"The old lion laps ever at sunrise," said he; "and the hunter who brings him to drink need not fear to enter his lair."
"Fear!" repeated the other with an accent of contempt. "He who deals with lions must forget the meaning of the word. 'Tis thus, man, they are trapped and tamed."
"Of a truth," answered Sethos, "I once believed that in all the hosts of Assyria or of Egypt was to be found no frown so dark as gathers on the brows of the Great King when he is angered. By the beard of Ashur, Sargon, I have seen a fiercer look of late on the face of one who used to be ready with smile and wine-cup as with bow and spear; and it comes from under the helmet, my friend, that keeps your head."
"Have I not cause?" muttered the other, speaking below his breath in the quick concentrated accents of intense feeling. "When the host marches into Babylon, and the women come out with song and timbrel to welcome the conquerors; when each man makes his boast, showing his treasure, his spoil, and the captives of his bow and spear; when my lord the king rewards his servants, giving gifts—to this a dress of honour, to that a beautiful slave, to another a talent of gold and spoil of household stuff—what shall be done for Sargon, the king's shield-bearer, returning childless and bereaved by the king's own hand? Boy, it is well I hold not your place. I might be tempted to mix that in the cup which should cause Ninus to pour out his next drink-offering amongst a host of heaven in whom he professes to have no belief."
"Dangerous words," answered Sethos, "and empty as they are rash. Why, man, you yourself cover him in battle with his shield. It is but lowering your arm a cubit, and the king's life is in your hand."
"I could not do it," said Sargon, drawing himself proudly up. "It shall never be said that the great Assyrian fell to point of Egyptian arrow, or gash of Bactrian steel. Nay; though the fire on Sargon's hearth may be quenched, his name extinct, let Ninus fulfil his destiny, and sit amongst the gods like his forefathers. It may be they are waiting for him even now. Listen, Sethos; he calls from his tent. Hie thee into the lion's den, and pour him out such a morning's draught as shall keep him fasting from blood at least till noon."
Sethos—a handsome light-hearted youth, who as the king's cup-bearer enjoyed many privileges and immunities, of which he availed himself to the utmost—passed swiftly between the tufted spears, and with a low prostration raised its curtain, to enter the tent of the oldest and mightiest warrior in the world.
Ninus, half risen from his couch, ruder and simpler than that of any captain in his host, stretched his long gaunt arm with impatience for the wine he so craved, to replenish the exhausted energies and wasting powers of extreme old age. The Great King's face was pale and sunken; his eyes, deep in their sockets, were dull and dim; while his thin scattered locks, shaggy brows, and long flowing beard had turned white as snow. Nevertheless, the wreck of that mighty frame, like some hoary fortress crumbling and tottering into ruin, still showed the remnant of such grand proportions, such fabulous strength as was allotted to the men of olden time, when earth was new and nature inexhaustible. Yet was it whispered through the host, that as their fiercest champion would have seemed a mere child by the side of their king in his prime, so was Ninus but as a babe compared with great Nimrod, his ancestor, the god of their idolatry, and mighty founder of their race.
Sethos tendered the wine-cup as in duty bound, then stood with hands crossed before him, and looks bent lowly on the earth. The king drained his morning draught to the dregs; and for a moment there rose a faint flush on the ashen features, a lurid glow in the wan weary eyes—but only to fade as quickly; and it was a sadly tremulous hand, though so broad and sinewy, that grasped his wine-cup; while the deep voice came very hoarse and broken in which he asked Sethos,
"Who waits outside? Is it near sunrise?"