The Prince beside him was but a boy in years, with a beardless face of beauty to look upon, a slender, nimble frame, yet hardened in the school of hunting and of war. Where Fate was pleased to mark his path, there Menon[#] rode with a loose, free rein, mocking at danger as he played at love, yet scorning not discretion's padded shield.
[#] This name is known to modern writers as Onnes or Cannes, but the historian Diodorus called him Menon and this name has been used by the author throughout.
Where Ninus smashed his way through the bristling ranks of opposing force, Menon skimmed in crafty circles till he found the weakest point, then cut it cleanly, as the swallow cuts the wind. Where Ninus frowned and crushed obedience to his will, there Menon bought devotion's merchandise with the price of a joyous laugh; yet the boy, withal, had need to lean upon the arm of power, while the King was a king from helm to heel, a lord to whom his mighty armies gave idolatry and the tribute of their blood.
"Menon," spoke the King at length, as he pointed across the plain to Zariaspa, "I have sworn by Bel and Ramân to lay yon city low, to sack it to the dust of its whitest ash. Thinkest thou we may some day cease to squat in the manner of toads outside its walls?"
"Aye, my lord," the Prince returned, with a fleeting smile, "some day—when the toads have learned to fly."
King Ninus nodded thoughtfully, and with his fingers combed at his thick, black beard.
"True," he answered, "true; and yet we soon will be upon the wing. Look thou and listen." Again he pointed, not at the city's walls, but to the monster camp which circled Zariaspa as a girdle rests about a woman's waist. "See, Menon, thy King hath learned to fly."
Now even as he spoke, the besieging army woke as from a heavy sleep. On the gentle wind came a clank and clatter of swiftly gathered arms, the squeak of wheels and the harsh, shrill cries of captains to their men. At first the sound was faint and far, a whispered echo through the morning mists; yet anon it multiplied and swelled into a busy roar, as the vanguard of Assyria's hosts turned tail upon their enemies and crawled toward the southern mountain-pass.
Menon, like the King, gazed out across the plain, but in wonder and amaze, then raised his eyes to his master's frowning face. Twice he strove to speak, and twice fell silent, turning again to the marvel of Assyria's army in retreat.
"My lord—" he began at last, but Ninus checked him with a lifted hand.