Sarchedon: A Legend of the Great Queen

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

She started, not expecting to receive her answer from the priest, and bent her brows in deep thought, mingled with displeasure, as she observed the uneasiness of Sarchedon, eagerly watching certain movements going on below.

Guiding the horses, by the side of Ninyas, sat Sethos, the king's cup-bearer, who being in high favour with his young lord usually accompanied him in his chariot, both to battle and to the chase. Perhaps not entirely without a purpose, he drew rein immediately under the terrace where stood Ishtar and her maidens, at the instant when a posy of flowers, projected innocently enough by the damsel herself, came whirling down at the feet of her future king.

Ninyas looked up quickly; and even in that moment of vexation Sarchedon could not but remark the winning smile, that, brightening all his face, enhanced her son's extraordinary resemblance to Semiramis.

The young prince lifted the flowers, and put them to his lips with a graceful salutation. Then he bent his head to Sethos, and the latter, taking the cup from his lord's hand, flung it deftly upward so as to light on the terrace within a cubit of where the damsel stood.

"Keep it for the sake of Ninyas," called out the giver, as he bowed his head once more; whispering in the ear of Sethos, while the chariot moved slowly on, "That comely maiden, pale and tender like a lily in a paradise, is better worth the taking than all the beauty of Egypt, captives of our bow and spear."

"And my lord has won her with an empty cup," answered laughing Sethos. "When he flings aside the maiden, like the goblet, may I be there to catch her ere she falls!"

Though the populace applauded loudly, as it was natural they should applaud such an action of mingled gallantry, condescension, and insolence, a shudder crept over Ishtar from head to heel, and she moved the skirt of her garment to avoid touching that gift of a future monarch, as if it had been some noxious reptile in her path.

Semiramis did not fail to note how the daughter of Arbaces shot more than one imploring glance at Sarchedon, that seemed to deprecate a jealousy of which she was aware, while conscious of not being answerable for its cause. It was perhaps more in character with the spite of a woman than the dignity of a queen that she should have leant towards the young warrior, and addressed him with such marked demonstrations of favour as could not fail to be observed by Ishtar, whose perceptions and feelings were now strung to their highest pitch.

She might even have shown him greater condescension than was either royal or prudent, but for the renewed intervention of Assarac, who once more took possession of her ear, speaking so as to be heard by the queen alone.

"My directions have been carried out," he whispered, "and of every hundred men assembled in the streets, ten are warriors and four are priests. The people admire, but partake not in the triumph; they shout, but their hearts go forth less freely than their voices. There is discontent abroad, and even displeasure, relating to this conquest of my lord the king. The men of war who have gone down with him to battle are like to be ill-satisfied with their share of spoil. Those who have remained within the walls already jeer and point the finger at the unhacked armour and whole skins of their returning comrades. Our own followers, servants of Baal and prophets of the grove, whisper strange auguries, and the stars themselves declare that Ninus is destined ere long to take his place among the gods. Caution, Great Queen! caution! I must away on the instant, to be in readiness at the head of a thousand priests who will receive the king on the steps before the temple. He loves not such receptions, and holds but little with offerings and sacrifices to the gods; nevertheless, even Ninus must not, dare not, beard the whole host of heaven in this their very stronghold. He will make the ceremony short and simple as he can, however, and every priest that ever laid knife to his own flesh before an altar will feel outraged and aggrieved. You have the Great King's signet. Keep it safely. That jewelled toy is worth ten thousand chariots of iron and as many horsemen. Behold, the guards have now passed on. See what a handful of priests are pacing with his chariot—an empty chariot, too; and look how few in number and scant in metal are the molten gods that go before him to battle. He comes. I say again, Caution, Great Queen! caution! and for a space forbear!"