Sarchedon: A Legend of the Great Queen

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

Sethos—for it was no other than the Great King's cup-bearer who thus found himself in a situation of extreme perplexity—on his arrival in Babylon felt indeed at his wits' end. When he obeyed the summons of his young lord, to ride with him through the desert, day and night, till they reached the great city, which Ninyas, for reasons of his own, proposed to enter in female disguise, he bade farewell to the grim towers of Ascalon with a light heart, looking on the expedition, though it necessitated more bodily exertion than he loved, as one of intrigue, mirth, and amusement, especially at the end. The little he could gather from Ninyas during their journey failed to prepare him for such a reception as awaited them; and indeed the young king toyed, trifled, and galloped through all these leagues of burning sand as if life had nothing more serious to offer than the jest of leaving his tired attendants, one by one, in the wilderness, and riding his own good horse mercilessly to the point of death.

It had ever been the nature of Ninyas to appear lightest of heart when most he saw cause for vexation or anxiety; nor, indeed, was it without good reason that he quitted his retirement to look after his inheritance in person, and made an effort to retain the sceptre, which he first learned was his own at the moment it seemed so mysteriously to be slipping from his grasp.

His conversation with Sethos had been the earliest communication he received of his father's departure to the stars; it filled him with wonder and alarm. Subsequent explanations and comments of the cup-bearer served only to increase his bewilderment. But for the audacity of such a proceeding, he would have felt satisfied that another had personated him in order to rob him of his crown.

It perplexed him, too, that he should have received no tidings from the mother to whom he was accustomed to fly in all his difficulties, feeling, perhaps, no little concern for her safety as well as for his own succession.

The escape of Ishtar also angered him to the core, while of Rekamat he was wearied, even to disgust. He resolved, therefore, on returning without delay to Babylon, there to examine for himself the opposition with which he had to contend, adopting the attire of a woman, as most likely thus to avoid recognition, while he prosecuted his inquiries and ascertained the nature of a conspiracy that must have been organised for his destruction.

It seemed, therefore, inconvenient and untoward in the last degree to find himself the object of such an ovation as now greeted him, denoting enthusiastic attachment, not for himself, but for the mother to whom he bore so close a resemblance. He felt his position more embarrassing than ever, when it dawned on him that in his own capital his own people mistook him for the queen. A score of times he strove to address them, and a score of times his voice was drowned in the deafening acclamations that arose the moment he opened his lips.

His patience was failing fast, and an angry light already glittered in his eyes, when the whole expression of his face changed to one of extreme consternation and dismay. Dashing up at a gallop, and halting within two strides, sat a figure on a white horse, so like himself in his ordinary royal attire, that for a space in which a man might have counted a hundred, his senses deserted him, and, speechless from sheer amazement, he could but gaze with dilated eyes, like one horror-stricken at some vision from another world. The face, the form, the scarlet robe, the princely tiara, the golden collar, the jewelled sword, the very trappings of the horse, were all his own; and in the gesture with which that figure suddenly drew rein to station itself motionless over against him, he seemed to see himself not in the foolish disguise he had lately assumed, but as it had been his custom to ride through the streets of Babylon, the darling of the Assyrian people, the flower of young heroes, the fairest of young princes, in the eastern world.

Brief as was the interval during which his presence of mind forsook him, it was long enough to permit one of those rapid strokes by which, in love, war, and policy, bold spirits gain the mastery; the other Ninyas had also paused for a moment, as if confused and uncertain how to act, but Assarac, pressing to the white horse's side, whispered a few earnest words in its rider's ear—words that brought a flash of energy and intelligence into the beautiful face of his listener, ere the eunuch turned in the saddle to impress some hasty directions on a captain of ten thousand, who was in attendance at his back.

Meantime the multitude shouted louder than ever, crowding, as they believed, in eager homage about their queen, unconscious of the pressure caused by a ring of spearmen circling gradually round Sethos and the veiled figure at his side.

Mingled, however, with the protestations of loyalty and affection lavished on Semiramis, rose many a seditious outcry, many an angry burst of impatience and contempt against the name of Ninyas. As the spearmen encompassed the newcomers, there was much increase of ill-humour amongst the multitude, thus wedged together by a band of iron that compressed them from without—women shrieked and fainted—children were trampled under foot—strong men, reeling and swaying to and fro, cursed audibly, directing savage scowls and fierce abuse at the rider of the white horse, as though their ruler were answerable even for the excesses of a disorderly crowd. The storm increased, the human waves surged, swelled, and roared, everything indicated a tumult, and still the serried ranks of spearmen narrowed their circle, drawing closer and closer round the little knot of figures on which all eyes were fixed.