling pace, Semiramis enthroned upon the back of Scimitar, while Menon, with her hand clasped tight in his, strolled slowly at the bridle-rein.