Proceeding from the palace, Semiramis paused to whisper a few words in the ear of Arbaces. The chief captain seemed surprised, and even discomposed by the purport of her communication; but there was no appeal from a command backed by the royal signet, and placing her hand, with the jewel in it, against his forehead, he prostrated himself and withdrew. Had he remained, his discomfiture might have been even greater to observe the queen in deep consultation with Assarac, while Sargon, the king's shield-bearer, remained, as if in waiting, a few paces off. The eunuch's head was erect and his face bright with triumph; he wore the air of a man on the eve of some great enterprise requiring skill, courage, and intellect, but having at the same time perfect confidence in his own power to carry it through.
"Is all ready?" asked Semiramis in a hollow whisper, while her cheek paled, and a strange fire shone in her dark eyes.
"All is ready," answered the priest, in composed and measured accents, as of one who states the details of a duty satisfactorily fulfilled. "Double guards have been placed at the city gates; fifty thousand archers, and as many spearmen, are mustered under arms. Not a strained shaft nor a frayed bowstring amongst them, and every man with his hand on his weapon, devoted to the queen's interest for life and death!"
"We shall scarcely need them," was her reply. "I have commanded Arbaces to remove his own especial power without the walls. Has my son gone forth, and have you taken order for bestowing him in safety to-night?"
"A company of spearmen will escort him," said the eunuch, "and will guard the child and its new toy on the road to his refuge at Ascalon. The king's signet will insure the obedience of such warriors as are required to force the palace of Arbaces, and if the chief captain resists with the strong hand, his blood be on his own head!"
"More slaughter!" exclaimed the queen sorrowfully. "O that the road to power were not mired so deep with blood! But it is too late to turn back now. Your life, my own, that poor condemned spearman of the guard—all are at stake to-night; and we must not, we dare not, stop. Is Sargon to be trusted? Yonder he stands, waiting for his orders even now."
"Assarac glanced to where that warrior was stationed, a few paces off, silent, erect, immovable, with the scowl of undying hatred on his brow. The priest smiled—and the queen thought his smile more fearful than the shield-bearer's frown—while he replied:
"A captive in the dungeon longs for light, and a gourd in the garden for water; but what is their desire to a father's thirst for vengeance on one who has shed the blood of his child?"