Sarchedon: A Legend of the Great Queen

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

"May the queen live for ever!" was his reply, for Assarac's whole attention seemed now engrossed by the strength of Armenia advancing to the attack.

The wedge came on, solid and impenetrable as if it were indeed a living mass of metal. Thus it crossed the level ground by the river's bed, directing its point steadily for the centre of the Assyrian line; and so long as it moved upon an even surface, nothing could be more warlike than the mechanical regularity of its advance—nothing, perhaps, save the discipline of the Assyrian archers, whom the queen kept so perfectly in hand, that in spite of a tempting proximity to the Armenians not a man moved in his saddle, turned his rein or bent his bow. But when the huge triangular phalanx reached the channel, now dried up indeed, yet rough with broken banks, sandy ledges, shingle, and boulders of rock, a shiver seemed to pass over it like that which ripples the hide of some huge monster in its death-pang, and Aryas drove furiously down in his chariot to rectify the disorder ere it was too late.

In compliance with his bowbearer's entreaties, the attire and harness of the Comely King, though less simple than usual, were such as might be worn by any captain or leader of his host. There was nothing about him to identify his royalty but the handsome form and face. Sarchedon also was armed and dressed in a precisely similar manner, so that at the interval of a spear-length it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. The bowbearer too had divested himself of the quiver that denoted his office, and while he stood upright and brandished a spear in the war-chariot, Aryas covered him with a shield. Even old Thorgon, riding up to his lord for final orders, rubbed his eyes and pulled his shaggy beard in angry confusion at its success, while he admitted the wisdom of this stratagem.

With voice and gesture, Aryas and Sarchedon strove in concert to restore that dense consistency to the mass which constituted its strength and safety; but eyes as quick, and skill more practised, were watching their opportunity, so that as the leading Armenian spearman made his first false step, the arm of Semiramis went up, a trumpet sounded, and the horsemen of Assyria set themselves in motion by thousands, with bows bent and arrows drawn to the head.

There is a moment, and none knew it better than the Great Queen, on which the tide of battle turns.

"In the toils now!" she murmured viciously, "and that fair head of yours will be at my mercy to-night, as sure as I hold this bow in my hand. Assarac," she continued, in the calm ringing accents with which it was her wont to issue her commands in battle, "let them feed that force of archers thousands by thousands, as they want them, from the columns on their flanks. When the Armenian host arrives at yonder white stone, bring up the reserve of spearmen, and I will attack with the whole line."

Ere this landmark could be reached, she was well aware that the advancing phalanx, stumbling at every step, galled on all sides by mounted bowmen, who, circling swiftly round, wrapped it in a deadly storm of arrows, must become so loosened and disorganised as with one well-supported charge to be broken up and cut to pieces in detail.

Already darting an upward glance at the towers of Ardesh, she was doubting whether to occupy it with a strong Assyrian garrison or to burn its palace, and level its defences to the ground. For a space all went as she desired. Wheeling in clouds, succeeded and relieved by squadron after squadron, each fresher, fiercer, more daring than the last, it seemed to Aryas that the horsemen of Assyria were inexhaustible and intangible as the locusts of their own fertile land. With each discharge of arrows, his phalanx hesitated, tottered, and opened out. It was no longer a solid wedge, but an irregular mass, melting and crumbling like a snow-wreath in the southern breeze. There was not a moment to lose, and the Comely King, whose habits of wood-craft had at least gifted him with that promptitude of decision which is so necessary in war, saw the crisis and prepared to meet it.

"Sarchedon," he exclaimed, "leap on my horse, the bay standing there behind the chariot! Ride down to Thorgon like the wind. Bid him bring up his long swords steadily, but without delay. At the first step taken by the enemy's spearmen, he must charge and drive them back amongst their chariots. It is the last chance left. Away! Two Armenian kings are fighting side by side this morning; Sarchedon, if at set of sun there is but one left, my faithful friend and servant, fare thee well!"

Touching his lord's hand reverently with his lips, the bowbearer flung himself into the saddle, and galloped off at speed; while Aryas, snatching reins and whip from his charioteer, shaking the former and plying the latter to some purpose, flew towards that white stone which the keen eye of Semiramis had already marked as the turning-point of conflict.