THE LUST OF THE EYE
Babylon the Great had pranked herself out in holiday attire, like some loyal and splendid dame arrayed to welcome her lord. From the Gates of Brass in her southern wall to the temple of Baal towering in her centre, squares, streets, and terraces were hung with scarlet, blazing with gold, and strewed knee-deep in flowers. Her population were shouting by tens of thousands on either bank of the Euphrates, which ran through the heart of the city, while even the broad river was dotted with boats of every shape and colour, fantastic, gaudy, and beautiful as the exotics on the tanks of those paradises or gardens which formed her distinguishing characteristic and her pride. Myriads of women waved their veils and scarfs from roof and balcony in endless perspective, while countless children added a shriller echo to every cry of welcome as it rose.
It was remarkable, however, that, contrary to custom on similar occasions, none of the weaker sex were to be seen in the streets. Such had been the decree of the Great Queen; a decree enforced by the presence of so strong an array of warriors as denoted the mighty resources of an empire, which could thus furnish a formidable army at home to receive an army of comrades returning from the frontier.
Besides these champions of bow and spear, masses of white-robed priests occupied the porches of every temple and every open space dedicated to sacrifice throughout the city; while others, chosen from the servants of Baal, and therefore under the immediate influence of Assarac, were scattered through the crowd, conspicuous amongst the gay dresses and glittering arms of their countrymen by their linen garment and the lotus-flowers in their hands.
Of these, Beladon seemed the busiest and most voluble, gliding from group to group with plausible words and impressive gestures, which nevertheless left on his listeners a nameless sense of dissatisfaction in the pageant, the victory, and general results of the Egyptian campaign.
Amongst the warriors perhaps this discontent was most apparent, amounting indeed to a sentiment of insubordination, which lost nothing in strength and bitterness from the observations of the priest.
"A feeble war," said he, addressing himself to the captain of a band of spearmen who occupied one of the Brazen Gates—"a distant country and a doubtful success. Few captives, I have heard, little spoil, and the frontier remains where it was."
"Not much to boast in the way of fighting," answered the other, a stalwart warrior curled and bearded to the eyes. "Look at the vanguard passing even now. Scarcely a dinted shield or a torn garment in their ranks; every bowman with a whole skin and a quiver full of arrows at his back. It was not thus we marched in from Bactria, when I myself could count three scars on my breast, and one on my face that you may see there even now; ay! and bore on my spear the head of a giant whom I slew in sight of both armies with my own hand. Ninus laughed, and swore I hewed at him like a wood-cutter at a broad-leafed oak in the northern hills. I wonder if he will remember me to-day."
"The Great King hath forgotten many a stout blow and faithful service since then," answered Beladon. "The lion grows old now, his teeth are gone, and his claws worn down. Ere long he will take his seat among the Thirteen Gods, my friend, and Ninyas, his son, will reign in his stead."
"He is a leader of promise, I have heard," said the other, "who can set the battle in array; ay, and strike hard in the fore-front too, despite his slender body and winsome woman's face."