What was this? He started, and half rose from his throne; for she had paused amongst the guards, and one of them had fallen on his face at her feet.
Semiramis, who was above all the forms and ceremonies that trammelled weaker natures, breaking through them at will in court, camp, or palace, had resolved to take signal vengeance on Sarchedon whenever she should see him, careless alike whether they met in the desert, on the house-top, or here in the formidable presence of the king. She knew how to stab him too, and determined, at whatever cost to her own feelings, she would drive her thrust home.
How beautiful he looked, standing there in his golden helmet, with the scarlet-bordered mantle falling from his shoulders, and the white tunic reaching to his knee! Not Menon, she thought, when he wooed her by the silver lake that mirrored the towers of Ascalon, was half so fair; but Menon loved her dearly, while this man—well, she would make him eat the hardest morsel, drink the bitterest waters of affliction, and afterward he should die. What would be left her then? The love of this old dotard, the hollow pageantry, the empty pleasures, the heavy magnificence of a court. How she loathed them all! And what good would it do her even to attain supreme power if she must rule alone, without companionship, without sympathy, without love?
She had wavered in her purpose a hundred times ere she stepped as many paces. She was inflexible when she bade Sarchedon come forward from the line of his comrades, irresolute while he advanced and pitiless once more as he prostrated himself at her feet.
"You are entitled to ask a request," said she, very coldly and haughtily, "as having borne hither the signet of my lord the king. It is my part to intercede with him in your favour, and the old custom in our land of Shinar bids him grant your desire, even to the half of his kingdom."
His eyes lightened with pleasure, and her heart turned to stone. Yet even in that moment she marked that he still wore her amulet round his neck.
The name of Ishtar was on his lips, but some instinct of the palace—it may be something in the queen's face—forbade him to pronounce it. He had wit enough to bow his forehead in the dust, and to answer,
"I do but desire the light of her countenance, and permission to abide in the service of the Great Queen."
She was not deceived by his submission, though her eyes shone with a softer lustre while she continued, "Is there no treasure you covet, no post of honour you desire, no maiden in the whole land of Shinar you would fain take home with you to your tent?"
"I may not lift mine eyes to Ashtaroth," was his cautious reply. "If I must needs choose from among the flowers of earth, I would beg of the Great Queen to give me Ishtar, the daughter of Arbaces."