So the monarch, marveling at a weakness which he could not understand, devoured the grape and cast its skin into the fountain at his side.
"The grapes of Syria!" laughed Semiramis. "Ah, good my lord, their flavor, like unto a memory, leadeth me among my native hills—to the lake of Ascalon and the vine-clad temple crouching on its shore. If my lord would hunt, I can lead him where the beasts of prey are fierce and strong—where—"
"Nay," said the King who stretched himself at ease upon his couch, "I would hear the story of Shammuramat."
She bowed her head in obedience to his will, and, as before she had spoken to Menon on the steps of Dagon's temple, so now again she told the tale of a babe that was nursed by doves, the while she fed her royal listener with grapes, and watched his anger fade. She told him of her home with Simmas, the father-dove, and of her other home in Azapah, whence she fled by night to join the battle of the Kurds.
The eyes of Ninus were sparkling now, his lips had twitched into a smile; and when he learned how the tax on Syria was raised, he laughed till the tears ran down and the pain in his wounded side aggrieved him sorely.
Was this the woman above whose back he longed to hear the whistle of a scourge? Nay, strive as he would, he failed to harbor wrath against Semiramis, yet in his breast there rankled still a wound to pride. Someone must suffer because of the disobedience; if not the woman, then justice must fall upon the man. Should Menon be blest above all other men—to enjoy the love of Ninus and also the love of one who was fit to mate with kings? Nay! By the necklace of the five great gods, this thing was not to be!
So Ninus nursed a grave displeasure against his general, while he lay with half closed eyes and hung upon the words of his general's wife. He watched her lips, her eyes, the curve of her rounded breast, and the tiny veins on her velvet skin where the blood of passion drowsed. In the soil of his soul a seed was planted deep, and though he knew not its name, it would grow in might, a sturdy vine that twined its soft, insidious tendrils round a monarch's heart, till it dragged him to the earth with the weight of its ripened fruit.
The palace gardens lazed in a silence of the noon-day's heat that was broken only by the fountain's gurgling song, the flutter of a bird that dropped to drink, and the voice of Semiramis, low, melodious, and sweet. The sounds on the city streets below were hushed in the hour of rest, and the lisp of the breeze was but a whisper among the palms. Farther and fainter the Syrian's murmurs trailed away, till they seemed to the King the nameless voices of the night, when a hunter sprawls beside his camp-fire, listening, listening, while he slides from weariness to peace—and Ninus slept.
In his dreams he sat upon the throne at Nineveh and looked toward the east. His eye could pierce the snow-capped mountain range, and the rolling mists beyond which hung above the walls and citadel of Zariaspa. He saw his armies swarming up the battlements, to be beaten back and tumble headlong to the earth, while his foemen waved their bloodstained arms and shouted, though their shouts he could not hear. He strove to cry commands, but a hot wind blew them back into his throat, and the Bactrians leaped from their battlements to smite the children of Assyria. Yet, suddenly, they seemed to pause in fear, retreating to their walls before the charge of a single chariot which swept across the plain. It was drawn by three white steeds that fought with hoof and teeth, the taut reins held in the shield hand of Semiramis. Her locks, unbound, were streaming in the wind. The sun's rays lit her golden armor with a flash of fire that burned through the ranks of her fleeing enemies. Straight at the walls she drove, while the King looked on and trembled in his dread. A stone from a catapult went hurtling out and burst upon her shield, but she laughed and urged her steeds. He saw her splash through a bloody moat, and, shuddering, closed his eyes; yet when he opened them again, lo! the city walls had crumbled into dust, and the chariot raced across great mounds of smoking wreck. Westward it came, through passes and defiles, up, up to the summit of the Hindu-Kush, to thunder down into the plains beyond, wheel swiftly to the west and speed for Nineveh! She was coming! Semiramis was coming! Ah, he could see her clearly now—her great eyes blazing from a splotch of red and gold—her white throat gleaming through a web of wind-blown hair. She passed the city gates, which burst before her rush, and drove full swing between long rows of wingéd bulls and crouching lions. The King could now discern the beat of hoofs, the ring of the driver's voice as she urged her steeds, and the crack of her pitiless lash. He heard the shock of her chariot wheels when they struck the palace steps, and the splintering crash of Ramân's statue as it overturned; then the massive doors of the hall fell in, while a queen of battle thundered over them, to check her panting steeds beside the throne.
"Bactria is no more!" she cried, and leaped to a seat beside the King. Then Ninus flung wide his arms, yet ere he felt her weight against his breast, a black cloud slid between them—and the lord of dreams awoke.