VI
ISTAR OF ERECH
Early on the morning of July 20th, half Babylon assembled at the great bridge that connected the king's road with the Mutâqutû. Floating on the water, beneath the bridge and along the west bank, were the twenty magnificent barges destined to bear a divine and royal company down the well-flowing river to the ancient city of Erech. It was not many hours after dawn that the start was to be made. Istar, driven in her flaming car, arrived in good time, but too late to see the parting between Amraphel, who could not leave Babylon, and his three trusty priests, Vul-Ramân of Bit-Yakin, Siatû-Sin and Gûla-Zir, priest of Father Bel in Borsip. Their barge had been placed farthest from that of Istar, for the purpose of attracting as little notice as possible. Their words with their master were not many, but they were well chosen. Vul-Ramân was smiling grimly as he moved to his place. The other two were serious, a little pale, perhaps; but in neither heart was there any thought of drawing back from the purpose.
Istar was in her place before the royal party arrived: Nabu-Nahid in one chariot, Belshazzar with Ribâta in another, and behind them a long line of lords, councillors, judges, and members of their households. As the prince stepped from his vehicle to the embankment, Istar caught sight of him. At the same instant his eyes, moving hurriedly over the scene as if in search of something, encountered hers. A quiver passed through each of them, and which was most affected it would be difficult to say.
In the general mêlée of embarkation that followed, Belshazzar and his party managed to obtain the barge to the right of that on which Istar lay. Nabonidus and his officials were on the left; and after them formed the lines of other boats, three abreast. When every one was safely in his appointed place, and the fastenings had been cut, Istar's boatmen raised a long, quavering cry, that resolved into the first notes of a song. In this the men of every boat joined; and by the time the first phrase was at an end, the long, thick-bladed oars were moving regularly through the water, and the brilliant pageant was moving down the ancient stream.
To Istar the hours of this, her first day's journey, were long dreams of pleasure. She had known nothing of the course of this river after it left the confining banks of the city, through which it flowed darkly, rapidly, unbeautifully. Now the freedom of its winding course, the native life, and the richness of verdure along its banks, the mighty palm-forests, the long stretches of grain-fields, the picturesque irrigators at which men were continually at work, the droves of cattle and water-buffalo on the banks, the troops of cranes, pelicans, and flamingos in the water itself, the very warmth, the singing of the hurrying river, and the mournful answers of the boatmen, brought to her such a novel sense of joy and content as she had never before known. If men loved life as she did for this moment—then she had already discovered the secret of the Great Master. It was freedom—freedom to roam at will through the fair world, with no tie to bind one to any spot—the whole world one's home, one's delight.
This day, with all its varied beauty, ended at last—melted away through the short, purple twilight into a starry night. The songs of the rowers died. The river was very still. Those in the boats dropped away to sleep, one by one. Only Istar lay through the velvet hours open-eyed, trying to fathom the depths of this delight of hers—the delight that in some way had not all to do with the day and the scenery. She seemed now to have entered into life. Till to-day she had been so protected, so hedged about with ceremonial and form, so hindered by her supposed divinity, that now, in this first flush of her freedom, there rose again from her heart that deep cry for mortality that should bring her true knowledge as to the falseness or truth of the new-found joy. She had hoped for Allaraine to come to her that night; but the hours wore away, and when false dawn foreshadowed the morning he had failed her for the first time since her incarnation. There was a little sadness over this; but it was forgotten, presently, in the general stir of waking, of eating, and of greeting the exquisite first moments of the day.
Just as the barges started at full speed again after the long night of drifting, there came an incident that changed the aspect of the second day from dreamy content to uneasy, troublous delight. One of Istar's fan-slaves, whose duty it was to waft before her one of the long-handled, peacock-feather fans, had disappeared in the night, no one knew whither or why. Nothing was said to Istar about it. Some one had taken the slave's place. Her fans were waving as usual. It was an hour before some slight awkwardness in the manipulation of the implement caused her to glance up at the wielder of it. Instantly a sharp cry escaped her lips. It was Belshazzar who was playing the slave. Instantly she bade him cease the work and return to his barge. This, stubbornly enough, he refused to do; and the matter was finally ended by a eunuch taking his place, while he lay down at the prow of Istar's boat, with his face turned towards the goddess, who reclined uneasily on her cushions, seeking to avoid his glance, but returning to it again and yet again, perhaps not wholly against her will.
As Amraphel had foretold, the city of Erech appeared to them like a shadow through the twilight of the second day, rising, many-towered, from the east bank of the river. Darkness had come on before a landing was made. Great bonfires had been lighted all along the banks of the river; and thousands of people stood thronged together in their flaring light, waiting to welcome their goddess and their king. Lusû-ana-Nuri, the governor of the city, with his lords and judges, stood at the landing-stage. Istar, supported on the one side by Vul-Ramân, on the other by Siatû-Sin, waited till the prostrations of the governor were at an end, and then mounted the magnificent car prepared for her, on which she was drawn slowly between endless lines of kneeling and awe-struck citizens to her new abode, the vast temple of Istar of Erech, rebuilt by Nabonidus on the site of that ancient one that her prototype was said to have inhabited thousands of years before.
On the temple platform, back of the great ziggurat, was the third building—the dwelling-house of the living goddess; a palace of a hundred rooms, pricelessly furnished and decorated. Hither, alone in her car, Istar was driven. It had been arranged that the king and all of his accompanying suite, together with Prince Belshazzar, should proceed with the governor to his palace, where a huge feast had been prepared. The goddess herself, it had been thought, would prefer to pass this night in communion with her heavenly brothers, in preparation for the ceremony of the morrow. At the entrance of her new abode she was received by a large company of eunuch priests, and of female Ukhatû and Kharimatû, together with veiled nuns, prophetesses, and dancing-women. By these she was surrounded, and reverently conveyed to an inner room, where was spread a savory repast. Of this she partook in solitude, to the mournful sounds of flutes, lyres, and cymbals playing a slow, rhythmical dance, to which two maidens postured before her. It was a lonely and a dreary meal—one such as she had been long accustomed to, but which these two short days on the river, where there had been many people, and laughter and gay singing, had rendered more distasteful than ever before. Having eaten a little, Istar requested that she be conveyed to her sleeping-room and there left alone; for the strange faces and awed behavior of those about her rendered her more forlorn than she would have been in entire solitude.