The messenger, a rude and hardy horseman of the north, had now arrived in the king's presence. Prostrating himself but once, and with scanty ceremony, he stood erect to deliver his tidings in frank bluff tones.
"I have ridden night and day from the southern frontier," said he. "Thiras the governor sends greeting to the king. He bids me tell him the south wind has brought up a flight of locusts, that darken heaven and cover earth with their swarms. Shall I speak yet farther in the ears of the people who throng the gate?"
Aryas shot one glance of intelligence at Sarchedon.
"Say on," he exclaimed; "I have no secrets from those who sit at meat with me in the city, and stand beside me in the field."
Thus adjured, the messenger proceeded:
"The sons of Ashur have come up in their might from the land between the rivers. Their war-chariots shake the mountain as they pass, their horses drink the streams dry where they ride through. Thiras cannot count their numbers, and what could he do but offer earth and water for tribute, seeing that they muster under the banner of the Great Queen?"
Aryas started as if he were stung. The comely face flushed dark red, and rarely as he lost his self-command, some outburst of anger would surely have followed, but that another messenger arrived on the heels of his predecessor, if possible more hurried, more jaded, more travel-worn than the first.
He, too, scarcely prostrated himself in the royal presence, and through the shaggy locks which fell across his brow his eyes shone with the terror of some wild forest creature hunted by the wolves.
"From Sambates, governor of Beznun," he stammered, "to the king greeting. They have cast a bank against Betlis, they have surrounded the great lake, and called it by the name of their queen. They have overrun the province, taking fenced cities, burning villages, laying waste cornland and vineyard, slaying men, and carrying into captivity women and children. They are swifter than the south wind that brings them, fiercer than leopards, more terrible than the lightning, and numberless as the stars of heaven. What could Sambates do but offer earth and water for tribute, seeing that they muster under the banner of the Great Queen?"
Once again Aryas winced and coloured, but controlled himself the more effectually for the emergency of the situation. In the same instant he realised his peril, resolved to meet it, and calculated his powers of resistance. His first aim was to inspire his followers with confidence. Filling his scarcely-tasted goblet to the brim, he advanced to the outer court, and standing in their midst, bade them follow his example, while he drank the national pledge—"To the Men of the Mountain and the Sons of the Naked Sword!" Then, taking his bow from Sarchedon, he broke it across, and cast the fragments at his feet in token that war was declared, while he thus addressed them: