CHAPTER X
A BANQUET OF WINE
On the first night of his return from conquest, it was customary for an Assyrian king, his captains, and chief officers of state to be received by his consort with a banquet, offered to their special entertainment. The stars were already out, the moon was rising from the desert, when a thousand torches, flaring on the summer night, lit up the central court of the royal residence with a fierce red glow, vivid as the light of day. It brought out in strange grotesque relief the gigantic sculptures on the wall, till winged bull, man-faced lion, and eagle-headed deity seemed but fleeting flickering shadows, that moved, threatened, and retired as the night breeze rose and fell. It played in variegated hues on the columns of porphyry and jaspar that supported the upper story, blackening the remote recesses of its lofty chambers, while marble pillar, shaft of alabaster, carving, cornice, and capital blushed in crimson flame. It shed a ruddier lustre on wine, fruit, and flowers, the rich profusion of a royal table, glittering from massive chalice and ancient flagon, blazing in jewelled cup and vase of burnished gold. The brilliant gems, the costly robes, the stately figures of those noble guests, were enhanced tenfold by its power; while the king's wan face showed paler, fiercer, ghastlier than ever, in that strong searching glare.
The procession had been long, the triumph protracted and wearisome; sacrifices offered, not ungrudgingly, to the gods, had delayed him with observances he loathed, ceremonials he despised; and Ninus had been in the saddle since daybreak. It was not strange then that Arbaces, his chief captain, sitting over against him, should have felt his heart sink while he looked on the ashy war-worn face, from which he had so often gathered counsel and resource, picturing to himself that he saw a dead monarch presiding, stark and grim, at his own funeral feast.
The king sat for a while with his head sunk on his breast, to all appearance thoroughly out-wearied and overcome; but after Sethos had filled his cup more than once, a feeble light came into his eyes, while he glared around with a haughty air of inquiry, that seemed rather to threaten the absent than welcome those who were present at his festival. He looked sternly satisfied, however, with the number and importance of his guests—men who formed the props of his throne and the very bulwarks of his empire. There was Arbaces, captain of the host, firm in position as in character, a sage counsellor, a skilful leader, and a stout man of war in close fight, hand to hand; there was Sargon, his shield-bearer, who slew before the gates of Memphis, in single combat, seven Egyptian champions, one by one, and vowed in the hearing of both armies, that as he had sacrificed these to the Seven Stars, so would he take life after life from the host of Pharaoh till the Consulting Gods, the Judges of the World, and each of the Assyrian deities, had been propitiated with a victim. Scowling and silent, Sargon sat apart at the banquet; and a keen eye, scanning him warily and by stealth, noted the seal of murder set upon his brow.
There was Assarac too, the scheming priest, unwarlike indeed in form and nature, yet owning a more daring spirit, a more enduring courage, than the fiercest archer who ever drew bow from a war-chariot—Assarac, present in virtue of his office to pour out drink-offerings, to peer into the divining cup if required, above all, to watch with jealous supervision the temper and opinions of those who surrounded the king. Though aware that Ninus disliked, suspected, and would have put him to death without scruple, his eye never quailed, nor did his speech falter; and when he raised his goblet, filled to its brim, the eunuch's hand was firm and steady as a rock.
These last-named persons, with the older leaders and captains of ten thousand, were placed near the king; but scores of younger warriors, rising in fame, comely in person, and splendid in apparel, thronged the lower and more noisy extremity of the board. Over these, amongst whom Sarchedon was not the least remarkable, presided Ninyas, distinguished no less for his beautiful face and magnificent attire than for his deep draughts, reckless hilarity, and boisterous freedom of discourse.
"Once more in Babylon," said he, "after months of toil and heat, and worst of all, that torturing thirst! After those weary marches by day, those endless watches by night, welcome to the land of palm and pomegranate, peace and plenty, women and wine! What say you, Sarchedon? Well, I trow that, being of his guard, your duty bids you echo the Great King. The old lion cannot hear you where you sit; you may speak the truth freely as if you were reading the Seven Stars. Confess, now. None but a fool would go forth in warfare who could stay to revel and sleep at home."
Sarchedon, though familiar with camps, was also no stranger to the usages of a palace.
"My lord did not seem of so peaceful a mind," he answered, "while he drove his war-chariot through the archers who lined her vineyards when we invested the city of Pasht, or it had cost us a weary siege ere we broke in pieces the idols of the Cat!"