{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38710/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38710","id":"gutenberg_38710","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38710","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Clarke, Paul Clark and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n  [\n    Transcriber's Notes:\n\n    Older spellings have been retained. Variations in the spelling of a\n    few personal and place names, listed at the end of the text have also\n    been retained.\n\n    Some minor printer's errors have been corrected. They are listed at\n    the end of the text.\n\n    OE ligatures have been expanded.\n\n    Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.\n\n    Text originally printed in Greek has been marked with ~tildes~.\n  ]\n\n\n\n\n  Istar of Babylon\n\n  A Phantasy\n\n  BY\n  MARGARET HORTON POTTER\n\n  AUTHOR OF \"_THE HOUSE OF DE MAILLY_\"\n\n\n  HARPER & BROTHERS\n  PUBLISHERS\n  NEW YORK AND LONDON 1902\n\n\n  Copyright, 1902, by HARPER & BROTHERS.\n\n  All rights reserved.\n  Published September, 1902.\n\n\n  TO\n  MY HUSBAND AND DEAR COMRADE\n  JOHN DONALD BLACK\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n          Book I\n\n          THE JOURNEY\n\n  CHAPTER                              PAGE\n\n  I.      THE SEA                         3\n\n  II.     THE VOW                        21\n\n  III.    INTO THE EAST                  43\n\n  IV.     ASHTORETH                      62\n\n  V.      TO THE GATE OF GOD             79\n\n\n          Book II\n\n          THE GREAT CITY\n\n  I.      THE \u00c2-IBUR-SAB\u00db               101\n\n  II.     THE SANCTUARY OF ISTAR        119\n\n  III.    A BABYLONISH HOUSEHOLD        137\n\n  IV.     BELSHAZZAR                    156\n\n  V.      THE JEW                       176\n\n  VI.     ISTAR OF ERECH                191\n\n  VII.    LORD RIB\u00c2TA'S GARDEN          207\n\n  VIII.   BABA                          228\n\n  IX.     BABYLON BY NIGHT              248\n\n  X.      THE ANGER OF BEL              268\n\n  XI.     FROM THE HOUSE OF HEAVEN      292\n\n  XII.    \u00caGIBI & SONS                  309\n\n  XIII.   THE RAB-MAG                   327\n\n  XIV.    STRANGE GODS                  350\n\n  XV.     SIPPAR                        366\n\n  XVI.    BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR              385\n\n  XVII.   THE WOMAN'S WOE               405\n\n  XVIII.  THE FEAST OF TAMMUZ           420\n\n  XIX.    THE REGIMENT OF GUTI          441\n\n  XX.     PESTILENCE                    455\n\n  XXI.    KURUSH THE KING               472\n\n  XXII.   AT THE GATE                   483\n\n  XXIII.  THE SILVER SKY                490\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\n\"The higher ideas, my dear friend, can hardly be set forth except\nthrough the medium of examples; every man seems to know all things in a\nkind of dream, and then again to know nothing when he wakes.... But\npeople seem to forget that some things have sensible images, which may\nbe easily shown when any one desires to exhibit any of them or explain\nthem to an inquirer, without any trouble or argument; while the greatest\nand noblest truths have no outward image of themselves visible to man\nwhich he who wishes to satisfy the longing soul of the inquirer can\nadapt to the eye of sense, and therefore we ought to practise ourselves\nin the idea of them; for immaterial things, which are the highest and\ngreatest, are shown only in thought and idea, and in no other way, _and\nall that we are saying is said for the sake of them._\"[1]\n\n\"Then reflect ... that the soul is in the very likeness of the divine,\nand immortal and intelligible and uniform and unchangeable; and the body\nis in the very likeness of the human, and mortal and unintelligible and\nmultiform and dissoluble and changeable.\n\n\"And were we not saying long ago that the soul, when using the body as\nan instrument of perception, ... is then dragged by the body into the\nregion of the changeable, and wanders and is confused; the world spins\nround her, and she is like a drunkard when under their influence.\n\n\"But when, returning unto herself, she reflects, then she passes into\nthe realm of purity and eternity and immortality and unchangeableness,\nwhich are her kindred; ... then she ceases from erring ways, and, being\nin communion with the unchanging, is unchanging.\"[2]\n\n\n\n\nLIBRI PERSON\u00c6\n\n\nBook I\n\n THERON: _A citizen of the Doric town of Selinous in Sicily. The father\n    of Charmides._\n\n HERAIA: _The wife of Theron, and mother of Charmides._\n\n PHALARIS: _An athlete; the elder brother of Charmides._\n\n CHARMIDES: _A young Greek rhapsode, who, hearing a story of the living\n    goddess, Istar of Babylon, becomes inspired with the desire to see\n    and worship her, and sets out from Selinous to journey to\n    Babylon._\n\n KABIR: _A Phoenician trader, shipwrecked off the harbor of Selinous,\n    with whom Charmides travels as far as Tyre._\n\n ABDOSIR: _The brother of Kabir, a citizen of Tyre._\n\n HODO: _A Babylonian trader, head of a caravan travelling between\n    Babylon and Tyre, with whom Charmides goes from Tyre to the Great\n    City._\n\n ALLARAINE: _The archetype of song; once a companion spirit of Istar of\n    Babylon._\n\n\nBook II\n\n ISTAR: _The archetype of womanhood, made mortal as a punishment for\n    having doubted the mercy of God. She became incarnate in Babylon,\n    and was worshipped there as the famous Babylonian goddess \"Istar,\"\n    though her archetypal name was \"Narahmouna.\"_\n\n NABONIDUS: _Or \"Nabu-Nah\u00eed,\" last native king of Babylon, through his\n    mother a grandson of Nebuchadrezzar. He reigned from B.C. 555-538,\n    when Babylon fell to Cyrus the Great._\n\n BELSHAZZAR: _Or Belti-shar-uzzur, son of Nabonidus, and governor of\n    Babylon. He was never proclaimed king of Babylon._\n\n BELITSUM: _The second queen of Nabonidus; a woman of plebeian origin._\n\n CYRUS: _The Great, conqueror of Media, Persia, and Elam, to whom\n    Babylon fell by treachery._\n\n CAMBYSES: _The elder son of Cyrus, who, after him, became king of\n    Babylon. He afterwards committed suicide in Egypt, on being\n    accused of the murder of his brother._\n\n BARDIYA: _The younger son of Cyrus, afterwards murdered by his\n    brother, Cambyses._\n\n GOBRYAS: _Cyrus' general: the conqueror of Sippar; once governor of\n    Gutium under the king of Babylon._\n\n LORD RIB\u00c2TA BIT-SHUMUKIN: _A royal councillor of Nabonidus, a member\n    of the prince's suite, and the intimate companion of Belshazzar:\n    also landlord of the tenement of Ut._\n\n DANIEL: _The Hebrew prophet, also called Beltishazzar, who, after the\n    death of Nebuchadrezzar, lost his position at court, and at the\n    time of the fall of Babylon was living in a small house in the\n    Jewish quarter._\n\n AMRAPHEL: _The high-priest of Babylon, and priest of Bel; a traitor to\n    the crown._\n\n VUL-RAM\u00c2N OF BIT-YAKIN: _Priest of Nebo and Nergal, and second in\n    power to Amraphel._\n\n LUDAR: _President of the college of priests at Sippar, and high-priest\n    of the temple of Shamash. A traitor to the crown._\n\n N\u00c2N\u00c2-BABIL\u00db: _Governor of Sippar. Loyal to Nabonidus._\n\n BUNANIT\u00db: _A Jewess, the head of the historic banking-firm of\n    \"\u00cagibi.\"_\n\n KALNEA: _A Jew, the son of Bunanit\u00fb._\n\n KABTIYA: _The son of Kalnea, a Jewish boy._\n\n BELTANI: _A Babylonish widow of the lower class, living in the\n    tenement of Ut. The mother of Ram\u00fba and Baba._\n\n RAM\u00dbA: _A flower-girl, the daughter of Beltani, afterwards married to\n    Charmides._\n\n BABA: _Younger daughter of Beltani, afterwards the slave of Lord\n    Rib\u00e2ta._\n\n BAZUZU: _Beltani's negro slave._\n\n ZOR: _Baba's pet goat._\n\n HODO: _The Babylonish trader._\n\n CHARMIDES: _The Greek rhapsode._\n\n ALLARAINE: _The archetype of song._\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nTHE INCARNATION\n\n\n  Thronged in Uranian mists, all the archtype spirits of heaven,\n  Gathered in slow-firing wrath against one of their natural number,\n  Watched her who, first of them all since Jehovah created their order,\n  Daring the Almighty ire, did forget her transcendence for man.\n  Wonder divine o'er the sorrow and sin of the earth-condemned races\n  Dwelt in the heart of the moon-daughter, now beyond ken of her\n        kindred.\n  They who, betwixt the one Godhead, His logos, creation, and man,\n  Infinite, soulless, essential, divine, were highest ideas,\n  Perfect observance forever had kept of their order, till now,\n  Seemingly fearless in great disobedience, Istar, the moon-child,\n  Caught and had struck to her heart a great earth-flown vibration:\n        so learned\n  All that her high-worshipped fellows knew not of mankind and of woe.\n  Fleeing the loud-rolling world with her new apperception, she sped\n  Far to the heart of the moon, where her father, the moon-god,\n        received her.\n  Then, on her silence of wisdom and grief, rose a fast-winging\n        plaint\n  Carried across vasty deeps by the loud-surging breath of the wind.\n  Host upon host, then, the infinite tide, the reflectors of being\n  Swept towards the refuge of Istar. Their voices, in anger uplifted,\n  Crashed in a thunderous whirlwind through space; and their\n        far-flowing light\n  Gleaming and streaming in chaos of bright iridescence, in flames\n  Violet, yellow and green, silver, crimson, and shimmering gold,\n  Glorified space and struck down the world-dwellers to terrified\n        prayer.\n  Sin, the great moon-god, the father of her who sought refuge alone,\n  Mourned in his mystical home; cried aloud through the uprising\n        clamor,\n  Asking indulgence for Istar the woman. Him answered but one:\n  Allaraine, son of the stars, the bard of \u00c6olian songs,\n  Lord of white clouds, who, begot of a sunset, went winging his way\n  Far through the star-vault at midnight, full-sprung, with his\n        heavenly path\n  Marked by mellifluous song--'twas he who to Sin made reply.\n  He, who alone, from the earth's evening glow had beheld earthly\n        passion,\n  Tranced by the high, fearless wrong of incarnate humanity's power,\n  Fearlessly now, before all the tumultuous host, voiced his pity.\n  Vain were his words, though they fell into space like the pearls\n        of the sea,\n  Melting round God's very throne, with melodious ecstasy fraught.\n  Silent the archtypes heard, and in silence of trembling delight\n  Istar, the lover of souls, concealed in the moon's dim retreat,\n  Heard him. And silent the earth-world revolved and Time's pulses\n        were stilled.\n  Finally, out of the deep, where space is not and time cannot be,\n  God, the Almighty Jehovah, made answer to Allaraine's plea:\n  \"Istar, who knowledge of incarnate souls was forbidden to hold,\n  Thou, who unknowing, daredst pity men's sorrows and sins manifold.\n  Go to the earth-world as one among men, and there shalt thou behold\n  Life, and its correlate, Death. Sentient there thou shalt live,\n        but shalt be\n  Heaven-born still, and thus worshipped on earth, though thou mayst\n        not be free\n  Till, 'neath the sorrows of flesh, _thou shalt find man's relation\n        to me_.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Out of the mists of the moon floated Istar the daughter of Sin.\n  Out of the mists and the fog came she forth, and \u00c6olian choirs,\n  Winds of the evening, sang low of her going. Upborne by her tresses\n  Floating above and about her, she sank; and the dawn was not yet.\n  Istar, the daughter of Sin, in her vestment of tissue of silver,\n  Under which glowed the deep purple proclaiming her godhead,\n        and there,\n  Full on her breast, the bright flush of the crimson that told\n        of her passion,\n  Laughed to herself and the winds, as she came forth from out\n        of her refuge.\n  Down, far adown the dark, mystical depths of the chasm of chaos\n  Floated the mystical maiden; a voice like a clarion echo\n  Calling from out of the mist she had left: \"O Istar, beloved,\n  Hear and return unto me, father, archtype, soul of the sphere!\"\n  Istar, the daughter of Sin, obeying the word of the Lord,\n  Heard but not heeded the voice. Only pausing a thought in her course,\n  Flinging her head to the stars, laughed aloud with her lips\n        that were scarlet.\n  Then, with a shake and a shrug of her bare, cloud-born shoulders,\n        she sent\n  Clashing and ringing below into space a bright silvery shower\n  Flashing and pringling with light; which earth-men call\u00e9d shower\n        of stars.\n  Istar continued her flight and went swaying her tortuous way\n  Down and adown past all planets and suns in their horror of heat,\n  Till, in the end, the great fall was accomplished, and Istar was born,\n  Soulless and pure in the city called \"Gateway of God.\"\n\n\n\n\nBook I\n\nTHE JOURNEY\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE SEA\n\n\nA hot April sun shone full over the waters to the pencilled line of the\nsouthern horizon, where a long circle divided the misty, shimmering\ndove-color of the Mediterranean from the richer blue of the swelling\nsky. A path of sun-strewn ripples, broadening as the afternoon advanced,\nended at that distant line, and found its starting-point at the rocky\nbase of the Selinuntian acropolis, on the southwestern coast of Sicily.\nThe day was warm, and the air rich with the perfume of sweet alyssum,\nbeneath which delicate flower the whole island lay buried. A light\nbreeze feathered the sea, occasionally sweeping away enough powdered\nsunshine to disclose the rich sapphire depths of the under-waters.\nNevertheless more perfect skies had been, and generally were, at this\nseason of the year; for to-day half the west was hidden by a curtain of\nshort, thick clouds that threatened to hide the usual evening glory of\nwine-tinted waters and crimson-flooded skies.\n\nUpon the height of the cliff that terminates the broad Selinuntian\nplain, Selinous, white, Doric city, with her groups of many-columned\ntemples and her well-built walls, sent forth the usual droning murmur of\nlife. White-robed men and women were wont to move in unhurried dignity\nin their citadels in those days when \u00c6neas was not yet a myth, before\nSyracuse knew Gelon, when the first Aahmes ruled in Egypt, when Croesus\nof Lydia and Astyages of Media were paying bitter tribute to the great\nElamite just retired from Babylonian plains to his far Rhag\u00e6 in the\nEastern hills; and here, on the Sicilian coast, the Greek city lay in\nplacid beauty upon her two hills, divided by the philosophically drained\nvalley, bounded upon the right hand by her shining river, while far to\nthe left, in the direction of Acragas, a line of rugged hills rose into\nthe blue. The four bright temples of the acropolis were mirrored in the\nsea below. On the east hill, at some distance from where the gigantic\nnew sanctuary to Apollo was building, and directly in front of the old\ntemple of Hera, on the very edge of the cliff, drowsing in the sunlight,\nlay Charmides, a shepherd, surrounded by his flock.\n\nThe life of a shepherd in the flood-time of a Sicilian spring was not an\narduous one. If it had been, Theron's son would not, in all probability,\nhave followed that calling through the few years that he was required to\nspend at ordinary labor. For, as his family realized and his appearance\ntoo markedly proclaimed, this child of the Spartans did not partake of\nthe spirit of his race. Rarely, singularly beautiful he was, and fair as\nan Athenian. Apollo himself might have turned envious at sight of this\ndisciple of his as he slept on a drift of wild daisies, his short, white\ntunic stained with green, the thong that served him for a girdle loosely\ntied, much-worn sandals bound upon his feet, and a wreath of gray\nolive-leaves woven into the rumpled hair that fell upon his neck in\nrings of living gold. Charmides' eyes had the color of the sea. His\nbrows were fine and straight; his mouth not altogether lacking in\nstrength, yet perfect as a woman's. As he slept, one of the youth's\nsunburned hands grasped a tuft of herbs that grew upon the edge of the\nslope, while the other, even in his unconsciousness, drew a fleeting\nharmony from the lyre that lay beside him.\n\nThis dalliance with the honored instrument, taken with his unathletic\nphysique, was evidence enough of the chosen profession of the temporary\nshepherd. Four years ago, at the age of eighteen, Charmides had elected\nto enter the ranks of that band of rhapsodists known to us now only as\nthe predecessors of fire-winged Pindar and his glorious brethren. Never\nwas the shepherd seen following his flock over the fields without lyre\nor flute in his hands; and no holiday or festival was quite complete\nwithout some lyric chanted in his clear tenor to the accompaniment of\nthose sweet, primitive chords that so fittingly clothed the syllables of\nthe most melodious of all tongues. Charmides' poems, however, were\nalways of one type. Natural beauty, the evening wind, the perfume of a\nflower, the red of dawn, the silver of moonlight, he would reproduce so\nperfectly in words that he was left unrivalled in his peculiar field.\nBut greater themes, battle-hymns of Mars and Nike, or idyls of Cythera\nand the dove-drawn chariot, had not apparently occurred to him as\ndesirable subjects for his art. Either Charmides was what his athlete\nbrother declared him--a woman dressed in too short a tunic--or his true\nnature was sleeping far beyond its natural period.\n\nThe sun hung just above the clouds as the youth sat up and looked about\nhim. His flock, a drove of white, long-haired sheep, whose wool was\nwoven into many a tunic of their herdsman, had wandered out of sight\nbehind the temple of Hera. Charmides unbound his flageolet from the side\nof his left leg, and, without stirring from his place, lifted the\ninstrument to his lips, playing upon it a quaint, primitive strain full\nof minor cadences, mournful, but peculiarly pleasing. For two or three\nminutes this tune was the only sound to be heard. Then, of a sudden,\ncame a distant \"Ba-a!\" from the direction of the temple, and round its\neastern columns appeared a white head, another, and another, till the\nwhole flock was visible. For a moment or two they halted, regarding\ntheir keeper with silly, affectionate eyes. Charmides smiled as he\nwatched them, and presently gave a little nod. At sight of it the leader\nof the company started forward again, and the entire number followed, at\na gentle trot. When he was entirely surrounded by his animals, Charmides\nput his pipe back in its place, caressed with rough tenderness the\nnearest lamb, and finally, having had enough of afternoon with the sea,\nsprang to his feet thinking to proceed farther afield. As his eyes met\nthe western horizon, from which his face had for the last few moments\nbeen turned, he broke his yawn short off in the middle, and his intent\nwas forgotten. The cloud, which now covered the sun, was no longer gray,\nbut a deep purple, palpitating with inward fire; while far to the west a\ngalley, a little, black patch upon the waters, rose upon the horizon,\ncoming from Mazzara. Charmides saw possibilities of hexameters in the\nrace, and, though its outcome did not affect him in the least, he had a\ndesire to know whether he must have Zeus with his bolts bring vengeance\non some disobedient mortal, or whether Father Neptune and his dolphins\nwere to lead the men of the galley safely into the little Selinuntian\nharbor.\n\nIt was not many minutes before the little vessel had become a Phoenician\nbireme with a huge, brown mainsail hanging loosely on the mast, and\nbarely visible oars churning the water on each side with hasty vigor. By\nthis time the last radiance had been swept from the sky. The distant\nwaters darkened, and their restless, uneasy masses began to show flecks\nof foam. Presently, for a bare second, through a single rift in the\ncloud, a thin gleam of sunlight shot out and down to the misty sea,\nlighting the dark surface to opalescent brightness, and then\ndisappearing in a single breath. As the sky darkened again the air grew\ncold. Three or four petrels, birds of the storm, rising from the distant\nsands, veered joyously out over the flattening waters. A faint murmur of\nangry winds came from the west, and with its first sound Charmides was\nrecalled from the scene in which he was blithely living to his flock,\nwho were upon the verge of a stampede. They had ceased to eat and were\nstanding quiveringly still, heads up, nostrils distended, fore-legs\nstiffening for the leap and race which would follow the first\nthunder-clap. Their shepherd was just in time. Putting all thought of\nthe storm behind him, he lifted his lyre and started forward, singing as\nhe went. The sheep followed him, with implicit faith, across the broad\npasture and down the long, gentle slope in the direction of their fold\nand his father's house, till the sea and the galley and the storm were\nleft to the petrels and those on the acropolis to watch.\n\nThere, indeed, in front of the basilica, quite a band of citizens had\nassembled, watching with interest and anxiety the progress of the\nstorm-beset vessel. The little ship had apparently a daring captain. No\nprecautions whatever had been made for the first gust of wind; neither\ndid the ship's course suggest that there would be an effort to gain the\ninner harbor of the city as speedily as possible. Instead, those that\nwatched realized that she would be a hundred feet off the base of the\nacropolis cliff when the storm broke. At present the wind had so nearly\ndied away that the main-sail flapped at the mast. The double banks of\noars were working rapidly and unevenly, and the main deck of the vessel\nwas, to all appearances, entirely deserted. Evidently an unusual state\nof affairs prevailed on board of the Phoenician galley.\n\nThe pause that preceded the breaking of the storm was unnaturally long.\nSave for the gleam of an occasional, faintly hissing wave-crest, the\nwaters had grown black. The heart of the storm-cloud seethed in purple,\nwhile all the rest of the sky was hung with gray. There came one long\nmoment when the atmosphere sank under a weight of sudden heat. Then the\nfar-distant murmur, which till now had been scarcely audible, rushed\nupon the silence in a mighty roar, as, up from the south, driven before\nthe gale, came a long line of white waves that rose as they advanced\ntill the very Tritons bent their heads and the nymphs scurried down to\ngreener depths. Now a sudden, zigzag streak of fire shot through the\ncloud, followed by a crash as of all the bolts of Zeus let off at once.\nThe galley seemed to be scarcely moving. Her sail hung loose upon its\nmast. Not a soul was to be seen upon the upper deck. Only the oars still\ncreaked in their holes, and the water churned unevenly along the\nvessel's sides. The wind was nearly upon her. There was a second glare\nof lightning, a second crash more fearful than the first; and then it\nwas as if the fragile craft, seized by some cyclopean hand, had been\nlifted entirely from the water to be plunged downward again into the\nmidst of chaos.\n\nThe number of spectators of this unusual scene had by this time been\ngreatly augmented. Upon the acropolis, at the point where the street of\nVictory came to an end upon the edge of the precipitous cliff, stood a\ncrowd of men and women, to whom others were continually coming from the\nshelter of their houses. Presently Charmides, together with his brother,\nPhalaris, both breathless from their run across the valley of the\nHypsas, arrived on the cliff. The galley was now struggling in the\ncentre of the storm, writhing and shuddering over the waves directly in\nfront of the acropolis. As the only possible salvation, her bow had been\npointed directly to the south into the wind, a move which made it\nnecessary for the rowers, backing water with all their strength, to keep\nher from driving backward upon the great rock, fragments of which were\nstrewn far out through the water from the base of the cliff behind.\nThrough the incessant lightning flashes the violent and uneven use of\nthe oars was clearly visible, and, after watching them in silence for a\nfew moments, Phalaris shook his head.\n\n\"The rowers will not endure long under such labor. The boat must be\ndriven ashore.\"\n\n\"As yet they have lost no distance, though.\"\n\nAnd this, indeed, was true. Full fifty yards now lay between the first\nrock and the stern of the galley. It seemed, too, as if the storm had\nlulled a little. Charmides shouted the idea into his brother's ear, but\nPhalaris again shook his head, and both looked once more to the vessel,\njust in time to see her struck by a fresh gust of wind that tore the\noverstrained sail into ribbons and shreds. At the same instant the oars\nceased their work. The boat spun completely round, twice, like a wheel,\nand a second later was driven, by one great wave, straight towards the\nhuge rocks off the cliff.\n\n\"Apollo! What has happened to the rowers?\" cried one of the elders.\n\n\"And where is the captain of this vessel? Is he a madman?\"\n\n\"In three minutes more she will be a wreck. Come, Charmides!\" shouted\nPhalaris, starting over the cliff.\n\nTogether the brothers climbed down the precipitous descent to the narrow\nstrip of sand at its base. Here was a scene of no little activity. The\nTheronides found themselves last of a company of their friends to arrive\nat this point of vantage, where not a few had been standing for half an\nhour. Several older men were also grouped along the beach, anxiously\nwatching the drama which threatened to terminate in a tragedy. At the\nmoment when the brothers reached the lower shore, the galley, lifted\nhigh upon the wave, hung for a second on its summit, and then, as it\nbroke, spun down and forward with sickening speed straight upon two\nhorn-shaped rocks, between which she was presently wedged fast and\nfirmly, twenty yards from shore.\n\nA little cry broke from Charmides' lips. With the next flash he beheld\nthe galley heeled far upon her right side, oars shattered, sides still\nuncrushed, while on her prow there stood at last a black swarm of men.\n\nBy this time a dozen of the young Greeks, stripped of their wet tunics,\nwere making their way out into the breakers, intent upon saving the\nwrecked sailors from being dashed upon the rocks as they escaped from\ntheir ship. Charmides hastily followed the example of his fellows and\nran into the chilly water after Phalaris, who stood in, shoulder-deep,\nfifty feet from the ship. It was nearly impossible to keep a footing\nthere. Breaker after breaker dashed over their heads, and Phalaris,\nexpert swimmer as he was, found himself unable to stand upright, and\nfrequently struggled to his feet choking for breath, with sea-water in\nhis eyes, ears, and nose. Charmides fared worse still. Overbalanced by\nthe second wave that struck him, he was whirled round and round in it,\nand finally washed up on shore, half drowned. After a moment or two of\ngasping and reeling, he returned pluckily into the water, this time\nfinding shelter beside a rock which he could also grasp. Phalaris\nmanaged to reach his side and share his protection, and there the two of\nthem stood, waiting.\n\nA period of delay and general commotion on the deck of the galley\nensued. Three men in the centre of the company of sailors were engaged\nin some altercation, in which all the rest seemed far more interested\nthan in making an escape from the vessel, which, apparently, was in no\nimmediate danger of breaking up. Presently, however, to Phalaris'\nimmense relief, for the useless battling with breakers was becoming too\nmuch, alike for his strength and for his patience, one of the men from\nthe galley was seen to throw a rope over the vessel's side, make it fast\nupon the bulwark, and begin to lower himself, hand over hand, down to\nthe water. At the rope's end he stopped, hung there for a moment,\nwaiting for a wave to go by, and then slipped lightly in. Like all\nPhoenicians he was a good swimmer. Phalaris knew, from the manner in\nwhich he threw himself forward, that there was little danger of his not\nreaching the shore. Yet when, presently, a wave dashed violently over\nhim, Charmides gave a little cry at seeing the man hurled helplessly\nforward, and then roll over and over in the grasp of the sea. Phalaris\nshouted above the clamor of winds and waters:\n\n\"Watch, Charmides, to seize him!\"\n\nAs the writhing body swirled towards them, both Greeks, leaning forward,\ncaught and held it fast. The man was not drowned nor even unconscious.\nAccustomed to living more or less in the sea, he had swallowed but\nlittle water, and, being set upright again, with his feet touching\nbottom, he stood still for a moment, said something in Phoenician to his\nrescuers, and proceeded towards the shore, where most of the young men,\nless patient and less expert than Theron's sons, now stood.\n\nPhalaris and Charmides, however, perceiving that they were likely to be\nof real use where they were, held their position; and, exhilarated by\nthe excitement and pleasure of the first rescue, they caught and\nassisted, one by one, nearly the whole crew of the galley. Phalaris,\nindeed, was amazed at the way in which his brother bore himself. The\nrhapsode worked as vigorously as the athlete, showed no fear at the\nonslaught of the waves, and was almost as successful as the other at\ncatching and holding the distressed swimmers as they came by. At length\nthere remained upon the galley only the three men that had first been\nengaged in the discussion. Of these, two presently disappeared from\nsight in the hold of the ship, leaving one alone by the bulwark. As this\nperson, the length of whose tunic showed him to be no common sailor,\nfinally climbed over the ship's side and began to lower himself\nleisurely to the water, Phalaris turned to look upon his brother.\nCharmides' form was dimly outlined in the gathering darkness, and his\nfeatures were indistinguishable. A lightning flash, however, presently\nrevealed the face, pale and drawn with exhaustion. Phalaris perceived it\nsympathetically.\n\n\"For this one man we will wait. Then, if there are not to be two drowned\nGreeks, we must make our way ashore,\" he said, hoarsely, and Charmides\nnodded assent.\n\nThe last man, for all his easy bearing, proved to be a far less expert\nswimmer than his predecessors. He had not accomplished more than a\nsingle, uncertain stroke when a wave caught him, rolled over his head,\nand buried him completely from the straining vision of his would-be\nrescuer. He was under water for what seemed to Charmides an eternity;\nand when, finally, by the light of a flash of lightning, the body was\nseen to reappear from the foam of a broken wave, it tossed there,\nlifeless, making no effort at resistance. Charmides rushed through the\nwater to the drowning man's side, and, before reaching him, found\nhimself out of his depth. As he sent a despairing shout to Phalaris, the\nsupposed unconscious one addressed him, shouting above the surrounding\nroar, in Phoenician:\n\n\"Save yourself, youth! I shall float--\" The sentence was interrupted by\na rush of water, which threw Charmides forward, and once more buried the\nlight, limp body of this unusual person.\n\nActing upon the excellent advice of the floater, the Greek made his\ndifficult way to the shore, arriving on the beach at the same time with\nPhalaris, and a moment later than the stranger, who had been washed up\nunhurt and apparently not much disturbed by his contest with the waves.\n\nThe two brothers, reaching dry land again, found but few of their\nfriends left on the sand. As the wet and half-drowned sailors arrived,\none by one, on the shore, they had been approached by the native Greeks,\nand, the relations between Carthage and Selinous being as yet of the\nmost amicable nature, hospitably taken up to the city, where warmth,\nfood, and rest were to be had. Among the group of three or four that\nremained when the last Phoenician was washed up by the waves, was one who\nhastened to Charmides, as he stood dizzily on the sand looking back into\nthe sea that was in such a furious commotion.\n\n\"Charmides, you have been foolhardy enough. Such work is well for\nPhalaris, perhaps, but--\"\n\n\"Father, it seems to me that for many months Charmides has been\ndeceiving us. By nature he is an excellent athlete--better than I.\"\n\nCharmides shook his head and replied, faintly: \"Let us go home. There is\nno more to do.\"\n\n\"But there remain still two men on the galley.\"\n\n\"For them,\" put in the stranger, speaking in awkward Greek, \"you need\nnot fear. They are still below with the slaves, but they will easily\nreach the shore, if, indeed, they wish to do so. I think they will\nrather remain where they are to-night.\"\n\n\"The galley does not appear to be breaking up.\"\n\n\"No. Her bottom did not strike. She is only wedged fast between two\nrocks.\"\n\nIn the little pause which followed, Theron peered through the darkness\nin an attempt to distinguish the features of the stranger. Night had\nclosed in, however, in intense blackness, and before Charmides had time\nto put in a second, shivering appeal, his father said:\n\n\"Come then, my sons, we will start homeward. Your mother must be waiting\nour return. And you, O stranger, if you will accept of shelter and food\nat our hands, such as we have, in the name of Apollo, are yours.\"\n\nThe man from the galley accepted, without hesitation, the proffered\nhospitality. Then Theron bade good-night to those with whom he had been\ntalking, and the stranger followed in the footsteps of the young men,\nwho were hastening along the sand that skirted the cliff and thence ran\ninto a wider beach that terminated the valley between the two hills.\n\nIt was twenty minutes of difficult walking even in daylight to reach the\nabode of Theron from the acropolis; and to-night, amid the heavy\ndarkness, and in their exhausted condition, both Charmides and his\nbrother were completely spent before the friendly light of their home\nbecame visible in front of them. The house was well built, of stone\ncovered with the usual stucco, brightly colored without and prettily\nfrescoed within. The rooms above ground numbered only four; while\nbeneath the living-room, reached by a flight of stone steps, was a\ncellar stored with a goodly number of amphor\u00e6 filled with wine of\nvaried make and excellence--most of it from vines that covered the\nmuch-disputed Egestan plain; some, of more celebrated vintage, sent up\nfrom Syracuse.\n\nTheron's wife, Heraia, and Doris, the pretty slave, their day's spinning\nand embroidery ended, were busy preparing the evening meal. Heraia was\nnot a little anxious over the absence of her husband and her two sons\nthrough the whole of the storm, and she was particularly uneasy about\nCharmides, whom she loved more with the tenderness felt for a daughter\nthan for a son. Some time since she had despatched Sardeis, the male\nslave, to the sheep-run, to see if the rhapsode's flock had been safely\nhoused, and if there were any signs of the shepherd's return. And the\nmatron had herself gone many times to the door and looked forth into the\noft-illumined darkness in the hope that the storm was abating. A stew of\ngoat's flesh steamed fragrantly in the kettle by the fire, and Doris\nkneaded cakes of ground corn that were to be laid before the fire\nimmediately upon Theron's return. Heraia was setting the table with\nplates and drinking-cups, when suddenly Phalaris threw open the door.\nHis appearance was not reassuring. Doris gave a faint shriek, and Heraia\ncried, in great anxiety:\n\n\"Thy father--and Charmides--where are they? You are half fainting,\nPhalaris! Come in. What has happened?\"\n\n\"The others are with me, just behind, bringing up a Phoenician from the\ngalley that went on the rocks below the acropolis. Here they are.\"\n\nThe other three at that moment appeared out of the darkness beyond the\ndoor-way. Theron and the stranger in front, Charmides lagging weakly in\nthe rear. Heraia sighed with relief at beholding them, wet, bedraggled,\nand spent as they were. Phalaris, and the stranger, about whose legs the\nlong, soaked tunic flapped uncomfortably, and Charmides, whose wet skin\nwas of the color and texture of polished ivory, were all three shivering\nwith cold. Theron, then, as the only unspent one of the party, cried\nout, vigorously:\n\n\"Heraia, there must be wine, food, and dry garments for us all,\nespecially for this Phoenician, who, driven from his ship by wind, wave,\nand rock, seeks shelter at our hands, and is for the night our honored\nguest. He--\"\n\n\"--proffers thanks to you and to the protecting gods for rescue from the\nwaters and reception into your home,\" put in the stranger, gracefully,\nif with some languor.\n\nHeraia merely smiled her welcome as her eyes flashed once over his\nswarthy face; and then, as one long accustomed to such demands upon her\nresources, she took command of the situation. From a carven chest on one\nside of the room she brought dry raiment for them all, despatching her\nboys first to their room with it while she stopped the Phoenician for a\nmoment with an apology.\n\n\"I have no vestment to offer that can equal yours in texture and color,\"\nshe said, regretfully, gazing with admiring eyes on the long, yellow\ntunic, with its deep borders of the wonderful Tyrian purple which no\namount of sea-water could dim and no sun of the tropics fade to a paler\nhue. \"But at least it shall be carefully dried and stretched smooth upon\nthe frame. Now if you will but follow Charmides\"--she pointed to a\ndoor-way leading to the next room--\"wine shall be carried to you while\nyou dress, and food will be ready before you are. Go then at once.\"\n\nSmiling to himself at her woman's tongue, the Phoenician very willingly\nobeyed her behest, and joined the two young men in their room. Here the\nthree of them rubbed one another back into a glow of warmth, while\nTheron, in another chamber, doffed his rain-soaked vestment for a gayly\nbordered tunic, and pretty Doris, in the living-room, still knelt before\nthe fire over her well-kneaded cakes.\n\nHalf an hour later the family and their guest, all much refreshed by the\ncombination of wine and warmth, seated themselves on stools round the\ntable, where various dishes were set forth about a big jar of mellow\nwine. Doris, upon whose graceful figure Phalaris' eyes were often\nseen to rest, while the stranger glanced at her once or twice in\ncontemplative admiration, poured wine as it was wanted into the\nwrought-metal cups, and took care that no one lacked for food. Presently\nTheron, perceiving that his guest's spirits were rising under the genial\ninfluence of the Syracusan product, began to question him concerning his\nvoyage.\n\nThe Greeks, out of courtesy, spoke in the Phoenician tongue, which, owing\nto their proximity to the easterly Phoenician settlements, and their\nconstant trading intercourse with the Carthaginians, they spoke with\nsome fluency. The stranger, with equal politeness and with more\ndifficulty, made his replies in the language of his hosts.\n\n\"Your race, indeed, are daring travellers. It is said that the Phoenician\nbiremes have been known to pass the pillars of Hercules beyond the\nsetting sun. Tell us, have you ever looked upon that outer stream of\nwater that flows round the plain of earth?\"\n\nKabir laughed. \"The sea that lies beyond the Herculean pillars is not\npart of the stream that surrounds the earth. I have but now come from\nfar beyond those little mountains. We left Tyre seven months ago, at the\nbeginning of the rainy season, touching at Carthage and her colonies on\nthe coast of Hispania. Then we passed the pillars, and sailed away to\nthat far, cold country of savages where we go for a kind of dye-plant\nwith which the natives stain their bodies blue, and for a bright metal\nwhich they dig from the earth, but which is not found in the East. The\nsavages there are gentle enough with us. They like our warm, woollen\ncloth, and our weapons, and brass-work, and our jewelry. This time, when\nwe had finished our trading on their shores, we took one of them on\nboard with us to guide us up the northern sea to the cold land of\nBoreas. Across this frozen country, through forests and over hills,\namong fierce native tribes, we Phoenicians have made a road which leads\nus farther north, to the shores of an inner sea in whose waters are to\nbe found marvellous gems of a bright yellow color, sometimes clear as\nglass, again thick, like unpolished gold. These we gather and carry home\nwith us, to be cut into ornaments for our princes and their wives, and\nfor our temple-fanes. They sell them to us for our cloth, these dwellers\nby the sea. Then we return, by the way we came, to our ship. This is the\nthird time that I, master-trader of the _Fish of Tyre_, have, by the\nfavor of Baal and Melkart, accomplished the journey.\"\n\nThe exceptionally modest recital ended in a burst of genuine wonderment\nand admiration from the auditors. Finally, when the requisite questions\nand compliments had been passed, Phalaris observed, curiously:\n\n\"The sailors of your galley--they have travelled very far. Are they\nwell-disciplined men?\"\n\nKabir nodded. \"They are as good at sails and ropes and as fearless in\ndistant seas as they were at ease in the water to-day. You saw them?\"\n\nPhalaris gave a chuckle. \"If you, master-trader, are as good at making a\nbargain as you are at floating, then indeed must the savages of the\nNorth be rueful after your departure. But your rowers--the slaves--they\nalso are trustworthy and patient?\"\n\nKabir's pale face suddenly flushed. \"The dogs! By the hand of Moloch, if\nI had had my way, every man of them would lie with a slit nose to-night!\nIt was they that wrecked our galley to-day. For a month we have been on\nthe verge of an outbreak from them. They have complained forever about\neverything--their food, their places, their chains, the length of the\nvoyage, too little rest. Latterly it has been a risk each night when we\nloosened their bonds to let them sleep. And this afternoon, long before\nthe storm, their insolence had become unbearable. For three hours their\nmaster, Sydyk, and Eshmun and I stood whipping them to their work. The\nwind was on us while we were still below, and Taker, Eshmun's cousin,\nfool that he was, forbore to have the sail drawn. It was not till we\nwere facing the full gale and those panic-stricken dogs pulling like\nmadmen to keep us off the rocks, that Eshmun went up to see what could\nbe done. At the moment when he reached the deck the sail was blown into\nshreds, and we were spun round as if Scylla herself had caught us.\nHearing a great clamor above them, and feeling the ship suddenly reel\nunder their oars, every slave in the hold fell forward on his face,\nshrieking out prayers to Baal and giving no heed to the bloody lashes\nthat we still whirled over their heads. Both Sydyk and I foresaw that\nthing which shortly happened; and at the moment when the galley was\nfirst thrown between the rocks, we reached the upper air, finding Eshmun\nready to descend once more that he might unchain the slaves, who would\notherwise drown during the night at their posts. Sydyk, however, vowed\nthat not one of them should live, in consequence of their rebellious\nfolly. When the dispute between them was thus begun, I, unwisely,\ninterposed, advising speedy escape for ourselves, letting the animals\nbelow live or perish as they would. They might certainly survive till\nmorning, since by now we could plainly perceive that the galley could\nnot sink, wedged as she was in the rocks. So the discussion continued,\nand was in no way concluded between the two of them when you saw me\nleave the vessel and start for shore. I can float, but I cannot swim as\nwell as most children, and I needed what strength was mine to get me to\nland. Besides this, I was most wet, most chilled, and fagged enough with\nthe unpleasant events of the afternoon. Therefore let us drink another\nlibation to the gods, who led me to-night under the shadow of your\nkindly roof.\"\n\nThis short explanation of the trouble on the galley over which the\ncitizens of Selinous had so wondered that afternoon, was listened to\nwith great interest, and received various comments. Phalaris strongly\nsympathized with Kabir's disgust with the slaves. Theron expressed more\ntemperate ideas; and Heraia gently voiced her pity for the unfortunate\nwretches. Charmides, who was entirely of his mother's mind, remained\nsilent. When the discussion had lost its vigor, he rose from the table,\nand, moving rather aimlessly to the door, opened it to look out.\n\n\"It will soon be too warm, mother, for your fire,\" he said. \"The clouds\nhave parted, and the great night-star hangs in the heavens.\"\n\nThe chance remark brought silence to the little party, and they sat\nabsently watching the shepherd who had halted in the door-way, his white\nprofile silhouetted against the outer blackness. Kabir, especially,\ngazed on him in growing admiration.\n\n\"By Hercules!\" he observed, softly, to Phalaris, \"thy brother's form\nwould make a fitting Tammuz for the great Istar of Babylon!\"\n\nCharmides chanced to catch the last words of this sentence, and he\nslowly turned his head. \"Istar of Babylon,\" he asked. \"Who is she?\"\n\nThe Phoenician regarded him intently. \"They call you a rhapsode,\" he\nsaid.\n\nCharmides nodded.\n\n\"And you have not heard of the living goddess?\"\n\n\"The living goddess!\" came from three mouths at once.\n\n\"Listen then. It is a fitting subject for the lyre.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE VOW\n\n\nCharmides, with a look of unusual curiosity in his face, left his post\nand crossed to the fireplace, seating himself upon the ground before it.\nDuring the story that followed, the shepherd's bright blue eyes sought\nthe ruddiest depths of the leaping flames, while his expressive mouth\nresponded to every passing thought, and the narrator was fascinated by\nthe glory of his hair, which caught the firelight, and tossed off its\nburning reflection in a thousand dazzling rays, till Charmides' head was\nsurrounded by such a halo as saint has never worn. Theron, Phalaris, and\nHeraia, who, however incredulous they might be, could not but be struck\nby the stranger's theme, gathered closer to him, and listened with an\nintensity flattering enough to spur Kabir to great efforts in his\nnarrative. He, however, well aware that, at his best, he could never\ndream of rivalling the Greek professional in this art of arts, chose\nrather to treat his subject in the simplest possible manner.\n\n\"Two years ago, in the fourteenth year of the reign of Nabu-Nahid,\nKing of Babylon,[3] men say that Istar, the great goddess--our\nAstarte--Aphrodite to you--came in the flesh to Babylon. For three days\nand three nights flames of white fire hung over the temples of Bel, of\nMarduk, and of Nebo, while the images of the gods in their shrines\nchanted unceasingly in an unknown tongue. On the morning of the fourth\nday the hierodules attached to the temple of Istar, ascending her\nziggurat to the sanctuary on the seventh stage, found the goddess\nherself, asleep upon her golden couch.\n\n\"How she awoke, what she said to her priestesses, or in what manner she\nfirst descended to take up her abode in the temple below, I have never\nheard. But before a month was past, all Babylon, and in three months all\nthe East, from Sidon to Gaza, and from Ur to Damascus, rang with the\nwonder of her divinity and her beauty. It is now long since I heard of\nher, having been so many months away from my country. But formerly every\ncaravan that came from the great city held some that had seen her, or\nperhaps had heard her speak, and throngs would assemble in the\nmarketplaces to listen to the least story of her personality. It was\nsaid--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. She was beautiful, you say? How beautiful? How did she look?\"\ninterrupted Charmides, in stumbling haste.\n\nKabir, noting the flush upon the shepherd's cheek, smiled a little to\nhimself. \"She is the most fair of any goddess, yet none has ever beheld\nso much as her face quite clearly, it is said. Always she is surrounded\nby a dazzling white radiance, an aureole, which the strongest eyes have\nnot been able to pierce. Yet men declare that her face has the clear\nwhiteness of alabaster, her eyes are like the moon, and her hair like a\nfloating, silken veil. More I cannot truthfully say.\n\n\"Her vestments have been offered her by the King himself and by the\npriests of the great gods. They are such as Nitokris never wore and\nqueens might sigh over with envy. Yet they seem too coarse and poor to\nproffer to such a being.\n\n\"The first sign of Istar's divinity is the music that continually\nfollows her presence. They say that those who hear the sounds as she\npasses are overcome, and fall upon the dust, or reel away like drunken\nmen affected by fumes of wine. What this music is--bells or chords of\nthe lyre or notes from the flute--no man has ever told, for when the\nsounds cease, every memory of them, save that of the ecstasy of\nlistening, leaves him who has heard. And at sunset every night, when the\ngoddess has retired to her sanctuary to commune with the great gods in\nsolitude, there issue from the ziggurat sounds so marvellous that the\npriestesses and hierodules flee the neighborhood of the tower in the\nfear that, hearing, they may lose their reason.\n\n\"Istar is possessed of all knowledge. She speaks to each man in his\nnative tongue--Chaldaic, Aramaic, Hebrew, Phoenician, or Egyptian--and on\nfeast days she converses with the gods, her brothers, in that unknown\nlanguage spoken by their statues. Bel and Nebo come forth from their\nshrines to receive her; Marduk and Shamash embrace her, their sister.\nSin, her father, sends to her temple blood-offerings and heave-offerings\nof oxen and of doves.\"\n\n\"And men,\" asked the shepherd, still staring into the flames--\"what do\nthe men who have eyes to look upon her?\"\n\n\"Of those that have dared, some become as children that know no more\nwhat they do. A few, it is said, have died, but these she raises from\nthe kingdom of death and returns again to the world to fulfil their\nrightful time. Others still have given their manhood in order to join\nthe order of temple-servants attached to her sanctuary.\n\n\"For all these reasons the temple of Istar has become more famous than\nany other in the East, and the name of Istar, the living goddess, is in\nevery mouth. Many Egyptians from Memphis and Thebes have taken the long\njourney to Babylon for the purpose of beholding her; and in the land of\nthe Nile each man prays that Isis may show her people favor and appear\nbefore them incarnate. She has shaken the faith of the Jews in their one\nGod. Phrygia and Lydia send yearly offerings to her in the great city.\nAnd in Tyre itself we were to build a new temple to Astarte, where a six\nmonths' sacrifice and festival would be held, in the hope that our great\ngoddess of fertility might appear before us in her double form. And\nthat, O Charmides, is all that I can relate to you concerning the Lady\nof Babylon.\"\n\n\"It seems that Charmides sleeps over the tale, or else that he is\ndrunken with the mere thought of the divine personage. Wake, rhapsode!\nTune your lyre and sing for us the inspired ode that hangs upon your\nlips!\" cried Phalaris, rather ill-naturedly, and with a supercilious\nsmile at his brother.\n\nCharmides did not stir. A thoughtful frown puckered his forehead, and he\nappeared oblivious of Phalaris' mockery. Theron, seeing that the\nPhoenician was a little crestfallen with the ill-success of his story,\nmade haste to express his interest in it, and to ask a further question\nor two upon the matter, without, however, infusing much enthusiasm into\nhis tone. Heraia followed her husband's lead with less effort. She had\nin her the original strain of poetry that had been extended to her\nyounger son, but was entirely lacking in Theron and Phalaris. Therefore,\nbeing imaginative and a woman, Heraia had no difficulty in crediting\nKabir's words, and she also understood Charmides' present mood as none\nof the others could.\n\nNow ensued a pause extremely uncomfortable to three of the group. Only\nPhalaris was undisturbed by, and Charmides oblivious of, its distressing\nlength. The shepherd finally turned his head and shifted his gaze to the\nPhoenician's face, where his eyes remained fixed for two or three minutes\nin a contemplative scrutiny. Then he drew a long breath, returned into\nthe present, and, rising, moved slowly to the door again. From there he\nglanced at his mother, and was about to speak, when Phalaris reached\nover to the chest near which he sat, drew forth from it a lyre inlaid\nwith ivory, and held it out to his brother.\n\n\"A hymn, Charmides, to Astarte. I can read one written in your eyes.\"\n\nCharmides flushed scarlet. The eyes of the stranger were on him, and he\nfelt a sudden pang of inexpressible shame at the laughter of his\nbrother's tone.\n\n\"Have no fear, little athlete!\" he responded, slowly, \"an ode will be\nready for you when you overthrow Theocles in the festival games. But I\nthink I need not hurry in composing it. Morpheus attend you all. I am\ngoing to my bed.\" And, turning upon his heel, without looking at the\nstill proffered instrument, he strode off to the room which he was to\nshare with Phalaris and the stranger.\n\nCharmides' anger always passed as rapidly as it rose. To-night, by the\ntime he had disrobed and made his prayer to Apollo and Father Zeus, his\nmind was once more in a state of truce with Phalaris, and he determined\nto make peace with his brother as soon as he found opportunity; for\nPhalaris felt the sting of a sharp speech till it was healed by the balm\nof a very humble apology.\n\nOnce ready for the night the shepherd drew his light couch under the one\nunshuttered window of the room, and laid him down so that his eyes might\nrest upon the heavens before he slept, and where he could watch the\nrising of the sun when he woke again. By this time the last shred of the\nstorm-cloud had disappeared from on high, and the moon, which was all\nbut in the full, flooded the night with silver. Its luminous radiance\nmelted over the shepherd's face and caused his locks to shine palely.\nCharmides lay watching the beams with wide-open eyes. In spite of his\nvery unusual exertions of the afternoon, and the nervous strain that he\nhad endured in watching for men from the wreck, he had never been\nfurther from sleep than to-night. His mind was unusually active, and,\ntry as he would, he could not turn his thoughts from one subject--the\nthing that Phalaris had tried to shame away, the incredible tale told by\nthe Phoenician about the Aphrodite of the East. Charmides knew well\nenough how his father and brother would laugh at him for allowing\nhimself to think seriously for one moment about that idealized being,\nwho, in all probability, lived only in the depths of the trader's\nimagination. Nevertheless, Kabir's few words had conjured up to\nCharmides' quick fancy a singularly real shape, and in the solitary\nnight his thoughts played about her continually, now with eager delight,\nagain reluctantly and irresistibly. Once, twice, thrice he tried to\nescape from her, but she refused to be banished. He saw her slipping\ndown towards him from a great height, on the path of a moonbeam. With a\nsigh of renunciation he resolutely turned his head. Still she did not\ngo. Nay, flashing in an aureole of white light, her face veiled from\nhim, divinity crying from every curve of her figure, she advanced more\ndefinitely than before, from the corners of the room. A quiver of\npainful delight stirred Charmides' heart. He closed his eyes. Then she\ncame out of the depths of his own brain, in a sea of rainbow mist, with\nfaint chimes of distant bells ringing around her, a veil of silken hair\ncovering her beneath the mantle of light. At last he was quite beneath\nher spell. Fragments of hexameter, of great beauty and great\nindistinctness, rose in his mind. And presently, lo! an ode, the first\nof any depth that had ever come to him, became possible. Here were the\nfirst lines of it, lying ready to his tongue. He whispered them once to\nhimself, delightedly, and then banished them with resolution. He must\nfirst obtain his form. The structure must be broad enough adequately to\nexpress the thought born in him by the secret inspiration of the night.\n\nAn hour passed, and the white light of the moon crept slowly over the\nshepherd's head into the far corners of the room. Charmides lay with\nclosed eyes and lips compressed, the vision growing clearer and his task\nmore intricate. Mere words began to be inadequate. How many men, how\nmany women, how many lifeless things, even, have been extolled in\nmatchless syllables? And how was he as far to surpass all these lines as\nhis subject surpassed the subjects of his predecessors? He grew more and\nmore troubled, and the labor of his mind was painful. Intoxication was\ngone. The time of work, of unexalted concentration, was upon him. Into\nthe midst of this second stage, however, came Phalaris and Kabir,\nsleepy, yet talking pleasantly together in unsubdued tones. Charmides\nclenched his hand, but did not unclose his eyes. For twenty minutes he\nlay in an agony of broken thought. Then his self-control was rewarded.\nHe was left alone once more in the night, with only the light, regular\nbreathing of two unconscious men to disturb his thoughts.\n\nThrough the misty hours sleep did not visit the shepherd, yet neither\ndid he accomplish his desire. He watched the pale moon faint from the\nsky and the white stars melt, one by one, into the tender dawn. Sunrise\nfound him spent, exhausted, and bitter with disappointment; for the\nburning night had left no trace of its fever save in deep circles under\nhis eyes and a hungering anxiety over something that he could not name.\n\nTheron and Phalaris were up betimes, and, before they had finished the\nmorning libation, were joined by Charmides and Kabir. During breakfast\nthe stranger talked to Theron about the galley, and the length of time\nit would take before she could be rendered fit to continue again upon\nher voyage.\n\n\"You were going home?\" asked the Selinuntian.\n\n\"Yes. We should stop at the Sikelian cities as far as Syracuse, passing\nthen eastward through the islands, touching at Crete, Naxos, perhaps,\nand Cyprus. Our voyage had been too long already.\"\n\n\"Well, if you are ready,\" observed Theron, rising, \"we will go down to\nthe shore at once to find out the condition of the galley. And while you\nremain in Selinous, Kabir, we beg that you will make our hearth your\nhome.\"\n\nThe Phoenician gratefully expressed his thanks. Then, as Theron and\nPhalaris moved together towards the door, evidently expecting him to\nfollow them, Kabir turned to Charmides, who remained in the background.\n\n\"Do you not come with us?\" he asked.\n\nThe Greek hurriedly shook his head. \"I take the flock to pasture,\" he\nexplained; and so the Phoenician turned away.\n\nBy the time the three men reached the shore below the city, the sun was\ntwo hours high and the beach was lined with Selinuntians and Tyrians,\nall talking together about the best method for pulling the galley from\nbetween the two rocks where she still lay, fast wedged. As soon as Kabir\nmade his appearance a tall fellow, in a deep-red robe, hurried up to him\nwith expressions of delight. Kabir saluted him as an equal, and\npresently brought him up to Theron and Phalaris, introducing him as\nEshmun, captain of the _Fish of Tyre_. Then followed among the four of\nthem an earnest conversation as to the length of time needed for repairs\nafter the ship was once more in clear water.\n\n\"Prayers and libations to Melkart and Baal have been offered up,\"\nobserved Eshmun, piously, \"and men in the city are already at work\nmaking new oars. Yonder on the beach are all the small boats, which are\nto be manned by our sailors and the young men of the city. They,\nproceeding to the _Fish_, will lay hold of her stern with ropes, and,\nall pulling in the same direction, by the aid of the gods we shall hope\nto get her out.\"\n\n\"And the galley-slaves?\" queried Kabir. \"What has been done with them?\"\n\n\"May Bacchus confound them! Last night, before leaving the ship, I\npersuaded Sydyk into loosening their chains, and when Sydyk, at sunrise,\nreached the galley, he found every man of them sprawled out on deck in a\ndrunken sleep. They had used up four casks of the best Massilian wine!\nSydyk had them whipped back to their places, where they are now chained,\nwaiting to help push the ship off with their unbroken oars.\"\n\nUp to this point Theron and his son stood beside Kabir, listening\nattentively to the Phoenician tongue, which was just unfamiliar enough to\ndemand close attention. But now Phalaris, seeing that the small boats\nwere being rapidly manned, went off to join one of them. Theron walked\nleisurely after his son towards a group of elders, leaving Kabir with\nEshmun. For ten or fifteen minutes the Tyrians continued their\nconversation, and then, the fleet of rowboats being ready to put off,\nthe captain hurried away to take command of the operations, and his\ncompanion was left alone upon the shore.\n\nKabir, as master-trader of the vessel, was under no obligation to do\nanything towards the assistance of the wreck. Few men, perhaps, would\nhave considered this freedom as a reason for actually taking no part in\nthe affair of the moment. But Kabir was one of these few. He was by\nnature a true Phoenician, and by cultivation a true merchant: thoroughly\nindolent where his immediate advantage was not concerned; good-natured\nbecause good-nature made men more pliable to his secret will; keen as a\nknife-blade, and quite indefatigable in any matter that concerned his or\nhis employer's profit; indifferent to the weal or woe of his nearest\nfriend, so long as by that woe or weal his own comfort was unconcerned.\nHe stood now on the beach below the acropolis, content to be alone,\nsufficiently occupied with the scenes of beauty and activity before him.\nThere, far to the south and east, stretched the sea, smooth and blue,\nsprinkled with sun-sparkles, a lolling roll half-concealed in its\nmischievous depths, otherwise bearing not a trace of last night's spasm\nof rage. From the very edge of the beach out to a distance of two\nhundred yards from shore, was a jumble of brown rocks, large and small,\nbetween which the water ran in little, opalescent eddies, forming a\ndangerous and threatening boundary to the west side of the otherwise\npeaceful harbor. Between two of these horned rocks lay the barnacled,\ndismasted ship, which had ventured so far into distant, perilous seas,\nto be brought to bay at last, wounded and weary, by the shock of a merry\nSicilian thunderstorm. Half-way between ship and shore thirty small\nboats, plied vigorously by friendly Greek and anxious Tyrian, were\nmaking a flashing progress to the galley's side; while all along the\nshore white-robed Selinuntian elders and fair-faced Doric women watched\nwith high interest the movements of the boats.\n\nOnce and again Kabir overlooked the scene. Then, tired of standing, and\nundesirous of spending the whole morning inactively, he turned and\nlooked around him, up the rocky height of the temple-crowned acropolis.\nAn ascent into the city seemed the most feasible method of amusement.\nTherefore he proceeded leisurely towards the nearest upward path, when,\nsomewhat to his amazement, he perceived the figure of Charmides coming\nrapidly towards him along the beach. The moment his eyes met those of\nthe youth the shepherd's pace grew perceptibly slower.\n\n\"I will avoid him, then,\" thought the Phoenician, calmly, and thereupon,\nwith a distant salutation, he started forward once more to the upward\npath. To his further surprise this act brought Charmides hastily to his\nside.\n\n\"Where is thy flock, O rhapsode?\" inquired Kabir, lightly, in the manner\nof Phalaris.\n\n\"In care of Sardeis. I was seeking you.\"\n\n\"And your purpose? What may I do?\"\n\n\"N--nothing. I thought you might desire, perhaps, to see the city. Shall\nI conduct you to the agora? Would you like to see our temples?--and the\nstatues?--and the new pediment that Eumenides is making for the\nbasilica?\"\n\n\"Very much. I was, indeed, just about to go alone up to the city,\"\nreplied Kabir, courteously. But while the youth began abruptly to ascend\nthe path in front of him, Kabir was wondering, in rather a puzzled way,\nwhat could be the reason for the young Greek's sudden solicitude for his\namusement, and for the want of interest in what should have been his\nfirst object of inquiry--the galley's rescue from the rocks.\n\nThe two of them passed in silence through the well-kept street that led\nto the agora from the west, and had almost reached the height of the\nacropolis before a further word was spoken between them. Kabir's\ncuriosity was turning to amusement, and he was inclined to put the\nshepherd down as half-witted, when the boy turned on him and burst out,\nas if driven to the speech:\n\n\"Kabir, tell me, was that that you were saying last night--about the\ngoddess of Babylon--true or not? Is there such a being, or is she but an\ninvention of your mind? I conjure you, if you have pity, tell me the\ntruth!\"\n\nAs he spoke, Charmides, from being very pale, had flushed crimson, and\nhis young eyes burned with unquenchable fire. A sudden, unique\nrevelation was borne in upon the Phoenician, and he willingly passed over\nthe blunt suggestion in the shepherd's question, in the pleasure of\nfinding what was, to him, an entirely novel bent of mind. While they\nproceeded, then, on their way to the market-place, Kabir replied to the\nsubstance of Charmides' new queries.\n\n\"I told you the truth last evening, shepherd; as much truth, indeed, as\nI knew. I myself have never been in Babylon, and therefore have not,\nwith mine own eyes, seen the goddess. But others, my friends, on\nreturning to Tyre from the great city, have been able to talk of nothing\nbut Istar, this living divinity. Yet it is many months since I was at\nhome. By now she may have returned to the skies, from which, they say,\nshe came. But that there was once such a being on earth I know; else I\nand all men of the East are gone suddenly demented.\"\n\n\"But her face--how do you imagine it? Her form--is it like a woman's?\nTell me, Kabir! Tell me more of her!\"\n\n\"How can I, never having looked upon her? How shall I imagine what no\nman, seeing, knows?\"\n\n\"Surely you know of the music that surrounds her. Whence does it appear\nto come? Is it the sound of lyre or flute; or perhaps of many\ninstruments together? Perhaps some hint of its melody is--\"\n\n\"Shepherd, shepherd! Have I not told you that I know nothing of it? Said\nI not last night that that music drove mad those that listened? Lyres!\nFlutes! How could I know? How should I guess?\"\n\n\"It is unbearable, this yearning. I am kept from sleep. I cannot eat. I\nam haunted by a face that I cannot see, lines that will not rise out of\nthe chaos in which they lie. And no man will tell me what he knows. No\nman--no man.\"\n\nThe shepherd muttered these words to himself so incoherently that Kabir\ncould scarcely distinguish one from another. Suddenly, however,\nCharmides lifted his head and looked at the Phoenician with a deep\nsadness in his eyes. \"Kabir!\" he exclaimed, softly, \"I am possessed!\"\n\n\"Truly, I think you are!\" growled the trader to himself. But with\nCharmides he abruptly changed the subject of conversation, and said, in\na very different tone, with a phlegmatic smile: \"It is my turn for\nquestioning now. We are here in the agora, and you have told me as yet\nnothing of the temples, which are, so far as I can judge, most worthy of\ntheir gods.\"\n\nCharmides restrained a sigh of impatience, but his disappointment showed\nplainly in his face. However, his native courtesy and his training in\nhospitality did not desert him, and for the next hour he devoted himself\nto his task so successfully that Kabir was well pleased with him. The\nboy's effort to keep his mind fixed upon immediate matters did not\nescape the Phoenician, who, before the morning was over, conceived a very\ndifferent idea of the shepherd's character. On the whole, the last half\nof the morning was much more enjoyable to him than the first.\n\nAt this time, in the spring of the five hundred and thirty-ninth year\nbefore the birth of Christ, the Hyblean city was in the height of its\nprosperity as an independent Doric colony; and its citizens had taken a\ngenerous and a reverent pride in the adornment of their acropolis and of\nthe opposite hill, both of which were wreathed with temples which, in\nconception and erection, will never be surpassed. Kabir looked\nappreciatively at the agora, surrounded as it was with the fluted\ncolumns of the sanctuaries of Demeter, Apollo, and Zeus, and the\nsomewhat too square basilica. The market-place teemed with life. A\nsacrifice and prayer to Father Zeus was in progress, and white-robed\npriests passed to and fro among the youths and maids of the open school,\nthe slaves who came for water from the central fountain, or the venders\nof grains, fruit, and flowers that accosted one at every step. Passing\nout of the agora, after a considerable time spent in viewing its\npleasant gayety, the stranger and his shepherd guide went back to\nexamine the stone fort which rendered this eminence utterly impregnable\nupon its north side; and then they followed the high stone wall\nsouthward along the edge of the cliff till they reached the southeastern\ngate of Hystaspes. Through this Charmides passed rapidly, and led the\nway along well-paved streets down into the valley of the Hypsas River,\nwhich separated the acropolis from the east hill. Crossing the little\nbridge on foot, the two began their second ascent up the eminence where\nstood Charmides' home, near which were three other temples--one to\nHecate, one to Hera, and the third, half finished, dedicated to the\npatron god of the city, Apollo, and destined to be the largest temple of\nthem all and the third largest in the Greek world.\n\nThe walk had proved long, and the last part of the way was difficult.\nKabir was glad enough to sit and rest in the portico of Hera's shrine,\nlooking out over the brow of the hill down to the rocky harbor where the\ngalley still obstinately stuck. Charmides had ceased to talk, and his\ncompanion asked no more questions about the city. It was in perfect\namicability, yet in perfect silence, that the two finished their short\nwalk to Theron's house. The young Greek had fallen into a reverie from\nwhich it would have been difficult to rouse him; and he moved with his\neyes fixed sometimes in the clouds, more often on the ground, while his\nmouth drooped and his expression grew more and more grave. Kabir glanced\noccasionally at his companion, needing no interpreter to determine the\nsubject of his thoughts, but himself far more interested in the question\nas to whether there would be meat, or merely bread, cheese, wine, and\nfruit at the noon meal to which they were going.\n\nAs it turned out, there was mutton, well spitted, and done to a turn, a\ndouble portion of which was easily obtainable, for Phalaris did not come\nup from the harbor, and Charmides sat staring absently into space, while\nTheron, Heraia, and their guest ate and discussed the events of the\nmorning. The galley, it appeared, had been moved a little, but was not\nyet completely out of the clutches of the rocks. It was hoped, however,\nthat by nightfall she would, by the combined strength of the oars and\nthe small boats, be got off and safely beached in a spot where the\ncarpenters could begin work upon her crushed sides and torn bottom.\n\n\"It will be a matter of fifteen days, however, before she can continue\nher voyage. There is far more to be done upon her than we thought at\nfirst. Meantime, O Kabir, our dwelling is yours.\"\n\n\"May the gods duly requite your hospitality, good friends!\" returned\nKabir, as the four of them rose from the table.\n\nAfter the meal Kabir went down into the harbor with his host, and\nCharmides sought the fields with his flock, not returning till an hour\nafter sunset. The family was seated at supper when he appeared. His\nunusual tardiness elicited a remark or two from his father; but Heraia,\nreading the weariness in his eyes, forbore to question him. It required\nforbearance, indeed, for she found something in the shepherd's face that\nhad not been there before; and on the meaning of it she speculated in\nvain.\n\nIn spite of the fact that he had eaten little at noon, and that his\nafternoon had been unusually long, Charmides took nothing to-night.\nKabir watched him discreetly, interested in his state, the cause of\nwhich he alone so much as suspected. Phalaris was weary after his long\nday at the oars, and showed his displeasure with his brother for making\nno inquiry as to the galley's progress by utterly ignoring Charmides\nafter the first word of greeting. The rather uncomfortable meal at an\nend, Heraia ventured a customary request.\n\n\"Come, Charmides, get thy lyre or flute, and play to us. The sheep have\nbeen hearing thee all afternoon. Give us, also, music to-night.\"\n\nNone of the others echoed the request. Theron rarely encouraged either\nson in his chosen profession, though he was as interested in their\nsuccess as they themselves. Phalaris still sulked, unnoticed; and the\nPhoenician was too anxious for an opportunity of judging his new\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9's ability to risk protest by undue urging. He was fortunate in\nchoosing the passive course. At his mother's request, Charmides rose at\nonce and brought out his well-strung lyre. Seating himself in a corner\nof the open door-way, and looking out upon the night, he struck two or\nthree thin, minor chords. Then, in a voice whose limpid tenor Kabir had\nnever heard equalled, he sang. It was a melody well known to all Greeks,\nbut transposed from the major to the minor key. The words were\nCharmides' own--of exquisite simplicity--twenty lines on the grief and\nweariness of a lost Pleiad. It rose gradually to a plaintive climax, and\nended in a tired pianissimo. There was no applause. None of his audience\nand neither of the slaves cared to break silence as the shepherd rose\nand returned the instrument to its place. Kabir thirsted for more; and\npresently Theron, with a little effort, asked, softly:\n\n\"Why do you stop?\"\n\n\"Father, I am tired. Grant me permission to go to my bed.\"\n\n\"Permission need not be asked. Get thee away, and the gods send you\ndreamless sleep.\"\n\nHalf an hour later Phalaris and the Phoenician followed the shepherd's\nexample, and Theron and his wife also sought a willing rest. The athlete\nmade quick work of preparing for the night, and, almost upon the instant\nof his lying down, fell fast asleep. Kabir was slower. He had disrobed\nas promptly as his companion, but he did not immediately lay him down.\nAs on the previous evening, the window was open, and the moonlight\nstreamed over Charmides' bed. Kabir stole across the room to look out\nupon the night, moving noiselessly, that he might not disturb the\nshepherd, who, since the others entered the room, had lain motionless.\nThe Phoenician, standing over him, brought his eyes slowly from the moon\nto the fair face below him, and gave a quick, unfeigned start to find\nCharmides' eyes wide open, staring up at him. Neither of them spoke.\nKabir, in unaccountable confusion, quickly returned to his own couch and\nlay down upon it, far wider awake than he had been ten minutes before.\n\nNow ensued a period of silence and of uneasiness. The shepherd, his form\nflooded with silver light, lay immovable, eyes still unclosed, hands\nclenched, brain on fire, listening mechanically to the regular breathing\nof Phalaris, and waiting eagerly, anxiously, tensely, for the same sound\nfrom the couch of the Phoenician. His nerves, too highly strung, twitched\nand pulled. His body gradually grew numb. And still, while he waited,\nears pricked, eyes brilliant, Kabir refused to sleep. The moon rode in\nmid-heavens before the sign came. At last the faint snores sounded like\nmuffled drum-taps, one--two--three--four--five. A long sigh escaped\nCharmides' lips. For one blessed instant his muscles relaxed. Then he\nrose swiftly, drew on his day tunic, threw about him the chlamys that\nPhalaris had worn, and slipped noiselessly from the room. For a moment\nafter his disappearance everything remained quiet behind him. Then,\nsuddenly, Kabir's snores ceased, and he sat cautiously up. Yes,\nCharmides was really gone. The Phoenician rose and passed over to the\ndoor. The living-room was empty and the outer door open to the night.\nThrowing on as much clothing as he needed in the mild air, the trader\nhurried outside and looked about him, first towards the sea, then along\nthe path to the city. Upon this, walking swiftly, and already far on his\nmoonlit way, went the shepherd. Kabir, with a kind of wonderment at his\nown curiosity, started at a half-run to follow.\n\nEvidently Charmides was bound for a definite spot. He moved straight\nalong through the rank grass, gorse, and wild onion that here took the\nplace of near-growing daisies and sweet alyssum, and, looking neither to\nthe right nor left, passed along the path to the acropolis.\n\nThe shepherd was acting on what was hardly an impulse. His strange\naction had been irresistibly impelled by some force emanating from his\nown mind, and yet _not_ of himself. He wished to be upon consecrated\nground, in the precincts of a temple, where, it seemed to him, the\nburning thirst of his imagination might be quenched. In obedience to his\nguiding voice, he left behind him the temples of the hill on which he\nlived, and made his way towards the abode of his patron god of the\nSilver Bow, who had for years been worshipped on the acropolis, and\nwhose immense temple on the other hill was still unfinished. Charmides\nhad brought with him his lyre, again obeying the impulse, though without\nany idea of how he was to use it. He accomplished most of his journey,\nindeed, without thought of any kind; and not till the last, sharp ascent\nup the acropolis road was begun did it occur to him that, at this hour\nof the night, he might not pass the guard at the gate. The thought, when\nit came, scarcely troubled him. He would go at least as far as he could.\nHe passed rapidly up the steep slope, Kabir following noiselessly; and,\nas they drew near the gate of Dawn, the southeastern opening in the\ndefending wall, Charmides saw a strange thing. The guard, one of a\nlong-trained company for whom discovered slumber at his post meant\ndeath, sat squat upon the ground, his helmeted head bowed between his\nknees, sunk in a deep sleep. The passage into the agora was open.\nCharmides and the other passed into the empty square, finally pausing\nbefore the portico of the temple of Apollo.\n\nA scene of supernal beauty confronted them. The great market-place,\nfilled from dawn to dusk with murmurous life of the city, was robed by\nnight in ineffable stillness. All around, the white columns rose in\nshadowy beauty to their high architraves; while the ground below was\nbarred with fluted shadows. The warm, perfume-laden air was heavy with\nthe essence of spring. Below, on the sides of the hill, the city lay\nasleep; and the only sound that broke the universal silence was the\ndistant, musical swish of the rising tide.\n\nIn the midst of this Charmides stood, half panting, his overwrought mind\nin a state of blankness. Then, still passively obeying his guiding\nimpulse, he ascended the two steps that led into the portico of the\ntemple of Apollo, and, after hesitating for a moment, entered the open\ndoor-way. By the light of the two sacred torches that burned throughout\nthe night by the altar of the god, the youth made his way to the\nhigh-walled fane, within which was the celebrated statue of the Patron\nof Selinous. Here, in the dim, bluish light, with the cool stillness\nabove and around him, and the divine presence very near, the shepherd\nfell upon one knee and bowed his head in a prayer, the words of which\nrose to his lips without any effort of thought on his part, and were\nmore beautiful than any that he had ever heard spoken by priest or poet.\n\nWhen he had finished he did not rise. It seemed to him that, if he but\ndared to lift his eyes, he should see the Lord of the Silver Bow above\nhim, in all his blinding radiance. Charmides' head swam. A cloud of\nfaintest incense enveloped him. His parted lips drank in air that\naffected him like rare old wine. A fine intoxication stole upon all his\nsenses. He waited, breathlessly, for that which he knew at last was to\ncome. Yet in the beginning of the miracle his heart for a long moment\nceased to beat, and he swayed forward till he lay prone upon the marble\npavement.\n\nA sound, a long note, thin and bright and finely drawn as silver wire,\nwas quivering down from the dusk of the uppermost vault. On it spun, and\non, over the head of the listener, whose every nerve quivered beneath\nthe spell of its vibration. Time had ceased for him, and he did not know\nwhether it was a moment or an hour before the single note became two,\nthen three, and gradually many more, which mingled and melted together\nin a stream of delicious harmony, so strange, so marvellous, that the\nshepherd strained ears and brain in an agony lest he should fail to\ncatch a single tone. But the low \u00c6olian chimes grew fainter after a\nlittle while; and then, at the pianissimo, there entered into their\nmidst something that no man of earth had as yet dreamed of--a mighty\norgan note, that rose and swelled through the moving air in a peal of\nsuch majesty that Charmides, trembling with his temerity, rose to his\nfeet and looked up. Nothing unusual was to be seen in the temple room.\nHalf-way down, between the frescoed columns, burned the two torches\nbefore the empty altar. Yes, and there, in the shadow of the wall, stood\nKabir, the Phoenician, watching quietly the movements of the shepherd.\nCharmides perceived him, but failed to wonder at his presence. It was\nnatural that any one should wish to be here to-night. Yet how could any\nliving man stand unmoved in the midst of such a glory of sound as\nwhirled about him now? The lyre music rose anew to a great fortissimo,\nhigh above the deeply resonant chords of the sky-organ. Flutes and\ntrumpets, and the minor notes of myriad plaintive flageolets, and a\nhigh-pealing chime of silver-throated bells joined in swinging harmony,\nfinally resolving into such a p\u00e6an of praise that Charmides was carried\nback to the memories of many a former dream. Shaking the dripping sweat\nfrom his forehead, he stepped forward a pace or two, and, lifting his\nlyre, joined its tones and those of his pygmy voice to the mighty\norchestra. Though he was unaware of it, he had never sung like this\nbefore. The inspiration of his surroundings was upon him. His voice rang\nforth, clear as a trumpet-call. Strange and beautiful words poured from\nhis lips; words that he had always known, yet uttered now for the first\ntime. He was drawn far from life. He was on the threshold of another\nworld, into which he could see dimly. There, before him, poised in\nether, shining ever more distinctly through the rosy cloud that\nenveloped her, was the statue-like, veil-swathed form of a woman. Tall,\nlithe, round was the shape that he beheld--the body of a woman of earth,\nand yet more, and less, than that. Neither feature nor flesh could he\nperceive through the radiance that surrounded and emanated from her. He\nknew, in his heart, that this was a goddess, she whom his soul sought.\n\n\"Ishtar! Ishtar! Ishtar k\u00e2 Babil\u00fb!\"\n\nOnce, twice, thrice he cried her name, in descending minor thirds, while\nall the bells of heaven pealed round them both.\n\n\"Ishtar of Babil\u00fb, I come to seek your city! Where you are, there I\nshall find you. Great Apollo, Lord of the Silver Bow, son of Latona and\nof Father Zeus, hear me and heed my words: I will seek the living\ngoddess where she dwells in the land of the rising sun. To her I will\nproffer my homage ere the year be gone. If I fulfil not this vow, made\nhere within thy holy temple, take thou my body for the dogs to feed\nupon, and let my spirit cross the river into the darkest cavern of\nHades. Lord Son of Latona, hear my vow!\"\n\nWith the last words Charmides sank again upon his knees, his face still\nuplifted to the spot whence his vision had faded into blackness. The\ncelestial music ceased. The passionate ecstasy was gone. Weak and\nexhausted in body and mind, the shepherd rose, trembling, and began to\nmove towards the entrance of the temple. The light from the sinking moon\nstreamed white through the open door. Presently, from the shadows behind\nhim, Kabir glided gently up to the youth, who was groping blindly\nforward.\n\n\"I heard the vow,\" said the Phoenician, almost in a whisper. \"Will you,\nthen, sail with us when we depart again in our galley, to Tyre, on your\nway into Babylon of the East?\"\n\nFor a moment Charmides stared at the man in wonderment. He was coming\nback to life. Then he nodded slowly, and with dry lips answered:\n\n\"You heard the vow. You have said it.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nINTO THE EAST\n\n\nNext morning Kabir opened his eyes earlier than might have been\nexpected, considering his nocturnal exercise and the hour at which he\nhad finally retired. Charmides was performing ablutions with water from\nan earthen jar, and talking amicably, if absent-mindedly, with his\nbrother, who was ready dressed. The Phoenician rose hastily, and began\nhis usual toilet, while Phalaris, after giving him morning greeting, and\nbidding the shepherd have a care not to drown himself, left them for the\nmore satisfying charms of breakfast.\n\nOn their way back from the acropolis, on the previous night, Kabir and\nCharmides had not spoken to each other. Therefore the one question and\nanswer before they left the temple was the only conversation they had\nhad on the subject of the inspiration and its result. This morning,\nthen, the moment that Phalaris disappeared, Charmides set down the\nwater-jar, turned sharply about, and, looking searchingly into his\ncompanion's face, asked:\n\n\"Kabir--have I dreamed?\"\n\n\"Dreamed? Where? How?\"\n\nA sudden light sprang into the shepherd's face. \"You were not with me,\nthen, last night, in the temple of Apollo?\"\n\n\"Certainly I was--and heard the hymn you sang to the Babylonian goddess.\nThat was an inspiration, Charmides. Can you recall the words and the\nrhythm this morning?\"\n\nBut Charmides shrank from the question. He had become very pale. After a\nlong silence, during which Kabir, much puzzled, strove to understand his\nmood, he asked again, faintly:\n\n\"And the vow? I vowed to Apollo--\"\n\n\"To seek the Babylonian goddess; to proffer her homage before the year\nhad fallen, or--\" The Phoenician stopped. Charmides held up his hand with\nsuch an imploring gesture that a sudden light broke in upon the trader.\nHe realized now that regret for his emotional folly was strong upon the\nyouth, and he saw no reason for not helping him to be rid of its\nconsequences.\n\n\"You have lost the desire, O Charmides, to fulfil that vow?\" he asked.\n\nCharmides bent his head in shamed acquiescence.\n\n\"Why, then, keep it? You may trust me. I shall say not a word of the\nmatter to any one. None but I saw you. The guard at the gate was asleep.\nYou are safe. Forget the matter, and be--\" again he paused. Charmides\nwas regarding him with open displeasure.\n\n\"None _saw_! What of the god, Phoenician? What of the god Apollo--my\npatron?\"\n\nKabir perceived the shepherd's earnestness, and the corners of his mouth\ntwitched. Phoenician polytheism had crossed swords, long ago, with\nPhoenician practicality; and the gods, it must be confessed, had been\npretty well annihilated in the series of contests. Nevertheless, Kabir\nknew very well that he could not scoff at another's religion. He was\npuzzled. He tried argument, persuasion, entreaty, every form of rhetoric\nthat occurred to him as holding out possibilities of usefulness; but all\nalike failed to move in the slightest degree Charmides' abject\ndetermination. The unprofitable conversation was finally ended by the\nshepherd's sensible proposal:\n\n\"I will lay the matter before my father this morning, Kabir, and by his\ndecision I will abide.\"\n\nThe Phoenician nodded approval. It was a simple solution of a puzzle\nwhich, after all, did not really concern him. As a matter of fact it\nwould have been hard enough for him to tell why he was taking\nsuch an unaccountable interest in this impulsive and irresponsible\nshepherd-boy--he, a man who had cared for neither man nor woman all his\nlife through, whose whole interest had hitherto been centred in material\nthings. But he was, as many others had been and would be, under the\ninfluence of the peculiar charm of the young Greek, a charm that\nemanated not more from the incomparable beauty of his physique than from\nthe frank and ingenuous sincerity of his manner.\n\nAt the conclusion of their peculiar conversation, the two men passed\ninto the living-room, to find their morning meal just ready and Theron\nand his son sitting down to table, while Heraia still bent over the\nhearth where bread was baking.\n\nCharmides gave his usual morning salutation to his father and mother,\nand then seated himself in silence. During the meal he said not a word,\nthough Phalaris was in a lively mood, and conversation flowed easily\nenough among the others. When the athlete had risen, however, and Kabir\nwas detaining the others by making a pretence of eating in order to\nwatch the shepherd, Charmides turned to his father and asked, boldly:\n\n\"Father, may one break a vow made within his temple to Apollo?\"\n\nTheron looked at his son carefully. \"You know that he may not. Why have\nyou asked?\"\n\n\"Because I have made such a vow. Last night, after a great vision, it\nwas wrung from me.\"\n\nPhalaris came back and seated himself quietly at the table. Then Heraia\nleaned forward, looking at her son as if something long expected, long\nhoped for, had come to pass.\n\n\"A vision? Of what? Where?\"\n\n\"At midnight, unable to sleep for the chaos of my thoughts, I went to\nthe acropolis and entered into the temple of my god. There I heard the\nmusic of the gods, most marvellous, most incomprehensible; and there a\ngreat vision was before me--a silver cloud in which the goddess Istar of\nBabylon appeared to me and called to me. Thereupon I vowed to Apollo to\nset forth into the East, seeking her to whom, ere the year be fallen, I\nmust proffer my homage.\"\n\nBuoyed up by the pleasure and sympathy in his mother's eyes, Charmides\nhad spoken quite cheerfully. Looking into her face after his last words,\nhowever, he found there something that caused his head to droop in\nnew-found dejection, while he waited for his father's decision. It did\nnot come. There was a heavy silence, finally broken by Phalaris, who\nsaid, a little contemptuously:\n\n\"You had a dream, Charmides. You did not leave the room in which I slept\nlast night.\"\n\nHeraia raised her head in sudden hope, but here Theron broke in:\n\n\"Nay--even if it were but a dream, the gods have more than once appeared\nto favored mortals in sleep.\"\n\n\"But this, Theron, was no dream. I followed Charmides to the temple. It\nis true that I saw no vision, and all the music that came to my ears was\nmade by Charmides himself, who sang an inspired hymn to the goddess. But\nhis vow to Apollo was most certainly made. The shepherd has spoken\ntruth.\"\n\nThere was another pause. Then Theron sighed heavily and spoke. \"He must\nabide by the vow. You, O Phoenician, will you take him in the galley to\nyour far city, on his way to the abode of the goddess?\"\n\n\"That I promised him last night.\"\n\n\"But,\" interrupted Phalaris, still incredulous, \"how did you both pass\nthe guard at the gate by which you entered the acropolis?\"\n\n\"He slept!\" replied Charmides and Kabir, in the same breath.\n\nHeraia let a faint sigh that was more than half sob escape her; and\nCharmides drew a hand across his brow. \"You bid me go, father?\" he said.\n\nTheron hesitated. Finally, in a tone of grave reproval, he replied, \"It\nis not I that can bid you go. You yourself owe obedience to your patron\ngod and to the strange goddess that put this thing into your heart.\nThough I shall lose you, though the heart of your mother is faint at the\nthought of your departure, yet I dare not command you to break the vow.\nYes, Charmides--you must go.\"\n\nA momentary spasm of pain crossed Charmides' young face, and was gone as\nit had come. Only by his straightened mouth could one have guessed that\nhe was not as usual. Heraia's eyes were bright with tears which she did\nnot allow to fall; and even Phalaris, the true Spartan of the family,\nwho was a little scornful of his brother for permitting his feelings to\nbetray themselves even for a moment, himself felt an unlooked-for quiver\nat the heart when he thought of a life empty of his girlish brother's\npresence. Both he and his mother sat absently looking at the rhapsode,\ntill Theron, seeing danger of weakness in the scene, abruptly rose:\n\n\"Come, Phalaris, we will go down together to the galley. I will speak\nwith Eshmun on behalf of Charmides. Perhaps you, also, Kabir, will care\nto come?\"\n\n\"And I. I will work now upon the ship till she sails again. Sardeis can\ntake the flock.\"\n\n\"Eager to be gone, boy?\" asked Theron, smiling rather sadly; but his\nquestion needed no other answer than his son's expression. So,\npresently, the four men left the house, and Heraia was left alone to\nface this all-unexpected grief that had come to her--the loss of the\nchild that had made her life beautiful.\n\nThe next ten days flew by on wings--wings of grief and dread foreboding\nfor those in Theron's house. Work on the galley proceeded vigorously.\nDown from the hills, far to the east of the city, a long, tapering\ncedar-tree was brought. Its branches were hewn off, its bark stripped\naway, and the bare trunk set up in the place of the old, broken mast.\nNew sails were an easy matter of provision, for the Selinuntians were\nadepts at making them, and three days sufficed for the shaping and\nsewing of these. Oars took more time, for strong wood was hard to\nprocure around Selinous, and only two or three men in the city had any\nidea of the manner of carving out these heavy and unshapely things. The\nmending of the torn bottom of the ship and the replacing of her crushed\nbulwarks and sides required many days of skilful carpentry; and when all\nthis was done, the heavy-clinging barnacles were carefully scraped from\ntheir comfortable abiding-place, and the good ship set right side up\nonce more. Finally, on the last day of April, Eshmun declared her ready\nfor the new launching, and sent word to all his crew that in forty-eight\nhours more their journey would be recommenced, and that on the evening\nbefore their start prayers and a sacrifice for a safe journey would be\nmade at an altar erected on the sands.\n\nCharmides had worked well and steadily at the remantling of the ship;\nand in this way became acquainted with her captain and all the crew,\nwho, when they learned that he was to sail with them for Tyre, took some\npains to show him courtesy. During this fortnight of labor Charmides'\nthoughts were busier than his hands, and they moved not wholly through\nregretful ways. It would have been wonderful had his young imagination\nnot been excited by the prospect before him, that of strange lands and\npeoples, of pleasures and dangers with which he was to become\nacquainted. His fancy strayed often through pleasant paths, so that\nsometimes half a day went by before a remembrance of the coming\nseparation from his home and from his mother brought a shadow across his\nnew road.\n\nThe prospect of departure was, too, far easier for Charmides to\ncontemplate than it would have been for Phalaris, with all the athlete's\naffected stoicism. Up to this time Charmides had led a lonely life; no\ntastes that rendered him companionable towards others, or, rather,\nholding within himself resources that enabled him to lead a life in\nwhich the presence of others was unnecessary and undesirable. The\nexistence that his imagination conjured up from the lands of the unreal\nhad become dearer to him than that of actualities. He had created a\nworld for himself, and peopled it with creatures of his fancy. With\nthese he walked and held converse, and no one but Heraia, his mother,\ncould have understood how completely they satisfied his every need of\ncompanionship. Thus he was able to take away with him almost all of his\nformer life; and Charmides and Heraia both realized, in their secret\nhearts, that the way of another in his place would have been far harder\nthan it promised to be for him.\n\nDuring the last week before the sailing of the ship, Charmides held one\nor two long and serious talks with his father and brother. Theron, with\ngrave, undemonstrative affection, gave him good counsel and excellent\nadvice as to his dealings with men, and his behavior in various possible\nsituations with them. Theron was not a poor man, neither was he an\nungenerous one; and the bag of silver coins given the shepherd to carry\naway with him contained enough to transport him to the gates of the\ngreat city itself. Regarding the object of that journey, the father,\nafter the first morning, said not one word. He felt that Charmides knew\nbest what he intended to do; and it must be confessed that, despite his\npiety and his reverence for the gods of his race, the Selinuntian felt\nhis credulity much taxed when it came to Istar, the living goddess of\nBabylon, of whose existence Kabir was their single witness, and at that\na witness only at second hand, according to the Tyrian's own admission.\nPhalaris shared his father's views on this point; but, to his credit be\nit said, not the least suggestion of this feeling ever escaped him in\nhis brother's presence after Charmides' decision to go had been finally\nand irrevocably made.\n\nKabir, in the mean time, found his admiration of the shepherd\nincreasing. Charmides now held many a talk with him on practical things,\nand the Phoenician found his prospective companion by no means lacking in\ncommon-sense. The young Greek very soon read enough of the other's\nnature to realize that poetry and imagination held small places in his\ncategory of desirable characteristics; and the young man ceased to lay\nbefore the older one any pretty notions regarding sea-myths in which he\nwas indulging himself when contemplating the long, eastward voyage. Now\nand then they spoke of Istar, and Tyre, and Babylon, which Kabir knew\nwell by hearsay. But legends of mischievous Tritons and dangerous\nSirens, of fair Nymphs and hideous sea-monsters, and stories of Delos\nand Naxos, of Crete and Halicarnassus, the rhapsode kept for himself and\nhis lyre.\n\nAt length came the dawning of the last day of the shepherd's old life.\nThe galley was launched and ready to sail. Food and water were stowed\naway on board; and the libations and sacrifices had taken place on the\nbeach the evening before. Now, on this last afternoon, Charmides sat\nalone, a little way in front of the house, looking off upon the seas to\nwhich, to-morrow, he was to trust himself for safe convoy to such\ndistant lands. It was a fair afternoon, and very warm. The rhapsode,\nbasking in the sunlight, felt his emotions dulled under the beauty\naround him. His blue eyes wandered slowly over the familiar and yet\never-changing scene. His mind was almost at rest. Indeed, his eyelids\nhad begun to droop with suspicious heaviness, when a gentle hand was\nlaid upon his shoulder, and he turned to find his mother at his side.\n\n\"Charmides!\" she said, in a strained voice. And then again: \"My\nCharmides!\"\n\n\"My mother!\" And she was held close in his arms, her tears raining down\nupon his face, his head drawn close upon her breast.\n\n\"Charmides! My boy, my beloved, my companion! How can I give thee up?\"\n\nThe shepherd stood still and silent while her hands caressed his shining\nhair and her breath came and went in a vain effort to re-establish her\nself-control. After two or three minutes, in which his thoughts spun\ndizzily, he took both her hands in his own and lifted them to his lips.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, rather brokenly, \"Apollo will forgive, will release\nme from the vow. I will not go away. I will not leave thee here--alone.\"\nHe kissed the hand again. \"Come with me to the temple of the god, and I\nwill absolve myself from the vow.\"\n\nHeraia drew the boy still closer, and put her lips to the hair that\nclustered about his ear. \"The gods bless thee, my dear one. Apollo will\nhardly forgive my weakness. Nay, Charmides, I did not come here to\ngrieve over you, but to talk with you on many things that a mother has\nin her heart to say to her children. Let us sit here together and look\noff upon the sea--the sea that I must hereafter watch alone.\"\n\nThus speaking, she drew him down upon the ground beside her, into one of\nthe daisy drifts, and they sat in silence for a little, looking off\ntogether over the far expanse of shimmering blue, with the turquoise\nhorizon-line melting into the still bluer tint of the sky above. And\nwhen Heraia began again to talk, her tone was so low and so even that\nthe words seemed to her listener to mingle with the afternoon, becoming\nat length so entirely a part of their surroundings that in his memory of\nthe scene, as his mind held it in later years, her voice was forever\naccompanied by the shining of bright waters and the faint fragrance of\nthe carpet of flowers surrounding her.\n\n\"Your father, my Charmides, has talked with you of your long and lonely\njourney, of men, the ways of men, and your dealings with them. Obey his\nwishes in all these things, for his advice is that of one who has lived\nlong and wisely in the world. But I, dear son, must speak to you in\nanother way, of things which, were you not as you are, I should not\nmention before you. But you are young, and you are very pure; and your\nnature, with its hidden joys and hidden woe, I understand through my\nown.\n\n\"Your face and form, my Charmides, are beautiful--more beautiful and\nmore strange than those of any man I have ever seen.\" She paused for a\nmoment to look wistfully into that face, with its golden frame of hair,\nwhile the boy, astonished and displeased, muttered, resentfully:\n\n\"My face is that of a woman!\"\n\nHis mother smiled at his disgust. \"Nay, child, thy face has the man in\nit most plainly written. There is in it what women love--and it is of\nthis that I would speak.\n\n\"Excepting myself, Charmides, you have known no woman well; and the\nfeeling of a man for his mother is never his feeling for any other\nof her sex. Woman's nature is as yet, I think, closed to your\nunderstanding. In this long journey upon which you are faring forth, I\ndo not doubt that you will encounter women, more than one, who will seek\nyou for the beauty of your face. For women love beauty in men, as men\ndesire it in them.\n\n\"In your connection with women, whether the acquaintance be of their\nseeking or of yours, remember this one thing, that I most firmly\nbelieve: All women, all in the world, of any land, I think, have in them\ntwo natures--one that is evil, and one that is good. It will rest with\nyou alone which one you choose to look upon. For there is no woman so\ndegraded, so lost to virtue, that she cannot remember a time of purity\nwhich you can reawaken in her. And there is no woman so good that, for\nthe man she truly loves with her heart and with her soul, she will not\nfall; for so men have taught them, through the ages, to love. Therefore,\nmy son, may the greatest of all humiliations come upon you if, knowing\nwhat I say to be true, you treat any woman with other than reverence and\nhonor. For a woman who clings in dishonor to the man she loves is not to\nbe blamed by the gods so much as the man she has trusted. For a man is\nstrong and should have control over all his senses; but to a woman love\nis life; and it is decreed that life is all in all to us.\n\n\"Yours, Charmides, is a white soul, a soul as beautiful as the body that\nholds it. As yet it is unspotted by a single act of wrong-doing. That\nyou keep that soul pure throughout your life is my one prayer for you. I\ngive you up to the wide world--to poverty, to wretchedness, to suffering\nperhaps--but in this I trust you to keep faith with me. Remember that I\nhold your honor as my own. Though Apollo may not vouchsafe that I see\nyou again after to-morrow--ever; though the memory of me shall grow dim\nin your after-life; yet remember--strive to remember always--my last\nwords, spoken out of my great, my aching love for you. For in these\nwords my motherhood reaches its end. Your manhood has begun.\"\n\nShe kept her voice steady, her tears from falling, till the end. Not so\nthe boy. When the last word had left her lips and she had bowed her head\nunder her weight of sorrow, Charmides could not speak for the straining\nof his throat; and his eyes, brimming with salt tears, looked blindly\nupon the flushing clouds. For many minutes they were silent, sitting\ntogether for the last time, while the sunset hour drew on and the golden\nshadows fell athwart the daisies, and Heraia's words sank deeper into\nthe shepherd's heart. Finally they rose, and moved, hand in hand, in the\ndeepening twilight, back through the field to Theron's house. There\nCharmides passed once more through the door-way of his youth.\n\nThe evening was long and very sad. After the forlorn supper the little\ngroup sat close together, saying little, yet loath to make a proposal of\nbed, for it had come home poignantly to all of them how very empty life\nwould seem with Charmides taken away. After a time Kabir thoughtfully\nleft them and went out to walk alone in the starlight. Then the two\nslaves, Doris and Sardeis, crept in and seated themselves in a distant\ncorner of the living-room. Doris' wide eyes were tinged with red, and\nher mien was as dejected as Heraia's; for Charmides had been her comrade\nalways. He had helped her in her tasks, had sung his shepherd songs to\nher from the fields, had not seldom procured pardon for her for some\nneglect of duty. And Sardeis, the skilful but rather churlish slave, who\nhated Phalaris and all his ways, and treated Theron with respect only\nbecause it meant a whipping if he failed to do so, had never once\nobjected in his own heart to taking Charmides' flock from him as often\nas the youth desired lazy freedom, or to performing numberless little\nkindnesses for him that no beating could have drawn forth for the\nathlete. He, too, on this eve of the boy's departure, was beyond speech.\n\nAfter nearly an hour of cheerless silence, Phalaris, with a desperate\neffort to relieve the general strain, brought out his brother's lyre and\nput it into Charmides' hands. There was a little repressed sob from\nHeraia, but the rhapsode's face brightened. For a few seconds he\nlovingly fingered the instrument. Then, lifting up his voice, he sang a\nsong to the sea, a quaintly rhymed little melody, in his invariable\nminor. Finishing it, he began again, improvising as he went, with an\nease and carelessness that produced wonderfully happy combinations. Now,\nas always, he found consolation for every grief in his incomparable\ntalent. And when, after a last merry little tune that rose continually\nfrom its first tones till it ran out of his range at the end, he finally\nput the instrument away, Heraia and the slave alike had ceased to weep,\nPhalaris was smiling, and Theron rose cheerfully:\n\n\"Now, Charmides, you must rise at dawn; therefore I bid you go to rest.\nBe up with the earliest light, and I will go with you to the temple,\nwhere, before Archemides, you will renew your vow and offer sacrifice of\nthe youngest lamb in our fold. Kabir will join us there after the\nservice is ended, and with him you will go down to the ship. Good-night.\nThe gods grant you sleep.\"\n\nBefore Charmides had left the room Kabir came in again, and presently\nwent off to his couch with the brothers.\n\nCharmides' rest was broken, filled with dreams of far countries and with\nuncertain visions of her whom he was to seek. Disconnected sounds of\nmusic, bells, and phrases of charmed melody rang through his\nunconsciousness. Only in the last hour before dawn did he sink into\nuntroubled slumber, from which, with the first glimmer of day, he rose.\nHis mind was at rest, his heart filled with peace in the inward\nknowledge that what he was going forth alone to seek was no chimera, but\na marvellous reality. It was, then, with a great, confident joy written\nupon his face that, at the rising of the sun, he stood before the altar\nof Apollo, and, in the presence of Archemides, the high-priest,\nsurrounded by his father, brother, and the elders of Selinous, renewed\nhis solemn vow and offered prayer and sacrifice to the Olympian of the\nSilver Bow.\n\nThe hour following the ceremony was painful enough. As the boy looked\nback upon it afterwards, it was only a haze of tears, filled with his\nmother's incoherent words, his father's irrelevant advice, Phalaris'\npoor attempts at laughing at the rest: all of these things finally\nending in a choked prayer and kiss from Heraia. Her last embrace, given\nas they stood upon the shore beside the little boat that was to row him\nout to the galley, sent a sharp pang through his heart. He knew that his\nfather gently loosened her arms from his neck. He had a decided memory\nof the last mighty grip of Phalaris' fingers. Then he and the Phoenician,\neach with his bundle of clothes and money, stepped into the boat and\nwere pulled over the smooth waters to the side of the _Fish of Tyre_,\nresplendent in her new rigging and furnishing.\n\nThey were the last to go on board. Eshmun awaited them anxiously,\nwishing to get away at once, into the fresh easterly breeze that was\nbellying out the ready-hoisted sail. Thus the pain of lingering in sight\nof the city, his home, was not protracted for the rhapsode. Ten minutes\nafter he had stepped upon the deck of the ship her anchor was weighed,\nthe tiller was pushed hard down, the sails sprang full, and the shore\nand rocky heights of the Greek city began slowly to recede from view.\n\nNow came, for Charmides, twelve days of pure delight. He was alive and\nhe was living upon the sea, that moving plain, every aspect of which was\none of new beauty. From dawn to dusk, and back again in dreams to dawn,\nhe fed his mind upon the all-abiding peace, the stillness made more\nstill by the music of the ripples. Perfect freedom was his. He was as in\nthe very centre of the world, the sea around him unbroken, as far as eye\ncould reach, or perhaps some low-hanging, faintly olive-green cloud that\nothers called an island, just touching the distant horizon-line, west or\nsouth. It was here and now, only, that the image of Istar, as he\nconceived her, took absolute possession of his soul. By day he walked\nwith her, by night she watched over his light sleep. He talked to her,\nbelieving that she answered him. He sang to her and dreamed of her and\nprayed to her as something especially his own. Yet, near as was this\nimage of his mind, Charmides never looked straight upon her face\nunveiled. Dimly, many times, he conjured up her features. Her eyes shone\nupon him out of the spangled night, but their color he did not know. Her\ncheek, smooth, warm, semi-transparent, tinted as the petal of the\nasphodel, was near his lips, but never desecrated by them. And while she\nthus moved near him, drawing him onward with intenser desire towards her\nfar abiding-place, she was forever the goddess, in that she kept him\nalways from all desire of a more human approach than this mystic,\nhalf-mental companionship.\n\nDuring the voyage the sailors regarded Charmides with a curiosity tinged\nwith dislike. Eshmun himself was at a loss to comprehend the unsociable\nand idle existence of the youth, who lay all day long on the high stern,\nunder the awning, singing to his lyre and watching the sea. And Kabir\npassed a good deal of time studying this intense phase of the shepherd's\nmalady, and seeking to think out its cure. Considering the trader's\neminent practicality, he conceived, with remarkable penetration, the\nworkings of a poetically unbalanced mind. Only he, out of all the ship's\ncompany, cared to listen to the rhapsode's music. Only he lay awake by\nnight to listen to and piece together the strange words that Charmides\nspoke in his sleep. But even he, it must be confessed, did not respect\nthe effeminate romance that could lead a grown man into such ecstasies\nover a divine ideal.\n\nThe _Fish of Tyre_ took her course down the high coast of southern\nSicily, halting once at Akragas and again at the easternmost point,\nSyracuse, where more water was taken on, and purchase made of a number\nof jars of a rosier, sweeter liquid. Then away to sea they sailed again,\nsouthward, round the heel of Italy, and north once more to the shores of\nMother Greece herself, stopping finally at many-storied Crete, where the\nlong sand-stretches on the coast yielded every year to the Phoenicians a\nstore of their wonderful little dye-mollusks. Leaving the city of tyrant\nkings, the galley entered upon the waters that formed a setting for\nthose jewels of the Mediterranean, the Grecian Isles, that rose like so\nmany emeralds upon their amethystine waters, shot with gold by day,\nlying dim and murmurous by night under the dome of lapis-lazuli pricked\nwith diamond stars. The galley, homeward bound, carrying her burden of\nhomesick men, made no halt between Crete and Cyprus, which last was, to\nTyrians, a second home. Charmides witnessed, with a little tug at his\nheart-strings, the great joy of his comrades, even Kabir and Eshmun, at\nonce more beholding the familiar shores. A night was spent in the\nKarchenian harbor, for it was but one day's journey now to Tyre herself.\n\nDuring that last night, while they were at anchor, Charmides, in his\naccustomed place on the deck, lay wide awake. The moon, half-grown, set\nabout midnight over the land. The night was still and sweet, and the air\nwarm with approaching summer. The planets shone like little moons, more\nradiant than Charmides had ever known them before. Now and then, from\nthe town on shore, came the baying of a dog. The Greek's heart swelled\nwith a painful longing that he could not define. It was the first twinge\nof homesickness, the first realization of the greatness of the world\naround him, and his own insignificance within it. Istar, the goddess,\nmight indeed be near him; but the shepherd longed less for divinity than\nfor the clasp of a warm human hand upon his own.\n\nIt was better when the dawn, red-robed, came up out of the east. There\nwas a bustle of sailors on deck, a creaking of ropes, and a flapping of\nsail-cloth. Then came the hoarse shouts of Sydyk, rousing the slaves\nfrom their chained slumber, bidding them bend cheerily to their oars,\nfor the end of their eight months of agony and toil was near its end.\nThe little ship sped out of the friendly harbor, gallantly distancing\nthe waves, sending forth two hissing curls of foam off her prow, her\nrudder cutting a deep, pale line in the smooth wake. As the morning star\ndied on the crimson of the east, the breeze freshened. The whole long\nhorizon was shot with rosy clouds and topped by a line of gold that\npaled into delicate green as it melted towards the fair blue of the\nupper sky, in which the white stars had now long since hidden themselves\naway.\n\nCharmides let his lyre rest as he stood by one of the bulwarks watching\na bird float away from the ship, back towards the receding Cyprenian\nshore. Presently Kabir came to join him, and the two sat down together,\ncross-legged, on the deck. In one hand the Phoenician had brought a\nplatter of cooked fish and some bread, while in the other he had a small\njar of sweet wine.\n\n\"Food, my poet; food for the morning. Pray Apollo to make it sweet.\"\n\n\"You should be returning thanks to Melkart and Baal for the approaching\nend of the voyage,\" returned the Greek, speaking Phoenician in rather a\nsubdued voice.\n\nKabir smiled to himself, but made no answer other than to hold out food\nto Charmides, who helped himself not too bountifully. The rhapsode,\nindeed, was in danger of falling into a melancholy reverie at this the\nvery beginning of the day. But, after ten minutes' silence, his\nself-appointed friend fortunately broke in upon him.\n\n\"Aphrodite's rites you practise, Charmides. Istar of the Babylonians you\nhave come to seek. But our Nature goddess, our divinity of fertility and\nbeauty, you know nothing of. In Tyre, before you move farther to the\neast, you must let me show you how we are accustomed to worship\nAshtoreth. Across the bay, on the mainland opposite the great Sidonian\nharbor, she has a vast sanctuary. We shall go there together, you and I,\nand you shall learn--\" Kabir stopped speaking, and regarded the boy\ncontemplatively.\n\n\"Learn--what?\" asked Charmides, turning towards him slightly.\n\n\"Many things, Charmides, that it will be well for you to know. Will you\ndrink of this? And there is new bread, also.\"\n\nBut the Greek refused more food, and was not sufficiently interested in\nthe conversation begun to question Kabir further on the things that he\nshould learn. The sun was rising now--a great, fiery wheel, burnished\nand dripping, sending its rays of dazzling drops high up the curved way,\nwhile it came on more slowly, more surely, till it rolled clear of the\nhorizon, in a cloud of glorious, blinding flame.\n\nCharmides prayed silently till the day was well begun, and sea and sky\nwere resolved into their ordinary hues of blue and white and gold. Then,\nKabir having gone again, the rhapsode, spent with his wakeful night, and\nsorrowful at heart with longing for his distant home, lay down upon the\nplanks and slept. It was near noon when he woke again; and over all the\nship one could feel the vibrations of excitement at thought of the\nnearness of Tyre, the home city. It should show along the horizon by\nsunset, and for that hour every soul on board was eagerly, impatiently\nwaiting.\n\nTo Charmides, standing forlornly near the prow, it appeared, at last, in\na dream-like mist of scarlet and gold. Rushing water and green eddies\nand that marvellous, blinding haze mingled together and melted away to\nmake room for the long-dreamed-of cloud picture that rose, like a\nconjured vision, out of the east. It was a mirrored city of white walls\nand drooping cypress-trees that stood far out in front of the gradually\nheightening coast-line behind them. It was Tyre, the city of the rising\nsun, viewed thus for the first time at the day's end. It was the gate of\nthe new world. Charmides had stood long before its closed door, waiting,\nwatching for admittance. Now, at last, the key was in his hand.\n\n\"It is fair, my home,\" observed Kabir, coming to stand at his shoulder,\nhis tone fraught with suppressed joy and pride.\n\nCharmides assented quietly. \"Oh yes, Kabir. It is, indeed, fair.\nVery--fair.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nASHTORETH\n\n\nNot until an hour after sunset did Charmides at last set foot on shore\nand stand, in the dim evening crimson, on the western strand of the\nisland city. His bundle of clothing and money was on his back. His lyre\nhung from his waist by a thong; and on his head, over its usual fillet,\nhe wore a peaked cap of crimson cloth, cut after the Tyrian fashion. He\nwas waiting for Kabir, who lingered to indulge in a round of chaff with\nhalf a dozen loquacious fellows on a small barge that was just about to\nput off for the galley. Kabir had, in the friendliest way, invited the\nshepherd to share his own lodging at the house of his brother in the\ncity; but, notwithstanding this, the rhapsode felt forlorn enough as he\nstood looking out across the darkening waters in the direction of his\nhome. It was a sudden and most untoward emotion that made the Greek\nblind to his appearance when Kabir finally came to his side. For not\ntill the Phoenician's hand fell upon his shoulder, and the rather raucous\nvoice sounded close in his ear, did Charmides turn, with a start, to\nfollow his guide out into the streets of Tyre.\n\nThey were narrow, these streets, and twisting, and very dirty. Moreover,\nthough the business of the day was finished, the thoroughfares were\nstill a wriggling mass of litters, chariots, camels, asses, dogs, and\nmen. Charmides slipped through patches of filth, and stumbled over\nanimals that lay in his path, while he looked about him in dull\ndispleasure at the buildings of stone and clay-brick and dried mud,\nsumptuous or wretched beyond belief, that lined these lanes. On all\nsides rose the clamor of rude, Phoenician voices and the mouthing of\nungraceful words. Here and there a fire of sticks, burning in some\ncourt-yard and visible through an open door-way, cast an uncertain light\nacross their path. Kabir walked rapidly, and in silence. His momentary\nfeeling of excitement at being again in his native city had passed, and\nhe had regained his usual placid indifference--the indifference that\nCharmides before now had found unexpectedly sympathetic.\n\nAfter nearly half an hour's walk the Phoenician halted before a very\nfair-sized wooden house, and, knocking ponderously upon the closed,\nbrass-bound door, turned to Charmides with a slight smile, saying:\n\n\"It is the house of my brother, where I, also, make my home when I am\nhere. You will be welcome in my family.\"\n\nCharmides had no time to make a fitting reply, for the door was quickly\nopened by some one who, after peering for a moment or two into the\ndarkness at the waiting figures, gave a sudden, loud shout of delight\nand seized Kabir by the girdle. For the next ten minutes the young Greek\nstood in the background, watching the general m\u00eal\u00e9e that ensued upon the\nshout. Four children, besides the half-grown boy who had opened\nthe door, made a speedy appearance; and they were followed by a\nquiet-looking woman who manifested extreme pleasure at sight of Kabir.\nFinally, out of the gloom of the interior, drawn by the hubbub of\nexcitement at the door, appeared a dignified and well-dressed man, who,\non perceiving Kabir, gave a quick exclamation, and, brushing away the\nclinging children, embraced his brother with every sign of delighted\naffection.\n\nHalf an hour later the whole party were seated in a well-furnished room,\nCharmides and Kabir partaking of supper, while the Phoenicians sat close\nabout them, listening eagerly to the story of the long voyage, the\ndisaster on the rocks of Selinous, and the account of Charmides and his\nfamily.\n\n\"So you fare on to Babylon, stranger?\" observed Abdosir, Kabir's\nbrother. \"It is well that you reached Tyre no later. The last caravan of\nthe summer leaves for the East in three days, under charge\"--he turned\nto his brother--\"under charge of Hodo, whom you, Kabir, will surely\nremember. A month ago he came up from the great city, has now finished\nhis business, and returns homeward by way of Damascus. The Greek will do\nwell in his care.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is excellent.--Hodo! One could have asked no better master of\nthe caravan.\" Kabir turned to Charmides with a smile; but the youth sat\nsilent, his eyes still fixed on the face of Abdosir, his expression\ncontaining little enough of joy.\n\n\"You have heard what my brother says,\" continued Kabir, in Greek. \"This\nHodo is a Babylonian, and well known to us. He is a shrewd merchant and\nan excellent comrade. We will recommend you to him to-morrow. If your\ncaravan starts in three days' time you will reach the city of Istar\neasily enough in another month.\"\n\nCharmides tried hard to answer this speech in a proper spirit, but he\nfound it an effort to speak at all. At the present moment the only wish\nof his heart was that any communication with distant Babylon might be\nfound impossible, and that he himself might be at liberty to turn his\nface once more to the west. Perhaps this mood was partly induced by\nweariness. If so, Kabir knew his companion better than the Greek knew\nhimself; for, after finishing their meat and wine, and talking for a few\nminutes with his nephews and nieces, Kabir quietly suggested to his\nsister-in-law that the Greek be shown a sleeping-apartment to which he\nmight retire when he would, which proved to be immediately.\n\nThe room in which Charmides finally fell asleep was one that boasted of\ngreater luxury than he had ever known before. Walled with painted tiles,\nhung with embroideries, carpeted with rugs from far Eastern looms, and\nlighted by a hanging-lamp of wrought bronze, it presented to the Greek\nan appearance of comfort that drew from him a long sigh of content; and\nhe sank to sleep on the soft couch with the name of Zeus on his lips and\nthe image of his mother in his heart.\n\nHe awoke alone. Kabir's bed, across the room, had been slept on, but was\nempty now. The daylight about him was dim enough, but the half-light\ngave no hint of the hour; for the single window in the room was scarcely\nso large as a man's hand. Sounds of life were to be heard in the city\noutside, and from the house around him. Once really awake, then, and\nconscious of his whereabouts, Charmides rose in haste, dressed, smoothed\nhis hair, looked for water but found none, and proceeded with some\nhesitation into the living-room. This he found to be occupied only by\none of the children, a little girl, who greeted him shyly, and bade him\neat of the food that had been left for him upon the table. Charmides, as\ntimid as the child, forbore to ask for the water without which he felt\nit impious to begin the day, and sat down, as he was bid, to a repast of\nmillet bread, buffalo milk, and lentils. These things he finished, to\nthe satisfaction of the little Phoenician, and then looked about him\nwondering what to do. It was evidently late. By a question or two he\nlearned that Kabir and Abdosir had been gone from the house for an hour\nor more, that Zarada was out on a visit, and that, in all probability,\nit would be noon before any one returned to the house. With this\nknowledge Charmides sought his mantle and cap, and went forth into the\ncity to learn something of Tyre for himself.\n\nTyre by daylight was no less unlovely but rather more interesting than\nTyre at night. Charmides, accustomed to the well-ordered dignity of life\nin his distant Doric city, was amazed and bewildered here, in the midst\nof this labyrinth of narrow streets choked with men and animals. Having\nsome idea of direction, he felt no dread of losing his way, but wandered\non at will, hurried and pushed from one side of a street to the other,\nalways too diverted by what he saw to resent the interferences. He\nchanced presently on a broader thoroughfare, one fairly well kept,\nstretching in a straight line from north to south. This, as he guessed,\nwas the principal street of the city, terminating, as he could not know,\non the north, in the great agenorium, or open mart, east of the Sidonian\nharbor, and, on the south, in the grove and temple of Melkart. Charmides\nmoved along up this street, admiring the solid stone buildings that\nlined it on either side; watching the graceful chariots drawn by richly\ncaparisoned horses, and driven by men who, from their dress, were\nevidently rulers in the oligarchy; and constantly annoyed by the\nimportunities of beggars or venders of cheap wares that were to be found\neverywhere through the city, but most of all on this street. He had\nwalked farther than he knew, for at length he came in sight of the sea\nthat stretched out before him from the other side of a great, open\nsquare running down to the water's edge.\n\nOpen square it had been, no doubt, at the time of its planning; but, in\nall probability, since the day of completion, no one had ever seen it\nempty. Just now, certainly, there was not a spare foot of pavement in\nits entire area, and Charmides looked about him with the wonderment and\npleasure of a child. Directly before him were the shoe and sandal\nvenders, who occupied about a quarter of an acre of space. Shoes were an\narticle that Charmides had never seen worn. Their purpose was easy to\ndivine, however, and he fell to admiring the cleverness of their\ninvention and the beauty of their ornamentation. Beyond this interesting\nspot came the silk and cloth merchants, then the leather venders, brass\nand metal workers, and dealers in Egyptian and Sidonian jewelry. To the\nleft of these was the market, where grain, fish, fruits, meat, and wines\nwere to be had; while down the whole eastern edge of the space lay a row\nof dirty, supercilious-looking camels, half of them for sale, half of\nthem owned by sellers in the mart.\n\nCharmides had not yet begun to thread a path through the tangle of men\nand merchandise when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find\nKabir at his side.\n\n\"So you are here, my Charmides! Have you come to seek us out? Who\ndirected you hither?\"\n\n\"I came by chance to this place, not knowing you were here. It is\nwonderful! I have not seen anything like it before.\"\n\n\"No. Selinous certainly has no such place. Here, indeed, we are well\nmet. Desert needs of yours may be supplied before we leave the market.\nNow, Charmides, you must be made known to him who will lead you farther\ninto the East. Hodo the Babylonian is with me. Hodo! Here!\"\n\nKabir looked round and beckoned to a little fellow who had left him to\nexamine the goods of a cloth merchant near by. At Kabir's call, however,\nhe turned, and, seeing Charmides, came over to his friend's side.\nCharmides beheld a small man, hardly five feet high, swathed from head\nto heels in white garments of rich texture. Well as they were worn,\nhowever, they could not conceal the semi-deformity of the little fellow.\nHe was altogether crooked: crooked in his legs, in his back, in his\nnose, in his expression--an ugly little man with an ugly little face\nthat had in it a singularly infectious gleam of humor.\n\nHodo looked at Charmides, and his ugliness gathered and broke into a\ndelighted smile that transformed every feature of his face. Charmides\nlooked at Hodo and could not refrain from answering the smile with a gay\nlaugh. Thenceforward Hodo felt that he had Charmides for a friend.\n\n\"Now, Theronides, Hodo will go with us into the mart here and will tell\nus what you need for the desert journey, that we may buy.\"\n\n\"But what things should I need? I have all necessary garments, as many\nas I can carry with me, now.\"\n\n\"What to wear on the head for dust?\" demanded Hodo, speaking Phoenician\nin a deep and rather rich voice.\n\n\"This cap--and my fillet. In the heat I shall not need even those.\"\n\n\"Hump!\" Hodo grinned, crookedly. \"I have crossed the desert nineteen\ntimes, young Greek, and I will tell you what you must wear. See--you are\na yellow man, and your skin is as thin as a Phrygian's, while mine is\nlike leather. Your hair is too fine to shield you at all from the fierce\nrays of Shamash. There must be a square of silk to wind about your head,\nand two thicknesses of muslin to protect your neck in the back. Then, if\nyou think me versed in desert knowledge, you will leave off that short\ntunic and get a single linen garment that will cover you down to your\nheels. You will want a light cloak, perhaps, for night, for comfort; but\nyou will not often wear it. The rains are over. Summer is upon us. None\nwill suffer from cold upon the desert.\"\n\nCharmides listened closely to this speech, yet was not able to\nunderstand all that the Babylonian said, for he spoke Phoenician as\nthickly as a Phoenician spoke Greek. The rhapsode, therefore, turned\nappealingly to Kabir, who explained the words at length; and then,\nCharmides having very sensibly put himself into Hodo's hands, the three\nproceeded to make the necessary purchases, for which Kabir paid, while\nCharmides repaid him from his bag at Kabir's abode. On their return walk\nCharmides questioned Hodo as to when and whence their caravan was to\nstart, and he found that it would be but two days before men and camels\nassembled on the mainland, in a little square opposite the Egyptian\nharbor.\n\n\"And we do not go straight to Babylon?\"\n\n\"As straight as will be well in this season. Damascus first, then out\nand over the desert. It is the easiest route--twenty days' ride from the\ngate of Six Thieves.\"\n\n\"And you come now from Babylon?\"\n\n\"Two months ago I was there, Greek. Kabir knoweth it.\"\n\nCharmides nodded apologetically and said no more. Kabir watched for the\nlight to come into his eyes, and waited for a certain question. But the\nyouth kept silent, and, after a pause, the Babylonian took the words out\nof Kabir's mouth and rushed in upon the young man's thoughts.\n\n\"It is said, Greek, that you take this long journey for the sake of our\ngoddess, the lady Istar, queen of the gods of Babylon.\"\n\nKabir kept his eyes fixed on those of Charmides, but failed to see any\ninterest come into the youth's expression. Instead, a frown spread\nitself over the fair forehead, and the young mouth straightened\nominously.\n\n\"The object of my journey matters little,\" was his low-voiced reply.\n\nHodo's eyes stretched open. He sent a grimace of astonishment to Kabir,\nand silence followed Charmides' last words. The three walked on\nuncomfortably, till there came sounds of a surprising chuckle from the\nBabylonian, who, as both his companions turned towards him, exclaimed,\nirrepressibly:\n\n\"The thought of Ishtar brings me to another. Kabir--to-morrow, I\nremember, is the day of the semi-yearly rites of Ashtoreth--at her\nsanctuary on the mainland.\"\n\nFor a second or two Kabir did not reply. He was musing--on a subject\nrelative to Charmides' girlish purity. Finally he said: \"Yes. The yearly\nfestival of Tammuz took place a month ago. To-morrow is the festival of\nthe virgin rites. We will go--all three. You, Charmides, shall see the\nceremonies of our Aphrodite, Astarte of the Mazzarines. She is our\nTyrian Istar.\"\n\nCharmides looked at him with new animation. \"Do they offer sacrifice?\"\n\n\"Yes--in the grove--doves and lambs, and one young bullock. But the real\nceremony takes place within the temple. Knowing but little of our\nEastern customs, you will do well to see that.\"\n\nCharmides nodded acquiescence, and Hodo chuckled to himself again. But\nthe silence that followed lasted till they had once more reached the\nhouse of Abdosir.\n\nDuring the remainder of that day Charmides made no remark on the subject\nof the amusement promised for the morrow. Kabir tried to draw him to it\nby talking of the great temples of Melkart, Baal, and the Olympian Zeus\nthat were on the island. But Charmides seemed to be developing a\nsurprising and unnecessary taciturnity, for which the Phoenician,\nregarding him as extraordinarily young, would hardly have given him\ncredit; and, before the evening was over, Kabir was moved to consider, a\nlittle more closely, how much depth of character really lay behind that\nopen and ingenuous personality.\n\nAs a matter of fact, Charmides' silence was the result of a chance\nremembrance of his last talk with his mother, mingled with a prophetic\nintuition of what the morrow would bring forth. When the morrow arrived,\nhowever, and Hodo, gay in red embroideries, came with it, Charmides\nappeared in his holiday garments, and seemed as ready as his companions\nto set forth to the holy place.\n\nThe grove and temple of Ashtoreth, or Astarte, of Tyre, were outside the\ncity proper, and lay on the mainland, south of the Egyptian harbor. From\nthe spot where ferry-boats left one after the passage of the narrow\nchannel, there was a walk of nearly a mile southward to the entrance of\nthe grove. This was marked by open gates and two ill-carved stone\nstatues, the subjects of which Charmides regarded with haughty\ndispleasure. His first impression, however, was ameliorated by the great\nbeauty of the wood, where cedar and cypress trees grew at will, while\nthe shaded ground was kept clear of leaves and brush, and was covered\nwith a rare velvet turf. The coolness and shade to be found beneath the\ngreat branches, after the pitiless sunshine through which they had been\nwalking, was delicious; and the Greek would willingly have given the\nafternoon to wandering here, watching the golden shadows and exploring\nthe sinuous paths that wound everywhere before him. He did not, however,\nventure to suggest this course. There was now a stream of men passing\nand following them to the temple. Hodo was half running in his\neagerness, and Kabir himself had perceptibly quickened his pace. Neither\nof them spoke, and the Greek was free to watch the people around him, to\nmarvel at the richness of their garments, the profusion of their\njewelry, and the extreme animation of their faces. He caught glimpses,\nalso, of three stone altars, carved in indistinguishable bas-relief,\ncovered with offerings, and attended by yellow-robed priestesses, with\nwhom, indeed, the way to the temple was thronged. It was ten minutes'\nwalk from the entrance of the grove before the temple itself was\nreached.\n\nA broad, low, badly proportioned building of stone, colonnaded with\npillars of Assyrian design and startlingly disagreeable to the Greek\neye, frieze and pediment carved with gross caricatures of the Phoenician\npantheon, and a sloping, square door-way of Egyptian style, was the\nsight that met Charmides' eyes--the far-famed sanctuary of Ashtoreth of\nTyre. The crowd of men assembling at this door-way from every part of\nthe grove made it necessary to wait one's turn before entering. Hodo,\nKabir, and Charmides had difficulty in keeping together in the crush,\nbut finally found themselves inside.\n\nHere was darkness, odorous with stale incense, dotted with glimmering\nlights, moving with men. Once within, Kabir and Hodo performed some\nprostrations and muttered a prayer or two, to the words of which\nCharmides listened rather blankly. Then the three of them passed from\nthe entrance hall into the great room of the temple. This was lighted\nfrom the roof by hundreds of swinging lamps; and, Charmides' eyes having\nbecome accustomed to the softened light, he was able to see everything\ndistinctly.\n\nThe entire company of spectators halted at the upper end of the room.\nOpposite them, in the farther wall, was the shrine of the goddess, in\nwhich her statue stood. About this shrine hung bronze lamps of beautiful\nworkmanship, in which burned perfumed oil and frankincense. In front of\nthe shrine, which was paved with African marble, was a slab of smooth\ngranite, eight feet long, six broad, and about four in height. Around\nthis knelt a company of priestesses, all but one of whom were robed in\nyellow. The one, whose bowed head could hardly be seen, was clad in a\nsingle garment of white veiling; and her hair, unbound, fell in a brown\ncurtain to the floor on either side of her. Charmides, taking his eyes\nfrom the group of worshippers, looked again around the room. About it,\nbuilt into the walls behind the pillars, were half a hundred dim niches,\nshadowy, unlighted, of indeterminable depth, the purpose of which he\nfailed to divine. Except for these, the pillars, the shrine, and the\naltar, there was nothing to look at in the room, for the walls were bare\nof inscriptions, and there were no other statues than the one of\nAshtoreth in her sanctum.\n\nThis survey finished, Charmides turned all his attentions to the group\nof priestesses at the end of the room. They were now chanting aloud;\nand, from the restlessness among the company of men, Charmides decided\nthat the ceremony was approaching a point of interest. Presently Kabir\nseized his hand and the two of them followed in the wake of Hodo, who\nwas eagerly forcing a passage into the front rank.\n\nAll those in the first row were, whether by chance or design Charmides\ncould not know, young, more or less comely, and dressed with extreme\nelegance. As the rhapsode gained his new position he felt upon him the\neyes of half the company; and not a few whispers relative to his fair\nskin and his fine physique reached his ears. His speculation as to the\nreason for this was presently forgotten, however, for the women down the\nroom had formed into a semicircular phalanx, in the very centre of which\nstood the white-robed, unveiled girl. Then, to the sound of a\nprocessional chant, all of them began a slow advance up the hall towards\nthe orderly ranks of men. The Greek caught a new order of whispers, now,\nthat rose about him on all sides. Of these he understood here and there\na phrase: \"Beautiful this time!\" \"Her hair is her veil!\" \"Ashtoreth will\nthat she choose me!\" \"Baal did well to let her come!\" And then, as the\nchant ended and the women halted ten feet from the front row of men,\nevery sound ceased. After a short pause the priestesses separated into\ntwo groups, and from their midst the white virgin came slowly forth. At\nher appearance every man dropped upon one knee, Kabir pulling the\nwide-eyed Greek down beside him. Again there was a pause, during which\nCharmides felt his heart beating uncomfortably. The maiden was regarding\nthe ranks of men before her. Slowly, fearfully, her eyes moved along\nfrom face to face, their passage marked here and there by a sharply\ndrawn breath from some one before her. Charmides, entirely ignorant of\nthe meaning of this rite, watched her with tentative interest. She was\nyoung, her face as white as her robe, her big, half-terrified eyes of a\ndove-gray color. Pretty--very pretty--she was, as pretty as Doris--but\nnot beautiful. Charmides had, of late, been picturing too divine a\nbeauty to feel any tremor of eagerness before this gentle priestess of\nAshtoreth.\n\nAll at once her eyes flashed to his. He drew back, earnestly hoping that\nshe would pass him by. But this was not to be. The gray orbs halted at\nthe blue ones, moved languidly over his perfect face, descended to his\nshoulders--arms--body--and at last a faint tinge of red crept into her\ndeathly cheeks. She nodded once to him, murmuring half a dozen\nindistinguishable words. Instantly Charmides felt two violent shoves,\nthe one from Kabir on the right, the other from Hodo on the left.\n\n\"Rise! Rise to your feet!\" Kabir whispered, peremptorily.\n\nCharmides obeyed.\n\n\"Go forward to her. The hierodules will take you.\"\n\nCharmides went towards the girl. Before he had reached her two of the\nother women advanced to his side and took him by the hands, at the same\ntime recommencing their chant. Thereupon the whole company, women and\nmen, began a slow march back towards the shrine. Charmides was still in\nthe maze of his first surprise. He walked mechanically between his\nconductresses, his eyes fixed on the back of the sacrificial maiden who\nmoved in front of him. At twenty paces from the altar the general\ncompany stopped. Only Charmides, the girl, and two priestesses advanced\ntill they stood directly in front of the shrine with the altar behind\nthem. Then a hush fell upon the multitude, and Charmides experienced a\nsudden tremor--a dread of what was to happen next. He had no idea\nwhatever for what purpose he had been chosen, whether it threatened his\nlife, endangered his freedom, or gave promise of honor. Kabir had been\neager for him to go, however; and it was evident that many had desired\nhis place. At any rate, the blood in his veins was Greek--and Doric\nGreek. This thought brought tranquillity, and he stood with renewed\nindifference till a move was made that struck him like a blow. At a\ncertain phrase in the chant the two women stepped to either side of the\nwhite virgin, unclasped the two wrought pins that held her robe upon the\nshoulders, and, with a quick twist, let the garment fall to the floor.\n\nThere was an impulsive quickening in the song. Slowly the girl faced\nCharmides, her head drooping, her hands clasped before her, her brown\nhair falling about her shoulders. Supported on either side, she moved\ntowards him till her knee touched his tunic. Charmides took a hasty step\nbackwards, not hearing the faint sigh that escaped her lips. Then one of\nthe priestesses frowned.\n\n\"Take her up to Ashtoreth!\" she said, pointing from the girl to the\nstone altar.\n\nNow at last Charmides understood, and he turned white with wrath. For an\ninstant he let his eyes rest in utter scorn, utter disgust, upon the\nthree women in front of him. Then he hurled at them a Greek phrase,\nfortunately incomprehensible to the multitude. Lastly, unheeding the\nlook of abject terror that was overspreading the face of the girl, he\nturned upon his heel and began to walk rapidly down the long hall to the\ndoor.\n\nBy this time the chant had given place to a rising chorus of\nastonishment and wrath on the part of the men, and of woe on the side of\nthe women. Still the Greek, absorbed in his own displeasure, kept on his\nway, and would presently have been outside the building, when Kabir,\ndarting from the throng, seized him roughly by the shoulders.\n\n\"Charmides! Thou fool! What do you?\"\n\nThe rhapsode, frowning angrily, tried to shake off his companion, but\nKabir's hands were strong.\n\n\"Know you, I say, what you do?\"\n\nCharmides turned upon him. \"I will not dishonor her, neither myself!\" he\nsaid, in a voice husky with repression.\n\n\"Dishonor--in the rites of Ashtoreth! Nay, you would kill her, rather,\nthen?\"\n\nCharmides shrugged.\n\n\"You have refused her after the presentation. That is a sign that she is\ndispleasing to the goddess. She will now be offered up upon the altar of\ndeath. Her blood must wash away the shame you put on her. Her heart will\nbe cut out and thrown to the dogs to eat.\"\n\nThe young Greek shivered and stood passive. His eyes wandered aimlessly\nover the scene before him. Kabir dropped his hold, but Charmides made no\nmove to go on. He seemed to be considering. The company was eying him in\nan anxious silence that had something of respect in it. But the eyes of\nthe doomed girl burned upon his back in mute, despairing entreaty. Every\nmurmur had died away, and a deadly hush settled over the great hall. The\nlights burned calmly from above, and the odor of fresh incense became\noverpowering. Still the shepherd did not move. One instant more and\nAris, the high-priestess, would send the order for the sacrificial\nknife. The Greek's thoughts wavered vaguely between his mother and his\nown natural instincts of purity on the one hand; and, on the other, the\nexigencies of the Phoenician religion. The struggle was fierce. Heraia's\nmemory was infinitely dear, and the Greek idea of manhood strong within\nhim. Still, death--death was terrible to his mind; and the death of this\nyoung girl--\n\nHis meditations were interrupted here. Something had suddenly clasped\nhis feet, something lay twisted on the floor before him. A white body,\nhalf covered with the long locks of dishevelled hair that flowed from a\nlowered head, lay there on the stones. Two strained arms caught at his\nknees. A faint voice, choked with the tears of despair, was begging\nincoherently for the life that he could give. All of a sudden he melted.\nHe bent his head, drawing a long breath of resignation. Then he stooped,\nlifted the girl in his arms, and carried her rapidly over to the altar\nof Ashtoreth. And the great bacchanal that followed upon his act the\nyouth neither saw nor heard.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nKabir and Hodo were both of them abjectly respectful to Charmides next\nday. For all his defeat, the youth had been left their master, and he\nknew it. The name of Ashtoreth was not spoken before him in Abdosir's\nhouse; no mention ever after did either Phoenician or Babylonian make of\nthe affair of yesterday; and in one day more Charmides had looked his\nlast upon the city of the sea.\n\nIt was in a state of mental chaos that Charmides began his journey to\nBabylon. In the glare of midday the long row of well-watered camels,\nheavy laden with riches of the West, swayed to their feet, on the\nmainland of Tyre, and turned their heads in the direction of Damascus.\nCharmides had said good-bye to Kabir an hour before, and now sat his\nanimal with an eager light in his eyes and a clutch of regret in his\nheart--desire for the new, love for the old. He tried hard that day to\nfix his mind on the great object of his journey, the goddess of Babylon,\nwhom he was so soon to see. But all things around him were new, all\nthings fair, and soon he gave up the attempt at abstraction to watch\nwhat went on around him. Far ahead, upon the foremost camel, was Hodo,\nthe leader of the caravan, who, with his desert costume, had also donned\nan undeniable dignity of demeanor. Before and behind Charmides, in the\nvery centre of the line, sat solemn Orientals whose nationality he did\nnot know. Far to the right stretched flat, fertile fields of grain. To\nthe left, at no great distance, the river Leontes flashed a tumultuous,\nsunlit course down to the sea. Eastward, in front, rose an uneven line\nof jutting hills, bathed in the luminous, tranquil light of intensely\npure air. The day was hot, the motion of the camel so far rather\nsoothing. Charmides' turbaned head drooped. His eyelids closed. Thoughts\nof Istar were mingled with memories of the white virgin. Presently,\nthen, he fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTO THE GATE OF GOD\n\n\nFive days later the camels of a shortened caravan passed out of the\nHittite city and turned their faces towards the southeast. It was early\nmorning. Before them the sky was radiant with promise of the coming of\nthe lord of day. Behind them, Damascus slept. Far to the right, a mere\nolive-colored shadow on the horizon, was the line of verdure that marked\nthe course of the river Jordan, the eastern boundary of Phoenicia.\nAhead, and on every side for endless miles, in infinite, sparkling,\nyellow waves, stretched the desert, a vast, silent plain of death,\ndreaded by man and beast; a foe that Assyrian armies had found\nmore terrible than all the strength of Egypt; that Babylon in her\nmighty decadence knew to be a safer guard against plundering\nhoards than all her towering walls; that the wandering Hittites,\nDamascenes born of the burning sand, themselves would not venture\nupon at this season of the growing year. And into this, light-hearted,\nwent Charmides the Greek, for the final proof of his steadfastness,\n the final trial of his strength, for which the reward was to be\na sight of the great goddess--Ish-tar--k\u00e2--Bab-i-l\u00fb.\n\nNow, indeed, at this early hour, when night's sweetness had not yet been\ndispelled, Charmides, bareheaded, sat smiling at the sunrise, at the\nnovelty of the sand-plain, at the steady, awkward trot of his camel, at\nthe solemnity of the turbaned Babylonians before and behind him, and at\nHodo's crooked little figure at the head of the line. There were twenty\ncamels, well packed with articles of Tyrian and Damascene manufacture,\nand a man to add to each load. On the back of every animal, where the\nsight of it would not continually tantalize the desert traveller, hung a\nwater-skin, still dripping from contact with the well, but not to be\nreplenished for five weary days. Before their departure, Hodo had\nexplained to the Greek the best hours for, and the most satisfying\nmethods of, drinking; for these things had been reduced to a minute\nsystem by traders, in seasons when wells might go dry and water was in\nany case scarce. In consequence of his instructions, and the\ndetermination to obey them rigidly, Charmides found himself from the\nvery first in a state of thirst. In the freshness of the morning this\nwas not difficult to bear; but by noon, when the whole sky blazed like\nmolten gold and the desert was a plain of fire, the desire for drink\nincreased till it became a torture before which he weakened and fell. He\ntook more than a cupful of water from his skin before the tents were\npitched for the mid-day rest, and he felt himself an object of censure\nfor the entire caravan; though, in truth, there was no trader of them\nall but had done the same thing many times, before long training had\nhardened him to endurance.\n\nThis caravan was the last to cross the desert that year; and the heat\nbore with it one compensation. The strong guard of soldiers, or\nfighting-men, that generally accompanied a caravan to guard it from\nplunder by the wild desert tribes, had been dispensed with. The\nforefathers of the modern Bed\u00e2win were not hardier than their\ndescendants, and they made no dwelling-place in the Syrian desert at\nthis season. It was, indeed, dangerously late for the passage; and each\nsucceeding day brought a fiercer sun and shorter hours of darkness. The\nrest at noon was long, but there was no halt at all by night. Oases\nwells were low, and there must be no lagging by the way. Hodo held daily\ncouncil in his tent with the three eldest traders, to make sure of the\nbest course to keep, and to save the few miles possible to save. At one\nof these conferences, some days out, the man that rode behind Charmides,\nRalchaz by name, spoke to Hodo of the young Greek, suggesting that\nCharmides was bearing the journey hardly, and would need care if he were\nto cross the desert alive. Hodo, a little conscience-smitten with the\nknowledge of neglect, hastened off to the tent occupied by Charmides and\ntwo of the younger men. Here he found that it was, indeed, high time to\nattend to the rhapsode's condition.\n\nCharmides was lying, face down, on the rug that covered the sand in the\ntent. Motionless, his body rigid, his hands clasped in front of him,\nmaking no sound, breathing inaudibly, he lay; while at a little distance\nhis two companions, Babylonians, squatted together over their meal of\nlocust-beans, bread, and dates, now and then regarding the youth with a\nkind of wistful helplessness.\n\nHodo, scarcely looking at the other two, ran to Charmides' side, knelt\nby him, and, placing a hand on his shoulder, cried out:\n\n\"Charmides! Charmides! Speak! What demon of sickness has got you?\"\n\nHe spoke in Chaldaic, using the idiom that a Greek would not understand.\nThe entreaty, however, had its effect. Charmides made an effort, rolled\nupon his back, and looked up at the master of the caravan. Hodo gave a\nquick exclamation of dismay and cried out:\n\n\"Tirut\u00fb! Bring me some water!\"\n\nOne of the men sprang to his feet. \"Gladly! Yet he will not drink.\"\n\n\"Not drink! All\u00e2t help us! Why?\"\n\n\"He has emptied his own skin and will not accept of water from ours.\"\n\nHodo nodded his understanding. \"Go, then, to my tent, and bring one of\nthe skins of extra water, together with a jar of the wine of Helbon--and\nsee that you move like R\u00e2man!\"\n\nCharmides understood not a word of this conversation, but he surmised\nits trend, and essayed to say something in Phoenician. Coherent speaking,\nhowever, had become impossible; for his tongue was swollen out of all\nshape, and his mouth was on fire with fever. Hodo laid a gentle hand\nupon his forehead, smoothed the hair back from it, noted the inflamed\nand pitiable condition of the wide, blue eyes, the brilliant fever-flush\nthat burned upon the fair cheeks, and his face grew graver still.\n\n\"The journey will go hard with him,\" he muttered.\n\nTirut\u00fb presently returned with the damp pigskin on his shoulder, and a\nsmall, glazed stone flask in his right hand. Ustanni, the second of\nCharmides' fellow-tentsmen, was already at Hodo's side with a bronze\ncup. This they filled with a mixture of water and wine, and then Hodo,\nlifting the Greek's head upon his arm, held the drink to his lips.\nCharmides' nostrils quivered like an animal's. The tears started to his\neyes, and there was a convulsive working of the saliva glands in his\nmouth. For one agonized moment he resisted the temptation; and then,\nwith the abandon of a creature half crazed, he drank at a gulp all that\nthe cup contained, and begged guiltily, with his fevered eyes, for more.\nHodo let him take all that he wanted. Then food--bread, dates, and\ncooked sesame--was fed him. Next his eyes, rendered almost useless by\nthe desert glare, were rubbed with a balm brought from Hodo's tent,\nwhich reduced their fever and inflammation in a miraculous way. Two\nhours later, at the forming of the caravan, Charmides' camel was led out\nand fastened next to Hodo's at the head of the line; and when the Greek,\nwalking more easily than for three days past, came to mount, he found a\nfull water-skin strapped upon the animal's back, and two little jars of\nHodo's rare wine balancing each other on either side of its neck.\nVenturing to remonstrate feebly at this lavish generosity, the rhapsode\nwas silenced by a flood of angry eloquence from Hodo, who finished his\ntirade by saying:\n\n\"Drink as often as yours is the desire, for I tell you this truly:\nShamash is pitiless to those who pray not to Mermer; and, in drinking of\nhis gift, you will do honor to the god of Rains. I will not leave you\nbehind me in the desert, Charmides; and yet I cannot carry your dead\nbody on to Babylon. Therefore you will do well to live. For I think that\nthe Lady Istar will be displeased if, when you are so near, you desert\nher for the Queen of Death. So, Charmides, again I bid you drink; shut\nyour eyes to the sun; eat and sleep as you can. See that you heed these\nwords.\" And with a little chuckle at his own advice, Hodo mounted his\nbeast, and, after the usual tumultuous rising, with many shouts and much\nwielding of his hide-whip, set the caravan once more in motion.\n\nFor forty-eight hours more Charmides, making a strong effort, stubbornly\nrefusing to admit that he was still sick, made an appearance of recovery\nfrom his indisposition. He talked with Hodo, asking welcome questions\nabout trade, life, and home. He spoke to those members of the caravan\nfrom whom hitherto he had held aloof. And he made a desperate effort to\nlearn from the leader a few phrases in the Babylonish tongue. This last,\nhowever, proved a Herculean task. The Greek race was notoriously the\nleast apt of any nation at learning foreign tongues. Phoenician had been\ndifficult enough; but when it came to the harsh, thick accents, the many\nsyllables, and the curious construction of this other language, the\nlanguage of the people of Istar, Charmides found it an apparently\nhopeless task, from which, in his present condition, he shrank\nmiserably.\n\nThe desert days crept on. The hours from red dawn to redder twilight\nwere filled with fainting prayers for night and darkness. And when night\ncame, and with it the golden moon, it seemed that the heat scarcely\nlessened; for up from the yellow sands rose a burning stream of\nday-gathered fire that made the very camels wince, and called forth many\na smothered curse and groan from the long-seasoned men. Yet these nights\nwere wonderful things. The high moon overshadowed all her lesser lights,\nso that the sky around was strung with few stars; but these glittered\nwith dazzling radiance against their luminous background. And when the\ndread dawn approached, and the moon grew great on the western horizon,\nbalanced by the long, palpitating lines of light in the east, the sight,\nto any but desert travellers, was a thing to pray to. Charmides, indeed,\nin spite of his condition, did marvel at the miracles of the sky. But\nhis lyre was heavy in his hands, his voice too cracked for song, and he\ncould but sit, drooping, on his camel, head throbbing, body on fire,\ndrinking in the golden fire, and wondering vaguely if he should ever\nfind the Babylon that he sought, or whether Apollo had destined him for\na different and a higher place.\n\nAnother besides the Greek had begun to speculate on the same subject.\nHodo, with his Babylonish idea of the dreary after-life, watched his\ncharge with an anxiety and a grief that betrayed a surprising affection\nfor the youth. Though Charmides suffered no longer from thirst, though\nHodo's own food was prepared for him, though the best camel in the\ncaravan was at his disposal, he grew weaker and yet more weak, and his\nfever increased till the desert sands themselves were no hotter than his\nskin. On the eighteenth day of the journey Charmides was lifted from his\nanimal at the noon halt, talking incoherently of Selinous, of Heraia, of\nKabir, and Apollo. He showed no sign of recognizing Hodo and the pitying\ntraders that clustered about the tent where he lay. Rather, he gave them\nstrange names which they had never heard; he talked to them in his own\nlanguage; and he tried continually to sing in his cracked, harsh voice.\nHodo watched him doubtfully for a time; then his lips straightened out\nand his crooked face grew grim. He dismissed every one from his tent,\nand set himself to watch over the sick man alone. Gradually Charmides\nsank into a drowsy state, and, five hours later, when the camels were\nreloaded and placed in line for the long night march, he was still but\nhalf conscious. Hodo had him lifted upon his camel and strapped there,\nsince he showed himself unable to sit upright. A moment or two later the\ncry for the march was given, and the little procession started forward\nat its usual trot. Next morning Charmides lay limply forward upon his\nanimal's neck, in a state of irresistible coma; and Hodo mentally\nprepared to bury him there in the sand before another dawn. All day,\nindeed, the Greek hovered on the borderland of death; yet, since he had\nnot passed it when the halt was ended, he went on again with the rest in\nthe late afternoon.\n\nFor twelve hours now the rhapsode had been unconscious. It was, perhaps,\nthe sudden renewal of motion, after the mid-day rest, that roused him.\nAt all events, the caravan was scarcely moving before his eyes lost\ntheir glazed stare, and he half closed them while he looked about him.\nIt was a pleasant hour of the afternoon. Behind him the sun was nearing\nthe horizon, and in the sky overhead floated two or three feathery\nshreds of cloud--a gladsome sight. With an effort, in which he\ndiscovered how very weak he had become, the rhapsode turned himself till\nhe lay in such a position that he could watch the sunset. He had almost\nan hour to wait--a long, hot, drowsy hour, during which, however, he did\nnot drop back into torpor. As the sun sank, a ridge of white, billowy\nclouds, such as are almost never to be seen in those skies in summer,\nrose to catch the falling globe. And when the fire reached them,\nCharmides quivered with delight to see the flood of color--scarlet and\npurple, and pale, pinkish gold--that ran over the white mass. A valley\nbetween two of these lofty hills received the central stream of\nblood-fire, and on this blinding spot the Greek fixed his eyes and\ngazed, till his brain reeled with the seething glory. When the sun had\nleft the world and the other lights grew pale, this one place retained\nall its brightness. The watcher was too feeble even to wonder at the\nphenomenon; nor did he marvel when, out of this bank of fire, a figure\nbegan to resolve--a figure human in form and yet most splendidly divine.\nThere was a face that glowed with the hues of the evening, framed in\nshort, waving locks of auburn red, still fiery with the sunset, and\ncrowned with a circlet of silver stars that burned radiantly through the\ncoming dusk. Then Charmides perceived that all the clouds had formed\ninto a flowing garment that enveloped the body of the apparition. When\nthe glow was quite gone, and purple shadows had stolen softly through\nthe whole sky, the mighty figure stood out clearly and more clear, till\nevery fold in the royal vestment was distinct, till the two bright\nstreaks that had stretched out on either side of the shoulders had\nbecome wings of silver, and the patch of gold low on the right was a\nlyre, ready-strung. The vision was complete. Charmides, now but half\nsensible, scarcely noting the cool breath of the descending night,\nwatched and thirsted for what he knew must come.\n\nHe had not long to wait. As the first, faint star came out into the\nevening, the heavenly figure moved, floating in stately swiftness upon\nhis outstretched wings towards the wormlike caravan that crawled across\nthe sands. And as he moved he lifted the lyre, drawing his hand across\nits strings. Charmides gave a faint gasp. It was as if his body had been\nplunged into a running stream. Allaraine's music swept across his\nsenses, now in the faintest, long-drawn vibration, that drew the soul to\none's lips and let it hang there, seeking to follow the flight of the\nsound; now in broad chords that swept like the storm-wind over the\nplain; again, melting into melody that bore one to the shore of the\nsunlit sea. The Heavenly One played on while the shepherd, in helpless\necstasy, lay back, unnerved and numb, held to the camel only by the\nthongs with which Hodo had bound him there. It was a long time, though\nhow long the rhapsode could not tell, before he was roused by a warm\nthrill, to find that the bard of the skies floated beside him, one of\nthe effulgent wings spreading out over his body, the light from it\nbathing his whole figure in a stream of strength-giving fire. And even\nin his amazement Charmides wondered why he heard no sound from any\nmember of the caravan. All was still around him. Star-spangled darkness\nwas over them all. The moon had not yet risen. Hodo was nodding on his\ncamel, and many of the traders were in their first sleep. Only he, only\nthe Charmides whom they had thought dying, was awake to welcome the\nmessenger of the gods that honored them by his coming. The Greek, lying\nunder the shadow of the silver wing, felt that a prayer or some other\nfitting acknowledgment of the presence should be made. So he struggled\nto an upright position and raised his face to that of the god. Slowly\nthe star-crowned head turned to him, and a pair of deeply glowing eyes,\nfilled with benign pity, and great with suffering, looked upon the\nyouth. Charmides' lids fell shut in sudden, ecstatic terror, and, while\nhis head was bent, he felt upon his hair the touch of the god. Instantly\nhe fell back. Then, once upon his left eye and once upon his right, came\nthe imprint of the divine mouth. With the kisses blackness rolled over\nhim. His spirit slept.\n\nMorning, clear, cloudless, infinitely stifling, swept over the desert.\nHodo, who had drowsed through the night, lifted his head and looked\nabout him, trying to define the sense of weight at his heart. He\nrealized it presently, and, reluctant with fear, turned and looked\nbehind him. Yes. The dread was justified. Charmides lay white and limp\nupon his camel. They must bury him that day under the yellow sand of\nthis godless waste. Hodo's crooked little face screwed up spasmodically.\nThen he gave the long, quavering cry that meant, \"Halt the caravan.\"\nWith some little difficulty the camels were reined up, and all watched\nHodo make the dismount and run to the side of the animal on which the\nGreek was bound. Then they understood; and a long, low, minor wail, the\ngreeting to death, rose from every throat. It stopped with extreme\nsuddenness when Hodo gave a sudden shout of amazement. Every trader saw\nCharmides suddenly sit up, and a few directly behind heard his voice,\nstronger than for a week past, cry to his friend a Phoenician greeting.\n\n\"Charmides is not dead!\" shouted the leader, in unmistakable delight.\n\"It is a miracle! He is well again! The fever is gone!\"\n\nThe rhapsode smiled, and spoke his thanks to Hodo for all the past care;\nbut of how he had been made well he said not a word, for he knew that\nthe miracle had been for him alone. At the noon halt the merchants one\nby one came up to him, pressing his hand to their breasts and giving\nevery expression of friendly joy at his recovery. And fully recovered he\nwas, indeed. During the succeeding days his fever did not return; nor\ndid the long hours of the march tire him as hitherto. He returned now to\nthe tent that he had at first occupied; and, as he ate and slept with\nhis Babylonish comrades, he tried again, with more success, to acquire a\nfew phrases in the new tongue. He found his companions willing and\npatient teachers. And, truly, patience was necessary. The lips that\ncould so aptly form the melodious syllables of the most beautiful of\nlanguages were awkward beyond belief at mouthing out the thick words and\nstrangely constructed phrases of the Semitic tongue.\n\nIn the days that followed his recovery Charmides passed the hours of the\nmarch in profound reveries, which, as the days went by, became troubled.\nOne afternoon, after long deliberation, he made his way to Hodo's tent.\nThat little fellow was sitting cross-legged on a rug, drinking khilbum\nfrom a bronze cup, and blinking thoughtfully at the stretch of yellow\nsand before him. Hodo gave cordial greeting to the Greek, proffered him\nwine, and then sank once more into silence. Charmides disposed of his\nbeverage at a draught, and, after a little hesitancy, looked at his\ncompanion and asked:\n\n\"Hodo, how many gods do thy people worship?\"\n\nThe Babylonian looked up quickly. \"Twelve--of the great gods, without\nAsshur, whom the Assyrians brought among us, besides many demons, many\nspirits, and Mulge and All\u00e2t of the under-world. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Because I would learn which it is among your gods that is winged with\nsilver, crowned with stars, dressed in a purple vesture, and carries in\nhis right hand a lyre of gold.\"\n\nHodo screwed his face into a puzzled knot. \"Stars--wings--purple\nvesture--lyre--I do not know. Never have I heard that any of the gods\ncarried a lyre. It is not an instrument much known to us. In the sacred\nscriptures Bel is said to carry a staff, and I have seen him on the\nwalls of the temple with wings. So also Namtar flies. But the rest--how\ndo you know these things?\"\n\n\"This god appeared to me in a dream,\" replied the rhapsode.\n\nHodo found nothing to say to this, and Charmides also was silent. The\nBabylonian refilled their wine-cups, and, after they had been emptied,\nthe Greek rose and left the tent, unsatisfied, yet deterred by an\nindefinable feeling from talking further on the subject of the vision.\n\nSo the weeks went by, and the moon waned and grew young again, until,\nupon the twenty-first day after leaving Damascus, they were but\nforty-eight hours out of the Great City. That afternoon, just after the\nstart was made, when the camels, after more water than usual, were\nmoving briskly over the sand, Charmides' eyes, wandering to the distant\nhorizon, encountered something that set his heart wildly throbbing.\n\n\"Hodo! Hodo!\" he shouted. \"It is the city! Look! The Great City!\"\n\nFrom Hodo, in front, there came, after a minute's look, a ringing laugh.\n\"Yes, it is the ghost of the false city. We see it often here in the\ndesert, as we see lakes and trees that are not. Truly it is a strange\nthing.\"\n\nCharmides heard him incredulously. Before his eyes was certainly a\nvision of mighty walls, and square towers, and gates, and many-roofed\npalaces outlined against the heat-blurred sky. They kept their places,\ntoo, seeming to grow more and more distinct as the caravan proceeded.\nThe rhapsode closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still there.\nYes, he could now see the groups of palm-trees and faint outlines of\nolive foliage around the walls; and presently, when a broad, blue river\nwas to be seen winding its way from east to west through the plain,\nCharmides turned on his camel and called to Tirut\u00fb behind:\n\n\"Is not yonder city indeed Babylon, Tirut\u00fb?\"\n\nBut the trader smiled and slowly shook his head, and Charmides, half\nangry and wholly unconvinced, turned again to the sight that entranced\nhim. Clear and straight, for ten minutes more, it stood out against the\nsky. Then, of a sudden, the city vanished in one quiver, and, where it\nhad been, only the dark horizon-line, straight and unbroken, stretched\naway as usual. Charmides was sad that the dream had vanished; but he\ncould laugh at himself when Hodo turned to look at him with good-natured\namusement. Still, the picture remained with him, and came to seem, in\nafter years, his first impression of the far-famed city that was to be\nhis home.\n\nThe march that night was more rapid than usual, and the halt next day\nnot made till the heat was past bearing. At the noon meal mirth ran\nhigh, and wine and water were drunk with an abandon possible only to men\nwho had for three weeks practised a cruel restraint. Twenty-four hours\nmore would bring them to Babylon, and already they were on the borders\nof civilization and fertility.\n\nOn this day Charmides sat apart from his companions, feeling no desire\nto join in their loud joy. When finally the company lay down to rest,\nthe Greek felt that sleep was impossible for him, and he went off alone\nto the little tent where formerly a guard had been stationed, but which\nwas empty now. Here he sat down upon the sand and let his thoughts hold\nunbridled sway. For he was standing on the threshold of his new world,\nand he could not but pause for a moment to think of all that he had left\nbehind him. It was a melancholy time, but not a long, before Hodo's\nvoice was to be heard giving the signal for the last mount. Quickly the\ntents were struck and bound upon the camels; and then the little\nprocession moved away towards the line of green that bounded the yellow\nsands.\n\nBy morning they found on all sides fertile fields of grain, already\nripening. And Charmides' sand-weary eyes rested with untold delight on\nthe rows of wheat, millet, and sesame, barred here and there with little\nstreams of water conducted from the broad canals that ran everywhere\nthrough the land, and filled all the year round by the great\nmother-stream, Euphrates. Now and then the caravan passed a mud-village\nset in the midst of a broad field of grass where goats, sheep, and\nbullocks herded and donkeys and camels were tethered side by side. The\npeople of these villages were of the lowest Chaldaic type, nearly black,\nthick-lipped, large-nosed, and short of stature. Charmides regarded them\nwith dismay. He had seen one or two negro slaves brought from northern\nAfrica to Mazzara, and they had seemed to him less than human. Were the\nmen of this new race all like that? Presently, however, they came upon a\nreassuring sight. The caravan passed one of the large stone wells that\nstood in the middle of a grain-field. From it a buffalo, at work in his\nrude tread-mill, was drawing water, and beside the animal, clothed in a\nlong, white garment, bearing a tall jar on her head, one hand upraised,\nthe other on her hip, stood a slight girl with a skin almost as white as\nCharmides' own. Her eyes and hair were shining black; but as Charmides\nlooked at her she flashed a smile at him, showing a set of pearly teeth,\nand, a moment later, laughing aloud, a pure, ringing laugh, that in some\nway set Charmides into a cheery frame of mind for the rest of the day.\n\nHe came afterwards to know that it was not a native of Babylonia whom he\nsaw at the well, but one of a captive race resident in this Eastern land\nsince the year when the city of Solomon fell before the armies of the\ngreat son of Nabopolassar. But there were Babylonians also as white as\nthe Jews, their Semitic blood having at some time been mingled with that\nof Aryan races, Persians, Elamites, or, perhaps, Assyrians, whom a\nthousand years of a colder clime had materially bleached.\n\nThis last day became fiercely hot, but no noon halt was made. Each man\nmunched a piece of bread and a handful of dates, and drank a cup of\ngoat's milk purchased on the way, and the camels were given twenty\nminutes' rest and an armful of fodder in the shade of a palm grove near\na canal. Then the march was eagerly resumed, for, even now, many miles\naway, the gigantic walls of Nimitti-Bel, the outer wall of the city,\nwere to be seen towering up on the horizon. At four o'clock they passed\nthrough Borsip, the suburb of Babylon, towards which Hodo cast loving\neyes, for it was his home. But it was night before they entered the open\ngateway of Nimitti-Bel, that incredibly gigantic structure, the fame of\nwhich had spread over all the East; and it took nearly an hour to\ntraverse the sparsely inhabited space between that and the smaller,\ninside wall, Imgur-Bel. And before they had reached this, Hodo, turning,\ncalled to the Greek:\n\n\"We sleep to-night outside the gate of Bel. It is too late for admission\nto the city. The sun has set.\"\n\nCharmides nodded an absent-minded acquiescence. His thoughts had been\nstunned by the first glimpse of this tremendous city, and the chaos in\nhis mind was too great for him to pay attention to any trivial remark.\nHitherto his measure of magnitude of buildings had been the new temple\nof Apollo at Selinous, with its length of four hundred feet, its width\nof two hundred, its columns more than fifty feet high: this for a\ntemple, the third largest in the Greek world. Now he was confronted by a\nwall, a wall of defence, forty miles long, two hundred feet from base to\nsummit,[4] and of such a thickness that upon its top two four-horse\nchariots could pass with ease. Watch-towers, in which guards lived, rose\nhigher still from the great wall, that was open in a hundred places,\neach opening provided with a gate of wrought brass, which was closed\nfrom sunset to dawn.\n\nAs the caravan neared the inner and lesser wall and approached the gate\nof Bel, Charmides saw that before it was a square space, well paved and\narranged with stalls and booths, in which a goodly number of people\nevidently purposed passing the night. Each of the hundred gates was\nprovided with a sort of customs bureau, where all goods to be sold in\nthe city were appraised and taxed according to a fixed tariff. From this\npetty fee cattle, grain, and fruits were not exempt; and, since the\nofficer of taxes was off duty from sunset till sunrise, it frequently\noccurred that, on a market or festival day, each r\u00e9bit, or square before\na gate, was occupied through the night by those that wished to enter the\ncity early in the morning.\n\nAs the line of weary camels came to a final halt, and the score of\nwearier men dismounted for the last time, there was one general, short\ncry of thanksgiving, in which Charmides joined as heartily as the rest;\nand then Hodo sought him and took him by the arm, drawing him along the\nsquare as he said:\n\n\"We will sup together, Charmides--yonder.\"\n\nIn a corner against the wall an enterprising merchant had set up a small\nrestaurant of clever design, where hot wheaten cakes, roast goat's\nflesh, and cooked sesame, together with various fruits, flasks of\nfermented liquor, jars of beer, or flagons of goat's milk might be\nbought at a very reasonable price. Charmides rejoiced at the sight of\nfood, for he was spent with the heat and the journey. And he offered to\nchange one of his silver pieces for such of the food as Hodo and he\ndesired. But this the little Babylonian would not have.\n\n\"This night is the last, my Greek. Eat with me. Many a use there will be\nfor that silver of yours. On your first night within Nimitti-Bel you\nshall be my guest.\"\n\nThen Charmides tried to thank his friend once more for all the voluntary\nand unlooked-for kindness that had been shown him since the caravan left\nTyre. It was with difficulty, indeed, that the rhapsode found words\nfittingly sincere for his gratitude. But, long before he had finished,\nHodo, with a little, deprecating gesture, stopped him.\n\n\"You shall not thank _me_, Charmides,\" he said, sadly. \"Rather bless\nthose gods that gave you a face so fair and a personality so gracious\nthat he who comes in contact with you cannot but love you. Truly, youth,\nI am loath to part with you; and I hope that you will not rise so high\nthat in after-time your eyes will be above the level of mine.\"\n\nCharmides' reply to this was simply to press the other's hand to his\nbrow. Then, the two having finished their meal, they wrapped up their\ncloaks for cushions and sat down, with their backs to the wall, to watch\nthe sights in the square. Charmides held his bundle on his knees, and\nhis lyre lay beside him on the ground. He was bareheaded, and, as he sat\nin the shadow of the wall, his face was indistinguishable to the\npassers-by. Hodo was silent, and Charmides felt no inclination to talk.\nHis eyes wandered over the busy square, from which a clatter of\ntalk was rising. To the Greek, looking on, it seemed as if a hundred\nnationalities were before him, so different were the faces, dress,\nand manners of the men and women passing on every side. Here a\nheavy-bearded, coarse-clad goatherd, with his flock around him, lay\nalready asleep. There a company of market-girls, bare-headed, in loosely\nfluttering robes, stood gossiping together or laughing at the little\ndate-merchant opposite. Before the gate were half a dozen soldiers with\npermits for entering the city after hours, quaffing beer, or the heavy\nliquor of the date-cabbage, from their helmets. Farther away a\ndonkey-boy was beating a refractory member of his drove into submission;\nwhile, in the very centre of the square, the group of camels belonging\nto Hodo's caravan lay gazing loftily at the scene before them, their\nself-satisfied faces showing no trace of the fatigue that three long\nweeks upon the desert sands must surely have brought them. All these,\nand infinitely more, the rhapsode watched with increasing interest. New\narrivals were frequent, and the square gradually became massed with\npeople.\n\n\"To-morrow is the eleventh of the month,\" observed Hodo, suddenly, from\nhis reverie. \"There will be the procession of Nebo and Nergal, and,\nlater, a feast in the temple. That is why _so_ many of the country-folk\nhave come.\"\n\nCharmides nodded assent. He was watching some one of whom he had caught\nsight three or four moments before--a young girl, making her way through\na drove of donkeys and sheep. She was accompanied by a single large,\nwhite goat, that followed her closely, and to which she paid but little\nattention, seeming sure of its faithfulness. Barefooted, long-haired,\nraggedly clad, and very young--a mere child of fourteen or so--she was.\nYet, as Charmides watched her, he found something in the quiet droop of\nher eyelids, the pathetic curve of her mouth, and the pallor of her\ntired face that stayed in his mind through the whole evening. She\nlingered for a moment or two outside the great gate. Then one of the\nsoldiers, catching sight of her, left his companions to open a small\ninner door that led into the city. Through this the goat-girl passed,\nand Charmides once more turned to his companion, who was saying:\n\n\"Where do you go to-morrow, Charmides?\"\n\nThe Greek paused to consider. Finally he answered, rather doubtfully: \"I\ndo not know. I seek Istar of Babylon.\"\n\nHodo smiled, pityingly. \"And after that--?\"\n\nCharmides shook his head. \"I do not know,\" he repeated.\n\n\"Charmides, you will do well to come with me and stay with me for some\ndays, till you have learned the ways of Babylon. Will you, then--\"\n\nBut the Greek quickly shook his head. \"Again I thank you, Hodo. You are\ngood to me. But Apollo, my Lord, watches over me; and the god of the\ngolden lyre has made me well. With them I shall enter Babylon. With them\nI go before Istar. Say no more.\"\n\nHodo accepted the decision without further protest. Indeed, he rather\nbelieved Charmides to be, in some respects, a little more than human. At\nany rate, after a few moments more of watching the still-moving throng,\nhe wrapped his cloak about him and lay down upon the stones. Charmides\nshortly followed his example. And then, beneath the towering walls of\nthe Great City, Charmides, in his dreams, knocked again upon the gate of\nGod.\n\n\n\n\nBook II\n\nTHE GREAT CITY\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE \u00c2-IBUR-SAB\u00db\n\n\nAs the first yellow streaks of the false dawn paled in the east on this\nmorning of the eleventh of June, the city of Babylon awoke. And by the\ntime that Shamash had come forth from the world beyond the Euphrates,\nthe city streets were alive with men, women, and animals. An hour later\nthese were fixed in two long phalanxes, twenty rows deep, on either side\nof the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb--King Nebuchadrezzar's sacred way, that stretched,\nfrom the gate of Bel on the south side of the city, northward as far as\nthe sanctuary of Istar. Half-way along its course this street, or\nboulevard, ran through the great square of the gods, that was to-day the\ncentre of interest; for here, upon the right hand and upon the left,\nwere the temples of Nebo and Nergal, whose feast-day this was. The great\nreligious procession of gods and men was to pass from the second\nmonastery of Zicar\u00ee southward across the canal of the Ukhat\u00fb to the\ntemple of Istar, where they would enter upon the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb, and so\npass directly down to the temples where the sacrifice was to be\nconducted by the high-priests of the temples of Bel, of Marduk, of Nebo,\nand of Nergal, in the presence of the Lady Istar, the gods her brothers,\nthe king of Babylon, and the king's son. The day was an annual holiday\nin the city, whose three million inhabitants were now, apparently, every\none of them struggling to obtain the best position on the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb,\njust at the entrance of the square of the gods.\n\nThe noise in this part of the city was such as only a vast, good-natured\ncrowd can make. They pushed and elbowed, and indulged in guttural\naltercations that commanded too speedy mirth from by-standers ever to\nresult in an actual quarrel. Frequently a commoner, driving his\nbullock-cart down some side street towards the main thoroughfare, would\nbe hauled from his place to see his vehicle led back to a distant point.\nMen and women on donkeys, however, were permitted to trot on unmolested;\nfor the little, mouse-colored creatures found a passage where their\nriders would have been wholly at fault. Now and then a drove of goats\npassed down the sacred way in a cloud of dust, their owner doing a\nthriving business in the way of selling milk from his animals to the\nthirsty throng. Venders of eggs, ready-cooked grain, fresh water,\nfruits, and sweetmeats added their long-drawn, half-incomprehensible\ncries to the general clamor; while at frequent intervals a squad of\ncavalry or the chariot of a nobleman clattered along the \u00c2-Ibur, causing\nthe people to scurry from beneath their hoofs, but never making the\nslightest move to draw up for unfortunates.\n\nThe sun rose higher, and the heat grew stifling. Water-sellers emptied\ntheir skins so rapidly that the liquid had no time to cool by\nevaporation before it was taken, in its tepid, nauseous state. The\nmorning was well advanced. Children began to cry with fatigue, and men\nand women alike became impatient for the procession. But by the time\nCharmides reached the temple of Nebo there was still no sign of its\napproach.\n\nThe Greek had slept late, under the shadow of the great wall; and when\nhe awoke the sun was well up, Hodo was nowhere to be seen, and the r\u00e9bit\nwas empty of those that had passed the night there. Charmides arose with\na very hasty prayer to Apollo, performed some ablutions at the public\nwell, and then, his heart beating high with long-delayed curiosity,\npassed the gate and went into the Great City.\n\nHe entered directly upon the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb; and the distance from the gate\nto the square of the gods was not great. Plenty of people were moving in\nthe direction of the temples, and presently the rhapsode, a little\nbewildered with their number, wholly interested in their appearance,\nhalted on the right hand of the street, beside a building, to watch\nthose around him for a little while. He remained at his vantage-point\nfor some time, regarding with interested eyes all that passed. Finally,\nhowever, the sight of a young girl, tall, lithe, straight, with\nbrilliant eyes and dark skin, brought him back with a start to his great\nobject, the quest of Istar. In passing, the girl flashed an impudent\nlittle smile at him, and on impulse he ran forward, to ask her in his\nown way how to reach the temple of the goddess. Whether by instinct,\nintuition, or divine Providence, the girl understood what he said; but\nher quick answer was unintelligible to him, and he had only her gesture\nto go by. That, however, commanded him to keep to the north, and he\nstarted eagerly forward in that direction.\n\nFifteen minutes' rapid walking brought him to the edge of the dense\ncrowd that bordered the square of the gods. Here the people bewildered\nhim. He felt the heat intensely, and, incidentally, had become both\nthirsty and hungry. There was food and drink enough on all sides of him\nfor sale; but the youth felt disinclined to offer a piece of his\nSicilian money in exchange for a breakfast; not on account of any\npenurious notions, but because, utterly ignorant as he was of Babylonish\ncoinage, he dreaded Babylonish curiosity or the ridicule that might be\nexpressed on presentation of such foreign coins as he had. Therefore he\nwavered on the outer edge of the crowd, chafing with impatience,\nextremely uncomfortable, and still afraid to make known his needs. The\nthrong was dense, and the Greek by no means tall enough to see over the\nmany heads in front of him. Therefore whatever might be going on in the\nsquare beyond was quite hidden from his view. Presently he trod, by\nmistake, upon the fringed tunic of a man beside him. Turning to offer an\napology, his eyes suddenly fell upon a face that seemed familiar--so\nfamiliar that he made an effort to remember where he had seen it before.\n\nAfter all, it proved to be only the little goat-girl who had been in the\nr\u00e9bit on the previous evening. This time, however, the child saw him;\nand she seemed to find something in his face that kept her eyes riveted\non his for a long moment, and then sent them drooping, till he could see\nthe pretty, olive lids and the long, black lashes; while at the same\ntime a wave of crimson swept up and over her face. Then Charmides\ndiscovered that, after all, he knew something of women. He felt at once\nthat from this girl there would be no ridicule for him. The goat was\nstill with her; and, as he went quickly to her side, he perceived, round\nthe creature's neck, a metal cup on a string, the purpose of which\nvessel he was not slow to guess.\n\nThe girl waited for Charmides, and pushed her goat away for him with\nevident pleasure. As he halted, her big eyes were upraised, and her look\ntravelled ingenuously from his sunlit hair over his burned face down to\nhis roughly sandalled feet. Then she watched him open the little\nmoney-bag that he had drawn from his bundle. From it he extracted a\nsilver piece, stamped with the parsley sprig of Selinous, and, holding\nit out to her, he pointed from the cup on the goat to his own lips and\nthen back to the animal again. The business was done. Baba, disregarding\nthe proffered money, knelt down beside the docile animal and obtained\nCharmides' belated breakfast with a practised hand.\n\nCharmides drank the warm milk with relish, and, the cup emptied, placed\nhis coin inside it and returned it to the girl. She took it with a shy\nsmile, that suddenly vanished when she perceived the silver. Picking up\nthe coin, she examined it for some seconds. Then, while Charmides looked\non uneasily, Baba opened a pouch at her side, extracted therefrom a\nhandful of small, copper disks, and held them out to the Greek, saying\nsomething to him at the same time. He shook his head and smiled at her\nas he accepted them. They were all alike: little scraps of stamped\ncopper, which he afterwards learned to be _se_, the smallest of the\nBabylonish coins.\n\nThe chief matter of the moment thus satisfactorily concluded, the Greek\nlingered still at Baba's side, debating on the advisability of\nquestioning her further. She seemed not disinclined to conversation, and\nas he glanced at her furtively he found her eyes again fixed upon his\nface. He answered the look, and then, with the usual effort, said, in\nthe thick way of the Babylonians, the one word:\n\n\"Ishtar.\"\n\nBaba appeared to understand him at once. \"Belit will come to the square\nof the gods and the temples there in the sacred procession,\" she said,\npointing at the same time to the north along the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb.\n\nCharmides understood the gesture, not the words; and, thanking her in\nhis own language, he left her, not without a vague hope that he might\nfind her again some time. As he strode away he did not know how\nlongingly Baba's eyes followed him; how for a few steps she crept after\nhim, this new god with the hair of gold, and how at length, abashed by\nthe thought of her own boldness, she sat down beside her goat and\naddressed a fervent prayer to Lady Istar to send peace to her thoughts.\n\nMeantime the object of this homage was hurrying down a narrow street\nthat ran westward; and, having a good notion of localities and distance,\nhe succeeded in skirting the crowd on the square without much\ndifficulty, and in reaching the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb again a little farther to\nthe north. Here, indeed, the throng seemed denser than ever; and here,\nas Charmides now guessed, Istar herself would come in procession with\nthe gods and priests this very morning--nay, within the hour. With the\nthought his heart beat furiously, his throat grew dry, and his eyes were\ndim. His head swam with emotion as he started to edge a way through the\nmass of people. Not a little to his surprise, he found this easy to do.\nThe people voluntarily gave place to him, staring in wonder at his\nbeauty, his bright hair, and the shining lyre that he carried in his\nhand. Ignorant as he was of the gigantic system of superstition that\nformed the foundation of the Chaldaic religious life, he still\nconcluded, vaguely, that they were regarding him as something more than\nhuman, all these people that inclined a little as he usurped their room.\nAs a matter of fact, he had been identified by some as one of the\nAnnun\u00e2ki, or earth-spirits; by others as one of the band of \u00cegig\u00ee, or\nheavenly beings, come among them to-day to do honor to his lords and\ntheirs, the great gods of civil administration and of learning, Father\nNebo and his son Nergal.\n\nHere was Charmides at last at his journey's end, standing in the heart\nof the Great City, upon the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb, the ziggurat of Nebo on his\nright hand, the house of the high-priest of Bel opposite, the broad\nEuphrates winding through the sunshine far in front, and, somewhere to\nthe north, moving towards him from her holy temple, Istar, the living\ngoddess of the city of kings. It all seemed a dream to him now. The\nmiles that lay between him and his home had put him into another life,\nstill unreal, but always more and more tangible as he looked around and\nmoved and breathed. The great multitude hardly caught his attention. He\nwished himself free to think under the spell of the new world. But now,\nfar up the street, could be seen a whirling cloud of dust, in which\nlow-moving forms were all but hidden. These presently resolved into\nthree droves of animals--goats, bullocks, and sheep for the sacrifice,\ndriven by eunuchs of the temple. The horns of the bullocks were gilded,\nand the necks of the smaller beasts were twined with wreaths of\nflowers--just as the hecatombs of Zeus were ornamented at home.\nCharmides watched the flocks pass with joy at his heart. The familiar\nsight made Babylon homelike to him. His fingers sought the strings of\nhis lyre, and he hummed to himself a genial little tune, that ceased\nwhen there rose about him a murmur of exclamations, followed by a quick\nsilence. Charmides turned his eyes to the north. There again was dust;\nthis time gleaming with brass-work and glinting with trappings of\nhorses. Into the silence came a distant sound of cymbals and wooden\nflutes. The great procession was moving--was coming. _She_ was\ncoming--Istar--the Lady of Babylon--the Divine One.\n\nThe crowd on either side of the street voluntarily pressed back to allow\na wider space for the passage of the gods. No one was speaking now, and\nCharmides himself was breathless with expectation. The wavering\ndust-cloud advanced towards the square, and the blare of trumpets grew\nlouder, yet the procession seemed barely to move. Distant shouts of\npraise and acclamation could be heard, and there was a short, silent\nstruggle for place. That was all. Everything waited.\n\nPresently a phalanx of men, marching in excellent order and at a rapid\npace, resolved from the dust and passed the house of the high-priest.\nThese wore the regulation priest's tunic of white muslin; but they had\nno goat-skins on the shoulder, and the knives in their girdles\nproclaimed them slayers of the sacrifice. They were, in fact, Zicar\u00fb, or\nunder-priests, from the monastery below the temple of Nebo. Behind them\ncame a chariot, in which stood one man, a tall, muscular fellow, dark\nand bearded, with the goat-skin over his left arm, a golden girdle about\nhis waist, and a rosetted tiara on his head--Vul-Ram\u00e2n of the great\nBit-Yakin,[5] high-priest of Nebo, and, next to Amraphel of Bel, the\nmost powerful official of the priesthood. Behind him, borne on the\nshoulders of six En\u00fb, or elders, and surrounded by a group of sixteen\nanointers (Pasis\u00fb), and officials of the libation (Ramk\u00fb), was the great\nbronze statue of Bel-Marduk, the father-god of the city, before whose\npassage the people bent their heads and prayed. After this idol came his\npriest Amraphel, ruler of the Babylonish orders, in his dazzling\nchariot, wearing a leopard-skin over his cloudy tunic. Charmides looked\ninto the face of this man, and in the one glance experienced a curious\nsensation--a sense of evil that he never quite forgot.\n\nNow there came an apparently endless string of temple-servants, priests\nin chariots, and little gods carried by their worshippers. Also there\nwere groups of prophets (Asip\u00fb), dream-interpreters (Makhat\u00fb), and the\ngreat seer N\u00e2bu-bani-\u00e2khi. Charmides watched them all go by without\ngreat interest, for his expectation was becoming keener. Each moment he\nthought to perceive, in the distance, _her_; and by the heart-throb that\nfollowed the thought he knew that he should recognize her presence from\nafar. As time passed, however, he began to grow fearful lest, after all,\nshe was not; lest Kabir, first, and afterwards Hodo and the rest, had\nspoken falsely, had deceived him, had brought him to this great, lonely\nplace, out of his world, with no hope of return, and no prospect in\nlife. The thought brought a spasm of fear to his heart. Yet--yet--there,\nup the line, was a great burst of music from a band of musicians that\nsurrounded a new, dazzling chariot, in which stood a solitary figure,\nclad--Charmides turned faint and shut his eyes. Then, hearing shouts of\nacclamation, he opened them again, fearfully, and looked up to behold--a\nman.\n\nThe first feeling was wholly of bewilderment. Then, as the rhapsode's\neyes saw more, they forgot to fall. If Istar of Babylon was a man, at\nleast he was one to look upon with wonder. Never before had Charmides\nbeheld so imperial a face. Never had he imagined such features. The\nskin, as compared with his own, was very dark; yet it was whiter than\nthat of any other Chaldee. Black hair, cut almost short, clustered about\nthe head. The face was smooth-shaven, after the custom of the royal\nhouse; and, though Charmides could not see it from where he stood, the\neyes were blue--the deep, purplish blue of a storm-cloud. The man wore\nthe dress of the priesthood, yet it went incongruously with his bearing.\nPower and the habit of command stood out in every line of his figure, in\nthe Zeus-like poise of the head, in the hand that controlled the two\npowerful black horses which drew the chariot along. If this were\nIstar--well, Charmides could hardly regret. So much he muttered aloud,\nin Phoenician. To his amazement, the words were answered from behind him:\n\n\"That is no Istar, fool! That is Belshazzar, the prince royal, the\ntyrant of Babylon.\"\n\n\"And Istar--the goddess!\" cried the Greek, turning to the man that\nspoke.\n\n\"The creature Istar? She comes,\" was the frowning reply made by the\nhook-nosed, ill-kempt man at his shoulder.\n\nCharmides said no more. His pulses were throbbing violently. At a little\ndistance he perceived a new vehicle, a triumphal-car, at the approach of\nwhich the great masses of people to the right and left sank, as a man,\nto their knees, bowing to the dust. Charmides raised his eyes and beheld\nher sitting upon the broad platform of the car. And as he looked, as he\nknelt, even as his brow touched the ground, Charmides knew that he had\nnot been deceived, that rumor had spoken truth, because more than truth\ncould not here be spoken. Yet when she had passed, the Greek did not\nknow her. He had not seen so much as a line of her figure. She swam in a\nglory of light that radiated from herself. Her head had been crowned,\nyet with what he did not know. His heart and head were afire, and he\nheeded nothing more of the procession. Most of all, he did not hear the\nwords of the man behind him, who had knelt with the rest at the approach\nof the car, because fear of death is a great leveller; but had the words\nthat he muttered been heard and understood by the populace, it is\ndoubtful whether all his influence had saved his life from them.\n\n\"Asha confound this instrument of evil! Yahveh's wrath light upon her\nsoul! God of Judea visit her with the fires of Sheol!\" And then the\nformer servant of Nebuchadrezzar the Great rose and turned away through\nthe crowd. Charmides later sought vainly for his Phoenician-tongued\ninformant, whom men to-day call Daniel the prophet.\n\nWhile the Greek still stood, dazed and stupid, his head swimming with\nthe delight of knowing her actually to be, the procession passed, and a\ngreat multitude of people swept along at its heels towards the temple\nsquare. Any attempt to force a passage through that packed throng would\nhave been useless. This Charmides perceived at once, and presently, as\nthe crowd melted away from where he stood, he turned and began to walk\nslowly towards the north, along the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. In the street there\nwere not a few people who, like himself, had felt it useless to try for\na place to see the sacrifice, and, the procession over, were on the way\nhome, perhaps to some family festival. But Charmides saw little enough\nof those around him. His feet moved mechanically while his thoughts\nsoared.\n\nHe had seen her--he had seen Istar. The object of his journey was over;\nand yet--to leave Babylon now, without knowing more of her, was\nimpossible. He felt that while Babylon was the shrine of such a being,\nin Babylon he must worship. Sicily, his friends, his mother, were now\nbecome things of another life--things fair and dear to think upon, but\nfor which he no longer yearned. Istar, far above his reach as she was,\nyet made his interest, his religion--in fine, his home--in this new\nland.\n\nIt was while such thoughts as these were mingling in his heart that the\nGreek found himself brought to a halt. He had come to the end of the\nfamous street that terminated in a square nearly two miles north of the\ntemples of Nebo and his son and the square of the gods. On the edge of\nthe new square Charmides paused and looked around him. Beside him, to\nthe right and to the left, were two large buildings of the usual brick,\nlow-roofed, and surrounded by walls in which the great wrought bronze\ngates were shut. Through their bars he caught glimpses of fair gardens\nfilled with flowers of brilliant hues and shaded by flowering bushes and\ntall date-palms. But in these places there was no sign of life; nor was\nany living creature to be seen on the flat roofs that served, in\nBabylon, the purpose of summer living-rooms. On the right-hand side of\nthe square stood what was unmistakably a temple. Here, on the top of the\nbroad platform, and again on the steps ascending it, and about the open\ndoors of the holy house, several people moved, while others were dotted\non the broad incline that ran around the outside of the ziggurat, or\ntower, without which no holy building was complete, and which stood,\ncampanile-like, to the left of the temple itself.\n\nGlad of company, even that of total strangers, and seeing that the\nplatform stair offered opportunity for a much-needed rest, Charmides\nmoved wearily across the square, mounted a step or two, and sat down\nwith a long sigh of relief. Near him were three or four people--venders\nof various commodities suited to the place. An old man held between his\nknees a basket of small, clay bricks, inscribed with Accadian prayers.\nClose to him was a scribe of a semi-religious order, ready provided with\ncuneiform iron and a supply of kneaded clay. A little beyond, a street\nwater-carrier had stopped to rest, with his heavy pigskin beside him.\nNearest of all was a young girl, holding on her lap a basket of\nnosegays. The picture in itself was pleasing; but Charmides soon\ndiscovered about it something that interested him much more. This was\nthe sight of half a wheaten loaf and a handful of dates that lay, nearly\ncovered with a bit of cloth, in a corner of the flower-basket.\n\nThe nourishment in Charmides' early breakfast of goat's milk had not\nserved to keep up his strength so long as this, and now the sight of\nsolid food made him faint for it. He hesitated a little what to do; for\nhe could not be sure whether what he saw were the girl's noonday meal or\nthe remains of it. Having gazed long and eagerly, however, at the loaf,\nhe suddenly lifted his eyes to encounter her own--very pretty ones they\nwere--fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Thereupon\ncourage born of hunger came upon the rhapsode with a mighty rush. He\nrose and went over to the side of the flower-girl, and, taking from his\nbag the coppers given him by Baba, he proffered them all to the\nflower-seller. Smiling till she showed a very pretty set of small, white\nteeth, she picked up all her remaining bouquets and held them up to him\nin both hands. Charmides looked at them lovingly, but shook his head.\nWith surprise written in her face, the girl put them down again and\nseemed to wait for him to speak. Thereupon Charmides seated himself\ncarefully on the other side of the basket, put one finger on the wheaten\nloaf, pointed to his mouth, and looked inquiringly at his new friend.\nShe understood instantly, and, laughing, took up the food and set it\nbefore the Greek.\n\nWhile he ate they talked--in the universal language of primitive sounds\nand gestures. And so skilful at this occupation did the two of them find\nthemselves, that Charmides shortly learned how the girl had partaken of\nher noon meal some time before, and that he was quite welcome to what\nwas left of it. Hereupon the rhapsode spread out all his _se_, nine of\nthem, in a neat row, and suggested that she take as many as the bread\nand fruit were worth. The maiden hesitated over this part of the affair,\nbut, as Charmides was quite firm, she finally picked out three of the\ncoppers and put them in a little pouch hanging from her girdle; and\nCharmides perceived, without much thinking about it, that this pouch was\nthe counterpart of that from which Baba had that morning extracted his\nchange.\n\nDuring his meal, which Charmides caused to last for some time, his eyes\nwere much employed. He was making a careful scrutiny of his new\ncompanion--one so very careful that, in the interest of it, the awe and\nfiery enthusiasm excited in him by the sight of Istar was gradually\ndispelled. Thus he came gracefully down to human interests, and\ndiscovered that this Babylonian maid was rather more to his taste than\nany Doric Sicilian he could remember.\n\nIn very truth, Ram\u00fba of Beltani's house, the flower-girl of the temple\nof the great goddess, was a goodly sight for tired eyes. Young and fresh\nof color, sweet of voice, and modest of demeanor she always was. To be\nsure, her long tunic was colorless, old, and much patched. Her pretty\nfeet were bare, and her only head-covering the long, silken hair that\nwas plaited and coiled round and round her shapely head. But it had been\na pity to hide those glossy locks under the rarest of coronets. No\njewels that she could have worn would have rivalled her eyes in\nbrilliancy; and as for the small, brown feet--Charmides surveyed them\ncovertly with unique enjoyment, and could not remember to have seen a\nsandal fit to grace them.\n\nMusing in this profitable fashion, the rhapsode finished his meal, and\ninvested another _se_ in the purchase of a cup of water from the\nwater-seller. This he proffered first to the girl, who refused it with\nexceeding grace, and a very definite hope in her eyes that the sunny\nGreek would not yet depart. Evidently he had ideas of so doing, for,\nreturning to her side, but not sitting down, he once more pronounced his\npass-word:\n\n\"Istar?\"\n\n\"This is her temple,\" was the quick reply, as Ram\u00fba pointed to the top\nof the platform.\n\nCharmides caught hopefully at the gesture. \"This is the temple of Istar?\nThe goddess will return here?\" he asked, uselessly, in Greek.\n\nRam\u00fba smiled at him.\n\nCharmides felt irritated and helpless. He looked from the girl to the\ntemple, and back again. Then he paused, wavered, might perhaps have\ncursed in his own tongue, and finally sat down again where he had been\nbefore. Silence ensued. Ram\u00fba played in a very unbusiness-like way with\na flower, till she had spoiled it. Charmides, more stolid and less\nconcerned, stared out upon the sunny square and down the far stretch of\nthe \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb, from which far-distant sounds of music came faintly to\nhis ears. Gradually he fell into a noonday reverie, from which he was\nroused by Ram\u00fba, who, hoping perhaps to attract his attention, had\nlifted his lyre and was running her hand over its strings. Charmides\nlooked up at her in surprise, and at once she held the instrument out to\nhim, motioning him to play. Nothing loath, he took it, stood up, and\nturned to her. For a moment his hand wandered among the strings. Then he\nfound the melody he sought, and sang it to her in full-throated,\nmellifluous Greek--the myth of the Syracusan nymph, Arethuse, and\nAlpheus, the river-god.\n\nThe flower-girl listened spellbound to such sounds as she had never\nheard before; and, on stopping, Charmides found a group of pedestrians,\nattracted by his song, standing near at hand behind him. One of them, a\nstiff-robed, high-crowned nobleman, tossed him a piece of money at the\nconclusion of the poem. Charmides took it up with a momentary impulse to\nthrow it back at the man. Prudence, however, came to his aid, and, after\na moment of inward rebellion, he accepted the coin, realizing that\nchance had just shown him a way for a future livelihood. He might,\nperhaps, have sung again, but for an interruption that claimed the\nattention of every one around the temple.\n\nThe noise of distant trumpets had become much louder, and two specks\nafar down the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb had by now resolved themselves into a\ntwo-horse chariot and the car of Istar--both of them coming towards the\ntemple.\n\nCharmides' heart bounded as he distinguished the radiant figure that sat\nupon the golden platform of the divine vehicle. So he was to see her\nagain--now--so soon. This time, if she passed him closely, she might\neven see him. And if her eyes should fall upon him--_had_ she eyes? Had\nshe features and organs? Was she, in fact, anything but a mystic vision\nthat people saw dizzily and turned from, half blinded? He glanced down\nat the flower-girl by his side, and it came over him with a rush of\npleasure that she was human and susceptible to human emotions.\n\nIstar's car approached the platform steps. It was followed by the\nattendant chariot, in which Charmides once more beheld Belshazzar, the\n\"tyrant of Babylon,\" whom at first sight he had reckoned as a demi-god.\nAs the car stopped, the prince leaped from his place and went to stand\nnear the goddess as she alighted. The little company of people that had\nassembled to watch Istar's arrival, bent the knee. Charmides alone\nremained upright--why, he could not have told. Certainly it was not from\nlack of reverence. His eyes were fixed upon the form of Istar, while\nwith all the strength of his mind he strove to pierce the veil of\nimpenetrable, dazzling light that hung about her like a garment. As she\nrose from her sitting posture, Charmides looked to see her slaves offer\nassistance in her descent from the high place. But the eunuchs at her\nhorses' heads did not move, and Belshazzar stood motionless on the first\nstep, his head slightly bowed, but his strange eyes fixed as eagerly as\nCharmides' own.\n\nPresently the goddess was beside the prince. How she had descended,\nCharmides did not know. He seemed to have seen her float down a shaft of\nlight to the ground.\n\nAfter performing the proper obeisance to their lady, the people rose, as\nIstar, with Belshazzar at her elbow, began to ascend the platform steps.\nCharmides could see that her feet moved, yet they barely touched the\nbricks. He did not know, however, that a year ago she had had no need\nfor steps. As yet, it had never even been whispered by any man that she\nwas more than formerly of earth.\n\nOne, two, three stairs Istar mounted. The young Greek was choking with\nexcitement. In another moment she would be abreast of him--nay, was\nabreast of him, had ceased to move, had turned her head. Belshazzar, on\nthe other side, halted in astonishment. Charmides' heart stopped. He\nfound himself looking into a pair of great, unfathomable eyes that gazed\ninto his own with the light of all knowledge. At the look, courage,\nconfidence, and an unspeakable joy took possession of him. Without\namazement he heard her speak to him in his own tongue.\n\n\"Welcome, thou Charmides, to Babylon! I had word of your coming when\nAllaraine banished thy desert fever, in order that the Great City, and I\nin it, should know thy voice.\"\n\n\"Istar!\"\n\n\"The journey has been long, and has taken patience and fortitude.\"\n\n\"The way has been but a dream of my goddess. Long ago, through Lord\nApollo, I beheld thee.\"\n\n\"Yes--in the temple of Selinous--that dedicated to Apollo, who is\nAllaraine to me. Charmides, you have no home in Babylon. Will you take\nup an abode in that of the flower-girl beside you?\"\n\nCharmides made no answer in words. Turning a little towards the young\ngirl, who stood, pale and wide-eyed, on his right hand, he smiled at\nher.\n\nThen Istar also turned to Ram\u00fba, and spoke in Chaldaic: \"Thou, maiden,\ntake you at evening-time this stranger home to the house of your mother,\nBeltani, and keep him there as he were one of you; and in return he will\nbring you great happiness. This is my wish.\"\n\nRam\u00fba fell again upon her knees and bowed her head upon the clay bricks.\nShe was incapable of speech; but the flush of crimson that had\noverspread her face told Istar that the command would not be unwillingly\nobeyed. Then the goddess turned again to the Greek.\n\n\"Charmides, go thou home to-night with the maiden here. Her name is\ncalled Ram\u00fba, and she is of her mother Beltani, that is a widow. At\nsunset, when her flowers are gone, follow you after her. And again you\nshall come to me in my temple and play to me the music of your lyre. You\nhave heard the chords of Allaraine of the skies. They shall come again\nto you to fill your heart with peace, and you shall be the most\nwonderful of all musicians in the Great City. Let, then, far Sicily,\nvanish forever from your mind.\"\n\nCharmides bowed low. His tongue was tied with awe. He knew not what\nreply to make to her. When he lifted his eyes again she had passed, and\nwas floating like a silver cloud across the great platform towards the\nopen portals of the temple. Thereupon the Greek turned his face to\nRam\u00fba, and, as he clasped her hand in his and saw her black eyes lifted\nup, he laughed in his heart with joy of the Great City, and what he had\nfound it to hold for him.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE SANCTUARY OF ISTAR\n\n\nThe temple of the Lady of Erech,[6] in Babylon, was the smallest of the\neight temples consecrated to the worship of the twelve great gods. This\ntemple contained but three parts--the entrance hall, the great hall of\nthe sacrifice, and, at the farthest end of this room, the inmost shrine,\nor holy of holies, where the statue of the god was generally kept.\nBesides these, there were half a dozen little places, hardly more than\nniches, where the priestesses and hierodules could don sacrificial\ngarments. At the end of the great hall, in front of the rich curtain\nthat hid the door of the inmost shrine, and behind the sacrificial altar\nand the table for shew-bread, was the Parakh\u00fb, or mercy-seat, from which\nthe god, generally in spirit, it was thought, was accustomed to hear and\nanswer the prayers of his worshippers, to perform miracles of healing,\nand to accept offerings. Here, each day, Istar was accustomed to sit for\nan hour, hearing many plaints, listening to many woes, learning much of\nthe piteous side of the lives of men and women of the world. And from\nthis place Istar had delivered many an oracle. Here, too, she cogitated\npainfully over the sins of mankind, which were all incomprehensible to\nher. She, who was alone of her race on earth, sorrowed most over the\nloneliness of others--those that mourned a friend dead, a lover lost, a\nchild in far-off lands--because this grief she could in some measure\nunderstand. But though the face of the goddess was always sad when she\nleft the mercy-seat, the brilliance of her aureole was more bewildering\nthan ever, for pity quickened her divinity continually to fresh life.\n\nBehind the temple of worship was the building in which Istar dwelt. It\nwas a little labyrinth of small, open courts and narrow, dimly lighted\nrooms. Nearer to the dwelling-place than to the temple, on the same\nplatform with them both, was the ziggurat--that most characteristic\nfeature of Babylonian architecture. On top of it, in the centre of the\nspace used by astronomers and astrologers attached to the temple, was\nthe little room devoted to the person of the goddess. It was here that\nshe was supposed to sleep by night when wearied with the labors of the\nlong day. Istar's chamber on her ziggurat was rendered almost\nunapproachably sacred by the fact that here she had first been found;\nhere she was supposed to have undergone her incarnation; and probably\nhere she would resume intangibility, when her period of life on earth\nwas over. In point of fact Istar was devoted to this little place.\nDuring the hot summer months she generally stayed within it from sunset\nto dawn, perhaps asleep, perhaps fled in spirit to other regions. The\nplace had been fitted up with incredible costliness, and was kept in\nscrupulous order by servants consecrated especially for the work, who\nentered it only at stated periods when its mistress was absent.\n\nOn her return from the long ceremonials attendant on the sacrifice to\nNebo and Nergal, Istar went to the mercy-seat at once, for it was past\nher accustomed hour. There were few suppliants for pity to-day. Babylon\nhad just propitiated two of its great gods with a wholesale slaughter of\nanimals, and the people doubtless felt that for a day, at least, they\nmight rest from the continual round of religious duties, relying\nmeantime on the newly invigorated power of Nebo and Nergal to protect\nthem from the legions of hellish and earthly demons that beset life with\nsuch innumerable ills.\n\nIstar's hour was not long to her. Her thoughts were centred on\nCharmides, his young, sunny presence, and the light of wonder and\nworship in his face when she had spoken to him. She had seen that he\ncarried his lyre with him; and she dreamed of the day when he should\ncome before her and sing as none other but Allaraine could sing.\nMeantime his face was before her and would not be banished, although in\nthe shadows before the altar stood another man whose presence had long\nbeen part of her surroundings, towards whom she felt--if indeed she felt\nat all--as towards no other human being; whose whole presence was as\nperfect a contrast to that of Charmides as could well be imagined. It\nwas Belshazzar, who, since matters of government did not much hold him,\nhad, in the last months become Istar's shadow. He lingered about the\ntemple whenever she was there; he followed her over the city in his\nchariot when she went abroad; at sunset he ascended the ziggurat, to\nstand outside the curtained door of her sanctuary, unable to see her,\nbut feeling her presence. When she was near him his eyes were not always\nupon her, yet her slightest movement never escaped him. And at such\ntimes a kind of divinity--a reflection, perhaps, from her--was thrown\nabout him, till it had once or twice been said that the prince, like his\ngoddess, moved in a silver cloud. Whether or not it was possible\nthat Belshazzar--Belshazzar the tyrannical, the dissolute, the\nfierce-tempered--had by dint of will-power and persistence been able to\npierce the veil that hid Istar secure from all mortal eyes, it would be\nimpossible to tell. Istar herself did not know. But now, as many times\nbefore, she wondered vaguely if her unearthly powers would or would not\nhold her from the understanding of this unholy man.\n\nThe mercy hour over, two attendant \u00fbkhat\u00fb approached her with the\npurifying water and her white garment for the evening. Istar washed away\nfrom her own person the sins and sorrows of her suppliants, suffered the\nrobe to be laid over her shoulders, and then sent away the women,\nforbidding the temple to be lighted till she was gone from it, and\ncommanding the dismissal of the two that prayed near the basin of the\nsea. So, presently, she was alone in the vast, shadowy room with\nBelshazzar, who still stood, silent, immovable, arms folded, head\nslightly bent, beside the shew-table, his storm-blue eyes fixed in a\nside glance on her face.\n\nIstar rose and descended from the high place, and then moved slowly in\nher floating way to Belshazzar's side. There, a few inches from him, she\nhalted, and, putting forth her hand, laid it lightly on his arm.\n\nA tremor of intense feeling shot through him. He shook for a moment as\nwith palsy. Then, raising both hands in the attitude of prayer, he\nuttered the one word--\"Belit!\"\n\nIstar regarded him with a kind of curiosity. \"Bel-shar-utsur,\" she said,\nlingeringly, with a suggestion of hesitation. Again the prince trembled.\n\"Bel-shar-utsur--wilt thou follow me?\"\n\n\"To the kingdom of Lill\u00e2t, if my goddess asks,\" he answered, quickly, in\na maze of confused delight.\n\nThe light of her divinity burned brighter round the figure of the\ngoddess, and she made a slight gesture for the man to walk beside her.\nHe obeyed with an eagerness that was tempered by a peculiar,\nhalf-resisted reluctance which Istar perceived but did not understand;\nfor the soul of this majestic body was unknown, utterly unknown to her.\n\nTogether, however, they left the temple and passed across the deserted\nplatform, which was still flooded with sunlight, till they reached the\nfoot of the ziggurat. Here Belshazzar halted with a quick breath and an\ninaudible exclamation. Istar, turning a little towards him, gave him a\nwondering glance.\n\n\"You fear?\" she asked, hardly knowing how to voice her idea.\n\nAnd Belshazzar, he who had in his youth, in pursuance of amusement, swum\nthe Euphrates lashed to the back of a wounded crocodile, now raised his\nhands again, saying imploringly: \"O Belit!--I fear!\"\n\n\"And what? Is it I?\"\n\nHe bent his head.\n\n\"Belshazzar--come thou and teach me.\"\n\n\"Teach--you!\"\n\n\"Yea, for there is much that I must know. There, on the ziggurat, where\nthe air is sweet, where we shall be nearer the silver sky, thou shalt\nlearn the purpose of my earth-life, and shalt tell me how to attain it;\nfor I of myself know not the way. Come.\"\n\nThis time Belshazzar obeyed the command without hesitation, silently.\nTogether they made the ascent of the broad, inclined plane that wound\nround and round up the tower. The man's steps were swinging and\nvigorous; yet, walk as rapidly as he would, the goddess kept always a\nlittle ahead of him though she made neither effort nor motion, except\nthat now and then she touched her feet lightly to the bricks. At the\ntop, opening from the broad gallery that ran round the building of the\ntower, was the low door-way that gave entrance to the holy of holies,\nIstar's shrine. There was no one on the height to-day, though ordinarily\nat this hour several ascended the ziggurat to watch the ascent of the\ngoddess. Rejoicing in the solitude, Istar leaned over the south parapet\nof the wall, and looked out upon the light-flooded city, while\nBelshazzar, in a dream, waited at her shoulder. After a little while she\nturned, and, pushing aside the leathern curtain that hung across the\ndoor, conducted the prince over the threshold of the sacred place.\n\nIt was a wonderful room. At the time of the coming of Istar, indeed, all\nBabylon had contributed to its adorning. Not more than ten feet square\nwas the little place, yet so did it glisten and shine with the lustre of\nclear gems and burnished gold, that it seemed to contain unfathomable\ndepths, and to be imbued with something of the divine radiance of its\nmistress. The couch in it, like the walls, was covered with plates of\nbeaten gold, and piled high with the softest and costliest stuffs from\nthe famous Babylonian looms. The throne and the two chairs, or\ntabourets, were of Indian ebony, inlaid with ivory; and the table and\ndeep basin for water were of chased silver, worked with crystals and\nemeralds. All the daylight that could enter this room must come through\nthe arched door-way; but a swinging-lamp of wrought gold, hanging in the\ncentre of the little place, burned continually, night and day, and shed\na dim effulgence over everything.\n\nWhen this interior was first revealed to him, Belshazzar halted where he\nstood, gazing around with self-contained pleasure till Istar, seating\nherself on the great chair that was her throne, motioned him to one of\nthe lower seats. Belshazzar sat in her presence, and a silence fell\nbetween them: a silence that the prince could not have broken had his\nlife been at stake. Istar, looking from her place out through the\ndoor-way into the tower-tipped sky, seeming not to feel in the slightest\nthe great discomfort of her guest, finally said, softly:\n\n\"Belshazzar, from thy heart, tell me, what are thy gods?\"\n\nThe man looked at her in quick amazement. For an instant he was about to\nspeak on impulse. Then he resisted; and when he did make answer the\nreply was conventional. \"Thou, Istar, art my goddess. Babylon is mine\nonly god.\"\n\n\"That last thou hast said well. Yet it, too, is a false god.\"\n\n\"But thou, O Istar, I know--\"\n\n\"I am no goddess, Belti-shar-utsur.\"\n\nThe prince started nervously to his feet. \"You are not mortal?\"\n\n\"No. I think, indeed, that I am not. Yet I am not sure. You came to\nearth a baby, born of woman--is it not so?\"\n\n\"Like all men.\"\n\n\"And I descended from the highest void through space, till I touched\nearth almost upon this spot, a woman as I am now, clothed in my silver\ngarment. It was by the command of god, the great Bel, the One, the True,\nthat I came hither from the upper realms of the great kingdom. I was\nwhat they call archetype. I was decreed to pass through the fire of the\nworld and return not to my home till the hearts of men were bare before\nmy eyes, till I learned the secret of the creation. Yet how these things\nare to be shown to me I do not know. Thy heart, O Belshazzar--what is\nit?\"\n\n\"It is thine, Lady of All.\"\n\n\"Open it to me that I may read.\"\n\nThe pleading simplicity of the tone made Belshazzar look at her sharply,\nand in a new way. Still his eyes failed to pierce the wave of baffling\nlight that flowed about her; and still her purpose was enigmatical to\nhim. She had become more incomprehensible than ever.\n\n\"The hearts of men, Istar, are not always known to themselves. Mine I\ncould not show you.\"\n\nIstar thought for a little while in troubled silence. Then she asked\nonce more, not hopefully: \"Your loves and hates, your joys and sorrows,\nyour hopes and fears--knowing these, could I not understand them and\nyou?\"\n\n\"It may be. I do not know.\"\n\n\"Then let me hear, that I may judge.\"\n\n\"All of them, Istar--love, hate, hope, fear, joy, sorrow--are woven\naround my city, Babylon, the gate of god. My love is for her and my fear\nfor her enemies. As she is the greatest of all cities, so is she the\nmost loved and the most hated. In her lie all my joy and sorrow. In her\ndwell many that I love, some that I hate, one that I fear. But this--\"\n\n\"This will not open to me your secret heart, Belshazzar. It is an\naffectation.\"\n\n\"By the power of the twelve great gods--it is not!\"\n\n\"Then there are two lives in you: this one, and another that is hidden.\"\n\nBelshazzar looked at her again strangely. \"It is true,\" he said, at\nlength, a curious smile curving his lips.\n\n\"It is of this second life that you must tell me.\"\n\n\"I cannot!\" he said, quickly.\n\n\"Wherefore?\"\n\n\"It is too ignoble for your ears.\"\n\n\"Too ignoble? What should be that for me? Nay, prince of the city, my\nearth-life is weary and long, because that I am kept away from life. I\nam set apart, worshipped as one afar off, and true life is not laid\nbefore me. To teach your race the secret of the one god is forbidden. It\nis I that come hither to learn; yet I am given no way of learning. What\nam I? Whither am I to go, that I may learn truth from the hearts of\nmen?\"\n\n\"Hearts, Divine One, may read each other. But no immortal that cannot\nfeel the world may understand them.\"\n\n\"Let me, then, become mortal, O God!\"\n\nThe cry rang out louder than it had been spoken, and seemed to echo\nforth, to vibrate through the room, to flow out and away into the\ndistant sky. The two in the sanctuary listened to it in silence,\nwondering. Then Istar, tremulous, and wavering with light, arose.\n\n\"Leave me, Belshazzar!\" she cried, suddenly. \"Leave me alone here! I\nfear you!\"\n\n\"Fear me?\" He spoke softly, taking the attitude of prayer. \"You are the\ngoddess of Babylon. It is I that fear. I beseech thee, lady, spare me\nthy wrath. As a reed shalt thou bend me. As a twig shall I be broken\nbefore the strength of thy will. Divine One, grant me favor! Lady Belit,\nhave pity upon my mortality!\"\n\nAs he spoke she stood looking at him, shrinkingly, uncertainly, trying\nto fathom the false ring of the conventional phrases. His attitude, his\nexpression, his demeanor, were perfectly sincere; yet, whether he\nhimself were conscious of it or not, the words were not honest. She\nperceived it instantly. After the little pause of thought she repeated,\nfaintly:\n\n\"Depart from me!\" adding, afterwards, \"You mock at me.\"\n\nThe prince drew a quick breath that sounded like a gasp. Then, coming\nforward, he sank to his knees, took the hem of her fiery garment, and\nheld it for a moment to his lips. Its flame did not harm. Rather, it\nsent through his whole being a shock of vitality. Rising hurriedly after\nthe obeisance, he inclined himself again before her and swept away, as\nshe had commanded, leaving her alone in her sanctuary.\n\nIstar remained where he left her, lying back in the chair, one hand\nsupporting her cheek, her thoughts chaotic and troubled as never before.\nFor many months past she had felt, vaguely, that which had just\ndefinitely come home to her. Her time on earth was passing uselessly\naway. She was now no closer to mankind than she had been before her\ndescent. She was treated with such reverent awe as utterly precluded\nanything like familiar intercourse with any one. The very prayers were\naddressed to her in terms as florid and as general as possible. Her\npersonal attendants performed their duties in silent reverence. The\npriesthood treated her with the impenetrable respect that they showed\ntowards the graven images of the gods. And now, for the first time, the\nsignificance of all these things came to her definitely. She perceived\nhow they were baffling her purpose, and the thought caused her deep\ndisquiet. There seemed to be but one way of opening life to her immortal\nvision. It was through the person of Belshazzar, who dared, before her,\nto keep his individuality. This way, however, as she had told him, she\nfeared. What the fear was, when it had come or why, who could tell? Not\nIstar. Now, for so long a time the prince had been part of her\nwearisome, objective existence that, up to to-night, she had been more\ninclined to regard him as something spiritual than as a man. Mentally\nshe reviewed him and his personality, and she found therein much that\nwas beyond her undeveloped powers of appreciation and analysis. His deep\neyes--how was it that they looked on her? She had not seemed to him so\nawe-inspiring a thing as others found her. Why? His continual presence\nbefore her--was it all from a sense of pure religion? Yet, if it were\nnot, what was the motive? Istar did not, could not, know. He did not\npray to her--quite. His attitude was peculiar--distant--reverent--yet at\ntimes there was something other than reverence in his face. What it\nwas--the look that seemed to burn through her veil--Istar could not\ntell. Yet it was that look that had made her fear.\n\nHow long she sat, passive and quiet-browed within her sanctuary,\nthinking of these many things, she did not know. But when finally she\nstraightened, the clouds in the east were pink with the reflected light\nof the setting sun.\n\nThe sky was singularly beautiful to her. It held in its far depths the\nmystery of her birth. She regarded it sometimes with yearning, sometimes\nwith an unfathomable wisdom held in her inmost being. Now the curtain\nhid it from her gaze, and, with an oppressive sadness in her heart, she\ncrossed to the door-way and lifted the curtain-folds, to encounter the\npiercing gaze of a man who stood more than half-way across the sanctuary\nthreshold. Thin, pallid, hook-nosed, bearded, and wretchedly clothed, he\nstood over her radiant person and seemed to peer into her very\nsoul--this child of the West, Beltishazzar the Jew.\n\nIstar gasped and shrank quickly back into the room, without letting go\nher hold on the curtain. Daniel pressed his advantage and intruded\nfarther, till he also was inside. Her face was indistinguishable to him,\nfor the light-waves had quickened protectively round her whole body,\ntill she swam in glory. Seemingly unabashed, the Jew addressed her:\n\n\"Istar of Babylon, grant me an hour wherein I may hold speech with\nyou--here, or without--upon the ziggurat.\"\n\nThere was less of entreaty than of command in the tone; and Istar,\nunduly affected by the fanatical appearance of the man, put his presence\non a level with her own personality, and, replying to his speech in\nHebrew, his language, said:\n\n\"Then enter here, O Daniel, and I will listen to you.\"\n\n\"You know me!\" he said, quickly.\n\n\"I know men's names.\"\n\n\"And their hearts?\"\n\n\"Their hearts! You have said it! Their hearts! Oh, thou man of\nJerusalem, canst thou give me knowledge as to them?\"\n\nHe looked at her closely, as if to make sure of her meaning. Then,\ntaking courage, he replied: \"Men's hearts! Who, in truth, but Yaveh, the\none God, shall know them?\"\n\nIstar made no answer to the question, but once more motioned the Jew to\nenter the faintly lighted room. This he did without hesitation.\nThereupon she covered the door-way with its curtain, turned without any\nsign of haste, and seated herself once more on the high throne, but left\nthe Jew to stand before her. Finally, before the words he had framed\ncould leave his lips, she swayed forward slightly and asked:\n\n\"What have you, the child of Yaveh, to gain from me?\"\n\n\"Much--or nothing.\"\n\n\"It is no answer, Daniel.\"\n\nBeltishazzar bent his head and folded his arms over his breast. So he\nstood for many minutes, silent and motionless, while Istar waited\nserenely for him to speak; and, when he spoke, she was not startled by\nhis words and their blunt directness.\n\n\"Istar of Babylon, what are you--who are you? child of God, or\ninstrument of the devil?--archangel, as some say, or arch-fiend, as many\nthink? What is your mission in Babylon? Whence came you? Whither do you\ngo?\"\n\nIstar smiled. \"Neither angel nor fiend am I, Beltishazzar, but archetype\nof God's creation. I came from space. Into it, in time, I shall return\nagain. My mission I have told you. I come to learn the hearts of men,\ntheir relationship to God.\"\n\nAs she ceased to speak she found Beltishazzar's eyes fixed upon her in a\nlook so penetrating that it seemed impossible it should not pierce her\nveil. Presently, in the silence that followed, the Jew began to pace up\nand down the little room. He walked nervously. His brows were knitted,\nhis shoulders drawn up, his head sunk between them in an abstraction\nthat Istar never thought of disturbing. When, at length, he looked up at\nher again, she found in him a new enthusiasm, a spirituality, an\nexaltation even, that gleamed like fire from his sunken eyes and\nincreased his unhealthy pallor till his skin was like that of a dead\nman.\n\n\"Istar,\" he began, in a voice low and tremulous with incipient\npassion--\"Istar, you have said it was from God that you came hither from\nspace--you, a heavenly being, an archangel. God despatched you to earth\nfor an unknown purpose, a purpose that, in its fulness, hath not been\nconfided to you, but is revealed unto me, the prophet of Nebuchadrezzar,\nthe great king. Listen, and thou shalt feel the response of truth throb\nwithin thee at my words.\n\n\"Forty-and-seven years ago the holy city of Judah fell before the\nonslaught of the Babylonian king. Zedekiah and his race were taken\ncaptive by the hands of the wicked, and were carried away into exile to\nthe city abhorred of God--Babylon, the queen of evil. Since then, in\nsickness and sorrow, in captivity and death, our people have dwelt here,\na piteous hunger for the promised land gnawing at their hearts, while\nBabylon waxed great and strong in her wickedness off the fat of many\ncaptive lands and peoples. Long have we been without hope of salvation.\nBut now Nebuchadrezzar, the fierce ruler, is dead many years since. In\nhis kingdom are sown the seeds of dissension and strife, and, in the\nweakness of her strength, she shall reap bitter fruit. For Babylon, even\nas Nineveh before her, must fall. At the hands of her captives shall the\ngreat city suffer destruction and death. Again in their strength the\nJews shall rise up and smite the tyrant down. And now, O Istar, hear\nthou the word of the Lord! In this great retribution it is thou that\nshalt lead us, the chosen ones; thou that shalt win glory and honor\namong us; thou that, as Moses from Egypt, shalt lead us out of Babylonia\nthrough the wilderness, back to the land of our fathers!\"\n\nHe paused for an instant in the midst of his delight, to note the effect\nof his words on the woman--or angel. She sat before him radiant,\nwavering with light, motionless, unmoved, inscrutable, showing no desire\nto interrupt the flow of his words; rather, in her silence, urging him\nto greater heights. So he continued:\n\n\"For forty-and-seven years have we, the captives, dwelt in the land of\nbondage; and in that time, even with the hand of God heavy upon us, have\nacquired honor and riches in the country of our woe. Is it not a sign\nthat God is with us--that he holds sacred that spot in which we dwell?\nThou also art from Him! The end of our trial approaches! By night I hear\nthe voice of the Lord crying from the high places that thou art here as\na sign of His protection. And I and thou are destined to lead the\nchildren of Jerusalem out of bondage. Mine is the hand that will strike\ndown the weak and faltering king of Babylon--Nabu-Nahid, the foolish\none. At our hands priest and noble, citizen and soldier, yea, mother and\ninfant of this unholy people, shall be made to drink of their own blood.\nAnd for thee, O Istar, shall be reserved the triumph, the deed of danger\nand of glory! For by thy hand, in stealth, when he shall come to worship\nidolatrously at thy shrine, shalt thou strike to earth the monster\ntyrant of the city, Nabu-Nahid's son, the child of sin, Belshazzar! Now\nbehold--\"\n\n\"Thou infamous one!\"\n\nDaniel's rush of words suddenly ceased. He paused long enough, fully\nenough, this time, to perceive and to understand the situation. Istar,\ntrembling with anger and disgust, had risen from her place and towered\nabove him like an archangel indeed. Through the blaze of light her two\neyes glowed like burning coals upon the insignificant creature cowering\nbelow her. Beyond her exclamation, Istar found no words to say. The two\nconfronted each other in palpitating stillness, and as they stood,\nDaniel, inch by inch, began to regain his stature, and gradually to move\naway, backward, towards the door. When finally he had his shoulders\nagainst the leathern curtain, and knew his ability to effect a quick\nescape should it become necessary, he delivered himself of a final\noracle:\n\n\"Thou thing of evil, the Lord hath stripped from mine eyes the veil! I\nbehold thee nourishing the serpent in thy bosom. Thy master, Satan,\nstands at thy right shoulder. Upon the other hand is Belshazzar, thy\nparamour. But I say unto you that the streets of Babylon shall run with\nthe tyrant's blood. There shall come a night when Babylon shall burst\ninto flames; when Nabonidus will be no more; when Belshazzar's life\nshall be taken by the hands of his own people; when thou, in mortal\nterror, shalt flee the city of thy wickedness; when the Jew shall\ntriumph over Bel, and the God of Judea lift up his sword in the heavens!\nThus, in mine ear, sounds the mighty voice of the Lord!\"\n\nThen, with one baleful gesture, and a fiery glance of hatred from his\nbright, black eyes, Daniel flung back the curtain of the sanctuary and\nslunk away, with his usual gait, out into the twilight and down the\nwinding plane of the ziggurat.\n\nFor many minutes Istar remained as she had stood while listening to the\nlast words of the leader of the captive race. Her limbs trembled. Her\neyes were dim. When presently she felt the cool breath of the evening\nenvelop her, her senses swam. In the midst of it all, in the midst of\nthat terrible vision that the Jew had conjured up before her, there was\none thing that stood out before all else, till the rest had lost all\nsignificance. Kill Belshazzar! _She_ kill Belshazzar! Over and over she\nrepeated it to herself, unable to understand why the horror of the mere\nthought should be so great.\n\nThe swinging-lamp in the sanctuary mingled its dim, steady light with\nthat of the rosy evening. From far below, over the Great City, came the\nfaint hum of weary millions that had ceased from toil--a drowsy, restful\nmurmur, suggestive of approaching sleep. The sound came gratefully to\nIstar's ears. Here were no battle-cries, no shouts of attack, no wails\nof the dying. Beltishazzar surely lied. Nay, over her senses began to\nsteal a sensation of subtle delight, of exquisite content, of freedom\nfrom earth-weariness. The hum of the city was gradually replaced by a\nlong-drawn celestial chord, spun out and out with fainter, increasing\nvibrations, till it died away in the glow of unearthly light that was\ngradually suffusing the room.\n\nIstar gave one low cry of love and relief, and, moving from her strained\nposition, lay down upon the soft couch in an attitude of expectancy and\nhappiness. Minute by minute the glow increased in brilliance till the\nlittle shrine palpitated with the fires of a midsummer sunset. Vapors of\ngold, in hot, whirling eddies, floated from ceiling to floor. The\nobjects in the room became indistinguishable, and the light was such as\nmust have struck mortal eyes blind. Gradually, in the meeting-point of\nthe radiating light-streams, there became visible a darkly opaque shape\nupon which Istar fixed her eyes. It became more and more definable.\nSuddenly, from the head, there flashed forth five points of diamond\nlight; and at the same instant Allaraine, star-crowned, emerged in\nmortal semblance from the melting glory. The moon-daughter rose from her\ncouch, and silently the two greeted each other, looking eye into eye\nwith all the companionship of divinity. While they stood thus, Allaraine\ntouched his lyre, and the chords of the night-song of stillness and\npeace spread through the room and out into the darkness beyond. To\nmortal senses it was the essence of the summer day, with its fragrance\nand its passion, hanging still, by early night, over the land and the\ndrowsy city. But to immortal ears it was as the voice of God. Istar\ndrank it in as a thirsty field receives the rivulets of irrigation. And,\nlittle by little, as the spell was woven to its close, the star-crowned\none drew her towards the throne, on which he caused her to sit, himself\nfloating at a little distance.\n\n\"Allaraine! Allaraine! You bring again the breath of space, my home!\"\n\n\"Yea, Istar!\"\n\n\"And a half-mortal sadness looks upon me from your incarnate eyes.\"\n\n\"Beloved of the skies, I am troubled--troubled for you. It is as a\nmessenger knowing little that I come to you from the great throne.\"\n\n\"What message? What message?\"\n\n\"This: 'As immortal men are yet mortal, so shalt thou be. And by means\nof pain, of sin, of death, and of love, shalt thou in the end know\nmankind through thyself; and for thee will there be freedom of choice.'\"\n\nMeasuredly, clearly, but unintelligently, Allaraine pronounced the words\nthat were to him a mystery; and Istar listened, wondering, a dim\nforeboding at her heart. After a long pause she spoke mechanically the\ntwo words:\n\n\"_Mortal! I!_\"\n\n\"Mortal. Thou. Istar, the heavens mourn!\"\n\n\"And why, Allaraine?\"\n\n\"To see thee in pain, in sin, in death--\"\n\nIstar raised her hand. \"Have peace! These are in the world, but they are\nnot all. There is something besides, that I have seen, yet that neither\nI, nor thou, nor any of our kind can understand. Sweeter than all the\nrest are hard, higher than sin is low, more joyful than death is sad,\nlove reigns over men. Love is from the central fire of God, as we are\nbut its outer rays. Love walks through all the earth, passing to and fro\namong men, making them to forswear sin, to forget suffering, to overcome\ndeath. Those that love are happy in spite of all things. This much have\nI learned on earth. And if mortality is decreed for me, I shall find\nlove with the rest. Fear not for me, for willingly I bow down in\nacceptance of suffering, of pain, of wandering in the maze of ignorance,\nfor the sake of this thing that men know and that I cannot understand.\"\n\n\"And thou wilt gladly forget us?\"\n\n\"Nay, Allaraine. In the long nights and troubled days, thou, as ever,\nwilt bring me comfort.\"\n\n\"Ah, Istar--that may not be.\"\n\n\"May not? I shall lose the music--the communion--\"\n\n\"All things divine will be lost. You enter into the wilderness of the\nworld.\"\n\nIstar bent her head and was silent. She who had seemed to understand so\nmuch, realized nothing. At last, lifting her head heavily, she asked:\n\"When does it come, this farewell to--my home?\"\n\n\"Not until you, of your own will, renounce divinity.\"\n\n\"Not till I seek it? Nay, this very night I asked it of the Almighty.\"\n\n\"Yea, and the cry was heard. Mortality shall be yours whenever of your\nown free will you renounce us all for that which mortality will give.\"\n\n\"Ah, then--then, immortal one--I shall remain the Narahmouna.\"[7]\n\nAllaraine shook his head thoughtfully and said: \"Of that I do not know.\nI have brought the message. Sleep, celestial woman. I go.\"\n\nObediently Istar lay down upon her couch, and the white eyelids closed\nover the unfathomable eyes. Allaraine, standing over her, looking down\nupon her mortal form with infinite pity, infinite ignorance, lifted up\nhis lyre once more, and, by the magic of his power, Istar's spirit\nquickly fled to the land of dreams. There Allaraine left her to await\nthe dawn of the new day, with its monotonous, wearying duties, and its\nweight of dim, indefinable foreboding, that as yet was all of the\nearth-life of Narahmouna the divine.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nA BABYLONISH HOUSEHOLD\n\n\nBabylon, the largest, richest, and most powerful city in the world, and\nof Oriental cities probably the most beautiful, presented, to the\ndiscerning eye, not a few glaring incongruities. Though its population\nhad always been large, and was at the present time greater than ever\nbefore or after, the actual area of the city was, nevertheless, much too\ngreat for the number of people that dwelt in it. There have been\nkingdoms of fewer acres than those over which the monster city spread.\nBetween the two walls, Imgur and Nimitti-Bel, were grain-fields of\nsufficient extent to supply the entire population with sesame, barley,\nand wheat in the event of a prolonged siege. This part of Babylon,\ntherefore, called city by courtesy, was really more in the nature of\nfarm-lands than anything else. While within the inner wall, indeed\nalmost in the heart of the city, were many bare and unsightly acres,\nused for nothing better than dumping-grounds, or for encampments of the\ntroops of dogs that wandered freely through the streets as scavengers.\nIn some quarters, however, and especially along the banks of the five\ncanals cut from the Euphrates, and winding out towards Borsip on the\nwest and Cutha on the east, every available inch of soil was occupied.\nHouses jutted over the streets and were crowded together, side by side\nand back to back, without any attempt at system: tenement districts such\nas the worst cities of later times never dreamed of. Here the\nthree-story, flat-roofed buildings would be rented out, room by room, to\nas many people as poverty obliged to live in them. And these were\nmyriad. For as Babylon was the wealthiest of cities, so she concealed in\nher depths nests of filthy, swarming life, of suffering and of privation\nsuch as only human beings could see and still tolerate.\n\nOn the edge of one of these districts, between the square of Nis\u00e2n and\nthe square of the gods, on the north bank of the canal of the New Year,\nin two tiny rooms, with a little space also on the roof, lived the widow\nBeltani, her daughters, and their male slave. The slave was Beltani's\nsole inheritance from her husband. He was her luxury, her delight, the\noutlet of her not unfrequent tempers, and one of the three sources of a\nvery limited income. Her daughters were the other two means of\nlivelihood, but to them--though as girls go they were pretty--she was\nindifferent. Beltani herself was not, like so many of the Babylonish\nwomen, in trade. She did the work of the household; cooked--what there\nwas to cook; washed--also what there was to wash; kept the rooms clean,\nas was consistent with tradition; and, hardest of hard tasks, managed\nthe general income so that, in the two years of their unprotected life,\nnone of the four had starved outright, and none of them had gone naked,\nwhile the rent was also paid as regularly as it could not be avoided.\nBesides this, Beltani held the patronage of two of the great gods; and\nby their help, together with frequent incantations, had kept the devils\nof the under-world from inflicting upon her any particularly direful\nmisfortune. Images of the god Sin, of Bel-Marduk, and of the demons of\nHeadache and the West Wind, were the only ornaments of her rooms. Each\nof these, however, had its shrine, and was regularly addressed three\ntimes a day; and it is to be hoped that if any demon had a due sense of\nproportion, he would refrain from inflicting any further ill of life\nupon these poor and pious creatures.\n\nNeither chair nor rug had Beltani. Four pallets, such as they were,\nthree in an inner room, one in a corner of the living-room; a wooden\nmovable table and a brick stationary one; some vessels of clay, two iron\npots, three knives, and a two-pronged fork, together with an iron\nbrazier that was kept upon the roof, and lastly, three or four rough,\nwooden stools, formed the furniture of the house. Nevertheless laughter,\nand that from very pretty throats, was a thing not unheard in this\npoverty-stricken place; and as many human sensations, from joy of life\nto pain of death, had run their course in these rooms as in the\nmagnificent abode of Lord Rib\u00e2ta Bit-Shumukin, just across the canal.\n\nAt sunset on the day of the great sacrifice to Nebo and Nergal, Beltani\nstood in the door-way of her living-room, watching the gory light burn\nover the city, and, fist on hip, shouting gossip to neighbor Noubta of\nthe next tenement.\n\n\"Have you been on the \u00c2-Ibur to-day, Beltani?\" called the Bee, when one\nof their intimates had been pretty well demolished at that distance.\n\n\"No. Few enough holidays are mine to take. From morning to night the\ngirls run about the city, and some one must be at home to manage.\"\n\n\"Ay, there's your slave. What good is he if he can't take the rooms in\ncharge once in a month? We have no slave, and my man's at work on the\nreservoir all day; but I slipped out this morning and went off to see\nthe sights. Such crowds! All the city was out. I've a rent in my fresh\ntunic.\"\n\n\"Well, I couldn't go. One's slave may do much, but he isn't to be\ntrusted with everything. Bazuzu, is the sesame ground?\" This last\nostentatiously; for Noubta was busily pounding her own barley.\n\nBazuzu made some reply from within, and after a moment came out of the\nroom, bowl in hand. Jet-black, high-shouldered, and slightly lame, for\nall that as powerful as an ox was Bazuzu. His appearance was startlingly\nuncouth as he limped out in answer to Beltani's question. But a gentler\nlight never shone from mortal eyes than from his; and a gentler nature\nnever lurked in so ugly a body.\n\nBeltani took the bowl from his hand, and, calling a good-night to her\nneighbor, proceeded leisurely to the stair-way that ran up the outside\nof the building to the roof. It was on the roof that every family in the\ntenement did its cooking, except, indeed, in the rainy season. In all\nthese districts the roof was the one luxury, the one comfortable, light,\nshaded spot, cool and airy in the summer evenings, protected through the\nday by an awning hung each morning and taken down at sunset. Roof-space\nwas portioned off to tenants according to the number of their rooms; and\nup here, for them, life was sometimes really worth the living.\n\nWhile Beltani was up-stairs beginning the preparations for supper,\nBazuzu remained in the door-way, shading his eyes from the light of the\nwest, and looking with some interest out towards the canal. Noubta the\nBee, still pounding barley, looked also, and presently called to him:\n\n\"Baba is coming, there, with the goat, Bazuzu.\"\n\nAnd Baba presently appeared. She walked slowly, with a limp, for her\nfeet were sore and inflamed from contact with the burning pavements.\nBeside her the silky goat, Zor, trotted along with gentle friendliness.\nOver her left shoulder hung a long string of pine-cones, gathered in a\ngrove by the river and brought home for firewood. As she reached the\ndoor-way the slave took these from her and carried them up to Beltani.\nBaba, meantime, entered the house, passed into the second room, where\nshe, her mother, and sister slept, and threw herself wearily down upon\nher bed. She lay here quite still, eyes wide open, one thin, brown fist\nthrown above her head, the other hand on her breast, an expression of\nintense, never-ending weariness upon her peaked little face. Over her,\nlying thus as usual after the long day of wandering, Zor stood, looking\nat her with half-human disturbance. Presently she ran her tongue\nsympathetically over Baba's hand, and then, with a goat-sigh, settled\ndown on the floor beside her, her white, silken coat close to Baba's\ncoarse, cotton garment. It was a peaceful half-hour that they spent\nbefore Bazuzu came to relieve Zor of her burden of milk. Then Baba\nopened her eyes, realizing that it approached supper-time. Rising with\nan effort, she passed into the other room to wash at the big, open jar\nof water standing there. Her head, arms, and hair were just dripping\nrefreshingly, when there came an incursion from without. First arrived\nBeltani, flushed with astonishment and anger; after her followed Ram\u00fba,\nin company with a golden-haired youth bearing a silver lyre. At sight of\nhim Baba gave a spasmodic gurgle of amazement, and then stood wet and\nstaring, while her sister gave an explanation of the coming of\nCharmides.\n\n\"Istar hath bidden it, O my mother,\" she said, pleadingly, while Beltani\nstill glared. \"He is come from over the desert. He is weary, and he is\npoor.\"\n\nThis last explanation was the worst mistake that Ram\u00fba could have made.\n\"Poor!\" burst forth Beltani, angrily. \"_Poor!_ And is it thy thought\nthat our wealth is so great that we must house here another one--we who\nhave not the wherewithal to exist except in misery? Why is the great\ngoddess wroth with us? Wherein have I offended her, that she sends me\nanother mouth to feed? What can he do, this pale-eyed, white-headed\nthing? Who is he that you bring him home with you? What have you done,\nRam\u00fba? How speak you to men that you do not know--men of his class? I\nwill--\"\n\nShe suddenly stopped; for Charmides' \"pale\" eyes were fastened on her\nintently, as if he would have read her words from her expression. And\nindeed, if this was his idea, the success of it was unique. For when the\ngaze that caused Beltani to stop speaking, Baba to shake with cold,\nconfusion, and hysterical laughter, and Ram\u00fba to turn fiery red with\nshame, had lasted as long as Beltani could endure it, Charmides, with\nbusiness-like precision, brought forth his money-bag, drew therefrom a\npiece of silver, and quietly proffered it to the mistress of the house.\n\nBeltani accepted the money without the grace of an instant's hesitation.\nMoreover, she advanced into the light, where she could examine it more\nclosely to make sure that it was good. \"It is not our money. Has it any\nvalue?\" she asked, looking squarely at the Greek.\n\nBaba went white, Ram\u00fba blushed crimson, and only Charmides kept his\ncountenance unchanged. It was to Ram\u00fba that he looked, this time, for\nsome guidance as to Beltani's meaning; and, looking at her, he presently\nforgot to wonder why the old woman still held his leafy coin\nsuspiciously up in the light, after a moment repeating, sharply:\n\n\"Is the money of real silver, I say?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes!\" cried Baba, disrespectfully. \"This very morning I\nchanged one of them for twenty _se_.\"\n\n\"_You_ changed one?\" asked Ram\u00fba, wonderingly. \"How?\"\n\n\"He bought of me a cup of Zor's milk this morning as we stood near the\nsquare of the gods in the \u00c2-Ibur.\"\n\nRam\u00fba laughed merrily. \"Then it was your _se_ that he paid me for bread\nand dates at noon.\"\n\n\"He pays, then?\" queried Beltani.\n\nRam\u00fba had begun her reply when, to the surprise of all three of them,\nCharmides himself, who at last had understood a whole phrase, and thus\ngrasped the situation, came out with a stammering and broken, \"I pay.\"\nAnd forthwith he took from his bag another piece of silver and held it\nout to Beltani, who received it shamelessly, while both girls, indignant\nand helpless, looked on. Fortunately, at this juncture, Bazuzu came\ndown-stairs to say that the sesame boiled, the dates were cooled, and\nthe jar of beer had been set out on the roof.\n\nBaba returned to her neglected toilet; while Beltani, turning to Ram\u00fba\nwith a very agreeable \"Bring the stranger up-stairs,\" departed in haste\nto see that enough had been cooked to include Charmides in the meal, and\nyet leave something for Bazuzu afterwards.\n\nRam\u00fba waited till Baba had retired to the sleeping-room to bind up her\nhair; and then, rather apologetically, indicated to Charmides the\nwater-jar. He proceeded, not without a little qualm of distaste, to\nplunge his head and arms into the same water used ten minutes before by\nBaba. How Ram\u00fba managed Charmides never learned; for, while he shook the\nwater from his hair, and wiped his face and hands with a garment of his\nown taken from his bundle, his companion followed her sister to the\ninner room, from which they presently emerged together, glowing, demure,\nsmooth-haired, and ragged only as to tunics. The three together then\nmounted the brick staircase in the deepening twilight, to find the whole\ntenement on the roof at supper.\n\nBeltani, who had waited impatiently for their appearance, was shouting\nacross to a friend certain pieces of information in a way that terrified\nRam\u00fba. Charmides might again display that unlooked-for comprehension;\nand if he did!--Ram\u00fba flushed in the semi-darkness. But the rhapsode,\nthough he did not understand one word in twenty of those that were\nspoken about him, had already formed a very fair opinion of Ram\u00fba's\nmother; and nothing that she could have said would much have amazed him.\nBut, disagreeable as she was, he felt that more than she might be\nendured for the sake of sitting, at each meal, so close to that\ndelightful bit of humanity, Ram\u00fba. As to Baba, with her big eyes and\npinched face, and the wonderfully beautiful little body concealed by her\nhopelessly insolvent garments, she meant nothing to him now, one way or\nthe other. It was all Ram\u00fba--Ram\u00fba, who, with her pretty, quiet\nhelpfulness, her modesty, and also, in no small measure, her very\napparent satisfaction in his presence, made the impressionable Sicilian\nat home in Babylon.\n\nBefore supper was begun Bazuzu came up to the roof again, bearing\nin his hand a lighted dish-lamp. Chaldean twilights were very short.\nDay and night were too fond to be kept at arm's-length, and almost\nbefore a sunset had time to reach the height of its glory, gray\nshadows, the loving arms of darkness, were encircling the glow, and\npresently--lo!--from the east a string of stars was shining forth, and\nday had fallen to the night's caress.\n\nThe hour of the meal was as a dream to Charmides; a dream so vivid that,\nlong years after, when he approached old age, he found himself able to\nrecall with ease every look, every gesture, every shadow that passed\nbefore his eyes. The taste of boiled sesame and garlic never failed to\nbring back the impression of this meal; and time came to be when the\nmaster-singer, of his own accord, would go forth to purchase the coarse\nfood that should conjure up again before him Beltani's masculine face\nwatching him out of the shadows; Baba's big eyes fixed unwinkingly upon\nhim; the ungainly figure of Bazuzu, standing in the background beside\nZor, the goat; lastly, delight of all delights, Ram\u00fba again beside him,\nat his shoulder, her head turned just a little away, her eyes refusing,\nout of shyness, to meet his, her pure profile all that was to be seen of\nher face, a little of her smooth shoulder just visible through a sudden\nrent in the tunic. And at this point Charmides would cover his eyes with\nhis hands to hold the memory, and laugh a little out of pure joy that it\nhad all been so.\n\nAt the time of its happening, however, one could not have called\nCharmides joyful. He was weary, he was hungry, he was conscious that the\nobject of his journey had been fulfilled, and that, now that all was\ndone, his home was at a measureless distance, and there seemed no\nimmediate prospect of returning to it. Onion-flavored grain, eaten with\nan awkward wooden spoon out of the same dish from which three others\nwere also eating, might be poetic to think of, but was not delightful in\nactuality. To eat with Ram\u00fba--well and good in its way; with Beltani,\nhowever--no! and as for Baba, he regarded her already with displeasure.\nHer eyes were too big and her body too meagre.\n\nThere was not much conversation at supper. The uncertainty as to the\nactual powers of Charmides in the way of understanding the Babylonish\ntongue was dampening to the general spirit. Beltani could only dream of\nthe morrow, when she should have an hour's rest, at any cost, for\nchatter with Noubta; at which time the estate and importance of the\nfair-haired one would be definitely settled. Meantime supper must be got\nover as rapidly as possible. The sesame duly finished, what remained in\nthe dish was handed over to Bazuzu; and bread, dates, and cheese being\nportioned out, the women rose from their stiff postures and took up less\nconstrained positions in various spots on the roof. Ram\u00fba carried her\nfruit over to the edge of the roof and sat there in the starlight, her\nfeet hanging over the unrailed edge, munching comfortably. Charmides\nfinished his second course where he sat at table. Baba had thrown\nherself down by Zor, who was eating a hearty supper of refuse; and\nBeltani went to the other end of the roof to visit a friend. Now the\nGreek, scenting an opportunity, finished his dates, and darted down the\nstair-way, to return after a few minutes' search in the darkness with\nhis lyre. Ram\u00fba did not notice his return, for she had not seen him go.\nBut Baba's little hand tightened on Zor's silken hair, when she felt\nthat he had come back to the roof. Without moving or making any sound,\nwithout even a change in expression, she saw him hesitate for the\nfraction of a second, and then pass quietly over and seat himself at\nRam\u00fba's side.\n\nCharmides was disappointed, perhaps, that the maiden made no sign of\nsatisfaction at his coming. She sat staring up into the high,\nstar-spangled heavens, oblivious, apparently, of everything below them.\nHe also remained silent, looking off towards the dark canal that wound,\nblack and smooth, between the high buildings jutting over it on either\nside. After all, Babylon, the city of which he had dreamed so long, held\nnothing that was strange to him. It had been so long his heart-home that\nhe loved it now. As he thought of all that he had done for the sake of\nbeing within its giant walls, and as he reflected upon the success of\nhis great purpose, he forgot Ram\u00fba beside him. He had not come for her.\nShe was only a part of the city, the city that he had discovered out of\nthe mighty west. How far above him he had thought all Babylon must be!\nYet here it was, at his right hand; and he might touch it where he\nwould, it would welcome him.\n\nPleased with his thoughts, Charmides ran his fingers over the silver\nstrings of his lyre; and, because he was accustomed to express his\nemotions in that way, he lifted up his voice and sang, in a gentle tone,\nsome rippling Grecian verses in a melody so delightful that Ram\u00fba turned\nto marvel, and little Baba laid her head down upon Zor's warm coat in\nrapturous delight.\n\nPresently, however, Charmides stopped short. Beltani, drawn by the sound\nof his voice, returned to her corner of the roof, and in the darkness\nstumbled over Baba's prostrate body. There was a harshly angry\nexclamation, a sharp blow, a stifled cry of distress, and then her\nmother was at Ram\u00fba's side, commanding her down-stairs. The girl obeyed\nwithout protest, and Charmides followed her, distressed and helpless. In\nthe rooms below, a torch and a lamp gave forth a dim and greasy light.\nIn the first room, against the wall, sat Bazuzu, who had just finished\narranging a bed for the stranger. It was but a heap of rags and mats,\ncovered over with a torn rug; and Charmides was soon made to understand\nthat upon this he was expected to pass the night.\n\nThe whole room was utterly uninviting. However, he was tired enough\ngenuinely to welcome the thought of rest, and he looked for the women to\nretreat to their own room at once. He soon discovered, however, that\nthere was no hope of their immediate retirement. Baba, having driven her\ngoat into its corner, where it obediently lay down, went back to the\ndoor-way and stood looking out upon the night. Ram\u00fba was busy making a\nlittle fire on the brick table, out of two pine-cones. Beltani held a\nbit of wood, which she was laboriously shaping with a knife into a crude\nimitation of a human figure. Charmides watched her with no little\ncuriosity. Her whittling finished, she carefully gathered up all the\nshavings and threw them into the fire. Then, with a word, she summoned\nBaba and Bazuzu to her side, and, with an imperious gesture, brought the\nGreek also into the circle around the little fire. Very solemnly she\nplaced in the centre of the flame the wooden image that she had carved;\nand, while the fire caught it up, the four Babylonians lifted their\nvoices dolefully, in the old Accadian incantation against demons:\n\n\"O witch, whosoever thou art, whose heart conceiveth my misfortune,\nwhose tongue uttereth spells against me, whose lips poison me, and in\nwhose footsteps death standeth, I ban thy mouth, I ban thy tongue, I ban\nthy glittering eyes, I ban thy swift feet, I ban thy toiling knees, I\nban thy laden hands, I ban thy hands behind. And may the moon-god, our\ngod, destroy thy body; and may he cast thee abroad into the lake of\nwater and of fire. Aman\u00fb.\"\n\nThis prayer, of which Charmides understood not a word, but the import of\nwhich he pretty clearly guessed, was the regular conclusion of the day.\nNo Babylonian of the lower class could have passed the night in peace\nhaving omitted this exorcism. When it was over Bazuzu filled a dish with\nthe ashes and carried it outside the door, setting it just over the\nthreshold, where no thing of evil could enter the house without passing\nit. This done, Beltani, with a gesture of good-night to the stranger,\nretreated into her bedroom, with Baba on the one side of her and Ram\u00fba\non the other.\n\nNow at last Charmides was free to rest. Bazuzu, of course, was in the\nroom; but he, having extinguished the lamp, and making signs that when\nCharmides was ready to sleep he should put out the torch, laid himself\ndown upon his pallet, and, turning his face to the wall, fell soundly\nasleep. Charmides did not follow immediately. In the flickering light he\nknelt down and prayed to his lord, Apollo of the Silver Bow, rendering\nthanks for the safe accomplishment of his journey, and acknowledging the\ngod-head of Istar, whom, in his heart, he regarded as Artemis incarnate.\n\nHis devotions over, he rose, extinguished the torch, and felt his way to\nthe bed. He sank upon it with a sensation of delight. His weary limbs\nrelaxed, and for a moment his head swam with the relief of the reclining\nposition. Nevertheless, it was some time before he slept. Through the\nopen door-way the cool, sweet breath of the summer night stole in upon\nhim. In the square, black patch of sky visible where he lay came two or\nthree stars: the same stars that had looked on him in Sicily. A sudden\nspasm of longing and of fear--fear of his strangeness, his helplessness\nin this vast city, came over him then. From out of the night he heard\nhis mother's voice calling him from the shore of the sea; and he\nanswered her with a moan. For a little time her form stood out before\nhis eyes, clear and luminous against the black background. Then,\ngradually, the blinding rays of Istar's aureole replaced her, and Istar\nherself was before him, in all her surpassing beauty. After a time she\nflashed out of his sight, but not before the thought had come to him,\nunsummoned, that he had not yet finished with Istar of Babylon in her\ncity; that she, the great, the unapproachable goddess, would need him at\nsome future time to succor her. He smiled at the idea, thinking it a\ndream. And with the thought of dreams he entered the land of them, nor\ncame forth again till morning dawned.\n\nThe night wore along, and there came to be but one sleeper in the room.\nBlack Bazuzu was awake, sitting--no, standing up. He moved noiselessly\nto the door-way, and picked up there one of the baskets of his own\nmaking. With this he crossed the threshold of the door, stepping\ncarefully over the witch's plate, and presently disappeared into the\nblackness beyond. An hour later he came quietly in again, put his basket\ninto its place, and stopped to listen carefully to the sound of his\ncompanion's breathing. It had not changed. With a satisfied nod the\nslave returned to his couch, laid him gladly down, and slept.\n\nSunlight streaming over his face, the sound of a quick exclamation, and\na little ripple of laughter, brought the Greek to his senses next\nmorning. Ram\u00fba, bright-eyed and smiling, sat in the door-way, a heap of\nfresh and dewy flowers in her lap, a basket-tray beside her. She was\nfastening up little bouquets of roses, lilies, heliotrope, nasturtiums,\niris, narcissi, and the beautiful lotus. Baba, as usual, was playing\nwith Zor, who had just made another rent in her much-tattered garments;\nand Bazuzu lay upon his pallet, still asleep. Presumably Beltani was on\nthe roof. Charmides hoped so. He had already come to prefer her at a\ndistance. But at present the rather unusual arrangements of this\nhousehold puzzled him; and he could not tell, from precedent, where any\nof its members would ordinarily be at this hour.\n\nCharmides rose, not a little embarrassed at having been asleep in the\npresence of Ram\u00fba and her sister. He became in time accustomed to the\nvery free manners current among Babylonians of the lower class; but at\npresent he was mightily relieved when Ram\u00fba, with a tact hardly to be\nhoped for, jumped up from her place, and, calling to Baba to follow her,\ndeparted towards the roof with her fragrant burden. Charmides at once\nbegan his toilet, which he happily finished without interruption. Then,\nleaving Bazuzu still asleep, he sought his hosts in the upper air.\nBreakfast was ready, and it proved to be a gala meal. There was\nmeat--goat's flesh from the yesterday's sacrifice. For on days that\nfollowed great religious festivals the flesh from the sacrificial\nhecatombs was sold at a minimum price to the poor, so that the greater\npart of Babylon had meat to eat. Besides this, there were milk and\nbread; and Charmides, in a sunny mood, felt that the king himself could\nhave desired nothing more.\n\nThe meal was quickly over, and, a few minutes afterwards, Charmides\ncould scarcely have told how, he found himself walking, lyre in hand, at\nRam\u00fba's side, along the bank of the canal, on the way to the temple of\nIstar. On her head Ram\u00fba carried her basket of fresh flowers. The Greek\nwatched her closely and with delight as she moved, lithe, straight, and\ngraceful as a young tiger, her bare feet making delicate marks in the\ndust of the way, her hair, to-day unbound, swinging behind her in long,\nsilken masses. And Charmides' beauty-loving eyes brought joy to his soul\nas he regarded her. Yet his walk was not wholly a light-hearted one. His\nmind was troubled with thinking, as other men thought, as he had not\nthought before, of a means of livelihood. Here he was, thrown utterly on\nhis own resources. If he would live he must work--must gain enough to\nkeep him, however simply, when his father's money was used up. This\nconviction was not an easy one to face. There was but one thing that he\nknew how to do well, and at all times liked to do, and that thing held\nforth small promise of earning him money. His poor lyre! In any province\nof Greece, or Lydia, there had been small cause for worry. Rhapsodists\nwere of a class apart, and were reverenced by an art-loving people as on\nan equality with their priests. Zeus might be the greatest Olympian; but\nApollo had a shrine in every heart. Babylonia, however, was not Greece;\nand what the Babylonian fancy for music might be, Charmides did not\nknow. Thus when the long walk was ended, and Ram\u00fba had taken her place\non the platform steps below the temple of Istar, she looked up into his\nface to find the usually bright countenance as solemn as that of an\nibis. Nor could any word or look of hers bring more than the shadow of a\nsmile to his lips.\n\nCharmides stood beside her for a few moments, looking across the thinly\npeopled square. Then his shoulders straightened. He gave a little\noutward manifestation of his mental state, looked at Ram\u00fba with a\nfarewell smile, and left her, walking swiftly away towards the\n\u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb.\n\nRam\u00fba, confounded, cried after him impulsively: \"You will return! You\nwill return to me at noon?\"\n\nCharmides looked round, nodding reassuringly, but whether in response to\nher words or merely in answer to her voice, the maiden could not tell.\nShe sat quite still where he had left her, her head drooping a little,\nutterly forgetful of her business, paying not the least attention to\npossible buyers. The sun poured its bright, scorching heat down upon the\ngray bricks. Water-sellers were to be heard crying their ever-welcome\nrefreshment. Chariots, carts, and litters passed through the square. The\ncity's voice rose murmurously through the heat, and one by one the usual\nbeggars and venders made their appearance on the platform steps.\n\nThrough the hours Ram\u00fba sat spiritless, watching those that passed up\nthe temple steps, selling her flowers unsmilingly, half unwillingly, to\nthose that offered to buy. At early noon she felt a first qualm of\nhunger, and looked up to find the sun at its zenith. With a start she\ncame to herself. It was past her usual luncheon hour. All around her\nlittle meals of bread, sesame, and dates were being brought forth by the\nhabitu\u00e9s of the steps. The cripple on Ram\u00fba's left hand, thinking\nperhaps that she must go hungry to-day, proffered her half of his loaf\nwith a compassionate, misshapen grin. Ram\u00fba refused him with a forced\nsmile, and, heavy-hearted, took out her food and showed it to him. There\nwas enough for two in her package to-day; and she regarded it unhappily,\nstill hesitating to eat, while the hope that Charmides might return died\nwithin her. Once again she looked over the deserted square, and then,\nresolutely turning her face to the temple, took one dry mouthful of\nbread. Charmides was gone for evermore. She should not see him again.\nAnother bite: Charmides had been killed. A third: his body was floating,\nface downward, in the black, hurrying waters of the cruel Euphrates. A\nfourth, a fifth, a sixth, and there appeared a tear, that rolled\nuncontrollably down her pretty nose. She put her bread away--when before\nhad she not been hungry at noon?--and then sat with her head bent,\ntrying to conceal her grief from the sympathetic beggar.\n\nPresently some one came up the steps and sat down close beside her. She\nfelt the presence, but did not look round. Suddenly a big, ripe melon\nwas placed before her, by a hand too white for Babylon. Ram\u00fba started\nup, with a spasmodic breath, and her face glowed like the sun after a\nsummer storm. Charmides, the morning trouble all gone from his face, was\nat her side. In one hand he held a number of ripe figs. The other had\nborne the melon. Ram\u00fba retired at once within herself, too shy to do\nmore than smile faintly and then try to hide her face, with its\nunconcealable joy. But such a welcome pleased the Greek more than\nanything else; for, as he was beginning to realize, his instincts\nregarding woman nature were quite unexpectedly reliable.\n\nLuncheon was now eaten in earnest; and the cripple could not but be\namazed at the change in Ram\u00fba's appetite. With a little laugh she broke\nthe melon on the steps, and proffered a large piece of it, together with\nhis bread and dates, to the Greek. She herself ate slowly but willingly,\nanswering the looks of the rhapsode, and even talking to him in the\ntongue that he could not understand.\n\nThere came a time, however, after the last fig was gone and the cup of\nwater had been bought and drunk, when embarrassment fell between the\ntwo. Ram\u00fba feared, dreaded, and then half hoped that Charmides would\nrise and go away again, this time to stay. She felt that she could make\nno effort to keep him at her side. She would have given half her life to\nbe able to treat him with natural gayety; and yet, had she been able to\ndo so, the essence of delight in all this would be gone. Charmides\nhimself was suffering from the inability to talk to her. But after an\nunbearable period of awkward silence he strove to solve their\ndifficulty. Leaning over from where he sat, and touching the girl's\ntunic, he said to her, by means of signs and looks, and a word or two:\n\n\"What is the name of this?\"\n\nRam\u00fba smiled with delight. \"_Kadesh_\" she replied; and in this way\nCharmides' course of study was begun. The first lesson lasted for an\nhour, and at the end of it the Greek knew not a few words that promised\nto stick in his memory. When he felt that he could retain no more, he\nstopped her, and sat conning his lesson on the steps in the sunshine,\nwhile she, tardily recalled to duty, took her flower-basket and went\nforth into the square to proffer her somewhat drooping bouquets to the\npassers-by. By the time she returned to her companion the sun was midway\ndown the heavens, and Charmides, lyre in hand, stood, evidently waiting\nfor her. By means of signs he made her understand that he must leave her\ntill after sunset, when he would return again to the square to go home\nwith her.\n\nRam\u00fba did not ask his destination. Very probably he could not have made\nher understand it had she done so. She watched him pass down a narrow\nstreet that led to the southwest, out of the square of Istar, in the\ndirection of the temple of Sin. It was to the holy house of the moon-god\nthat Charmides went; for his single morning in Babylon had found him a\nmeans of livelihood.\n\nThough he himself was unaware of the exact position that he held, he was\nattached to the temple as an oracle. That morning, as he had hummed\nhimself through the square of Sin, one of the Zicar\u00fb, or monks in\nservice at the temple, had chanced to hear his voice, and, perceiving\nthat the singer was of foreign race, and being himself a highly educated\nman, as were all of his order, addressed the fair-haired one in the\nwesternmost language that he knew--Phoenician. Charmides had come near to\nfalling at his feet and worshipping in the delight of finding some one\nto speak to. But the Zicar\u00ee led him gravely into one of the inner rooms\nof the temple and there asked him sing and speak and play upon his\ninstrument, and after a time made him an offer to join the temple\nservice, unordered as he was, and to do exactly what he was told for\nabout three hours in the day. The pay was high, and to Charmides it\nseemed that a miracle of fortune had befallen him. Such being the case,\nit was, perhaps, just as well that he did not understand the full\nsignificance of his duties. For an hour in the morning he was to stand\ninside of the heroic statue of the god, and to speak through the\nhalf-open mouth words whispered in his ear by an attendant priest. He\nwas not told that his peculiar pronunciation of the Babylonian syllables\nand the melodious softness of his voice were invaluable adjuncts to the\noracle of Sin; and that, furthermore, the fact that he understood not a\nword of what he said made him more desirable for the place than any\nmember of the under-priesthood would have been. Besides this curious\nwork, he was supposed to assist at sacrifices by playing on the flute or\nlyre; and by means of these light duties his livelihood became an\nassured thing, and his place in Babylon was secure. He asked no\nquestions, either of himself or of the priest, his master. He accepted\neverything with childlike faith; and, verily, it seemed that, brush as\nhe would against the world, the bloom of his pristine innocence would\nnever be rubbed from Charmides' unstained soul.\n\nSo, having found a home and an occupation, within forty-eight hours\nafter his arrival in the Great City, Charmides' life in Babylon began.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nBELSHAZZAR\n\n\nCharmides found no loneliness in his Babylonish life. In an unaccountable\nway he felt it to be the home of his spirit. The dirty, narrow,\nbarely furnished rooms of the tenement of Ut; the vast temple of\nSin, where he performed the light tasks that gave him his livelihood;\nthe platform of the temple of the goddess, where, with Ram\u00fba close at\nhand, the hours were wont to fly on rosy wings; the long streets, the\nmyriads of people, the hum of the city, the curious, solemn, ceremonious\nbearing of its inhabitants, all these welded themselves into such a life\nthat sometimes, in dead of night, he cried out in the fear that it was\nall a dream: a dream from which he could only pray not to wake.\n\nIn the second week there happened something that gave him a great thrill\nof exalted pride. It was eight days after his arrival; in fact, the noon\nafter the third Sabbat\u00fb of the month of Duzu (June). He was sitting with\nRam\u00fba on the steps of the temple of Istar, munching dates and struggling\nwith new phrases in the apparently hopeless Chaldean tongue, when a\nveiled hierodule came out of the temple and down the platform stairs\nwith the request that Charmides follow her to the presence of Belit\nIstar, who longed for the sound of his voice.\n\nThe Greek felt a quiver, half of fear, half of delight; and, rising at\nonce, and leaving Ram\u00fba and his meal behind, followed the attendant, not\ninto the temple, but behind it, towards the entrance court of Istar's\ndwelling. Here, upon a heap of rugs, beneath a canopy of Egyptian\nembroidery, the goddess reclined. Charmides, however, did not see her\ntill after he had encountered the gaze of one who stood just inside the\narch of the door in the wall. This was he who had followed Istar in his\nchariot home from the procession of the gods, he at whose remarkable\nappearance Charmides had so marvelled: Belshazzar, the king's son. Still\nwas he godlike, imperial enough to look upon; but the Greek forgot his\npresence while Istar was again before him. When his gaze fell on her he\nstarted slightly, turned his eyes away for an instant, and looked again.\nYes--it was true. Through the shimmering veil her form was clearly\nvisible. She was not now only a cloud of dazzling, palpitating light.\nImmortal still, and radiant she was, but--Charmides let his thoughts\nbreak off quickly. Istar was commanding him, in Greek, to play to her.\nHe lifted his lyre at once, and, under the spell of music, he forgot\nhimself, half forgot her before whom he played, in contemplation of the\nideal created by the harmonies. When, after half an hour, he was stopped\nand dismissed, he left the divine presence in a state of exaltation.\nBelshazzar was but a blur beside the door-way, and Ram\u00fba, when he\nreturned to her, seemed a trifle less beautiful than usual.\n\nAfter this, every day, Charmides gave half of his noon hour to this new\nform of worship. It was Ram\u00fba's pride as well as his. She never grudged\nthe time; and, on his return to her side, never failed to ask of his\nsuccess, nor to beam with delight when he confessed it. At each of these\nvisits Charmides realized that Belshazzar was present; but the fact made\nlittle impression on him. He saw her whom he worshipped quicken to new\nlife, to new radiance, at sound of his voice and the chords of his lyre;\nand, when he left the court, the storm in the eyes of the king's son\nwent unnoticed. Yet the storm was there, daily increasing in fury; and\nthere came a time when it passed control and burst forth in the very\npresence of her whom both men worshipped.\n\nIt was noon on the seventh of Ab\u00fb (July), a day on which Babylon lay\nquivering under a fiercer sun than before. The city was exhausted with\nthe recent end of the annual three-day feast of Tammuz; and Charmides\nhimself was weary and a little faint when he entered Istar's presence.\nBelshazzar, with what seemed a scarce pardonable liberty, had thrown\nhimself face downward on a rug near the portal of the court. At the\nfirst note of Charmides' song a slight twitching of the muscles in the\nprince's back betrayed his hearing of the song. But as the voice went\non, as Charmides, even in his weariness, sang with a depth of feeling\nthat he had never before exhibited, the other man lifted his head to\nlook at Istar. Under the spell of the music that was a divine gift, she\nwas becoming more and more the old-time unapproachable goddess. The rays\nof the aureole, which, half an hour before, had vibrated so slowly as\nscarcely to disturb the eye, were quickened to a new life. Blinding\nstreams of light poured about her now. And Istar herself was quivering\nwith a strength, with a delight, that was apart from earthly things.\nCharmides' voice showed its power, its beauty, its clear heights, its\nmellow depths, as never before. He had begun with a most delicate\npianissimo, in tones of exquisite restraint and purity, the old myth of\nAlpheus and Arethuse--a thing that he had sung a hundred times before,\nyet never as now. The tones blended with the rippling harmonies of his\nlyre in a stream as pure and limpid as the current of the sacred river.\nThe Greek syllables, music in themselves, fitted so perfectly to the\nmelody, that Allaraine himself, afar off, listened with surprise and\npleasure. Belshazzar alone, perceiving how Istar's divinity increased\nwith each sweep of the instrument, trembled with anger. The song rose\ntowards its climax. Istar had become oblivious to everything but the\nsound of that voice. Charmides, inspired, had lost himself in the heaven\nof his own making. Suddenly, from beside him, came a hoarse, choked cry,\nthe sound of hurried running, and the lyre was struck furiously from his\nhands down to the brick pavement.\n\n\"~H\u00f4s eip\u00f4n Alpheus men~...!\" The song stopped. Panting with broken\nemotion, Charmides faced about. His face was pale and his lips drawn\nwith displeasure--with something more than that. Before him, shaking\nwith jealous wrath, towered Belshazzar, his hand uplifted, his eyes\nflaming.\n\nThere was silence. Charmides waited immovably for the blow to fall. But\nBelshazzar did not strike him. Istar lay back, trembling. Under the\ninfluence of these human and gross emotions, the vibrations of light\naround her diminished so rapidly that one could see them melt away; and\nsoon she was left almost without divine protection--a woman, in woman's\ngarb. Finally, however, with no trace of weakness in her manner, she\nrose, confronting the two men. For a moment her gaze travelled from one\nto the other. Then, passing to Charmides, she halted by his side,\ntouched his shoulder lightly with her hand, and pointed to the door-way.\n\n\"Go, thou disciple of Apollo. Fear not. I will send to thee a lyre that\nis not dishonored. To-morrow come to me again--as always.\"\n\nThen, while the Greek still quivered with the thrill of her touch, she\nwalked with him, two or three steps, towards the open arch.\n\nIn the mean time Belshazzar, broken now, waited before her place. When\nthe light trailing of her garments passed near his feet again, he\nsuddenly lifted his head and looked at her. They were face to face, and\ntheir eyes met. Istar's glance shone clear and baffling upon the man,\nyet before it Belshazzar would not lower his. He was making an almost\ninhuman effort, mental and physical, to overcome the perfect poise that\nproclaimed her more than human. But Belshazzar could not cope with a\nthing divine. His strength, to the last drop, was gone. She was superior\nto him. He knew it. Goddess she was--must be! He must acknowledge\nit--must submit. Slowly he lifted his arms and crossed them on his\nbreast. Slowly his dark head was lowered. With bitter humiliation he\ngave the signal of defeat. Istar moved slightly.\n\n\"Give me the broken lyre,\" she said, softly.\n\nBelshazzar sought it where it lay, bright and shattered on the pavement.\nHe proffered it to her humbly, and saw her, receiving it, touch it to\nher breast. He shut his eyes that he might not see the hated thing made\nwhole; but, looking up again, he saw the instrument still splintered,\nstill unstrung. She had not, then, performed the miracle.\n\nHe had but a moment more with her. Presently she raised her hand, and,\nwith the slightest of gestures, dismissed him from her presence.\nBelshazzar could not disobey the command. Blindly, weakly, without a\nglance behind, he moved towards the portal. Thus he did not see the\ngoddess, as he left the court, suddenly reel, and an instant afterwards\nfall back upon the pile of rugs, covering her face with her hands, and\nexhibiting every sign of human distress. On the contrary, humiliated,\nhopeless, and disturbed by the temerity of his thoughts, yet as\nrebellious as before, the prince of Babylon crossed the platform and\ndescended the steps where Charmides sat with Ram\u00fba. The prince scarcely\nsaw the Greek as he passed him; and Charmides only lifted his eyes in\ntime to behold Belshazzar's back, and to watch him cross the square to\nthe spot where his chariot waited. The driver, at his master's approach,\nleaped to his place, drawing up the heads of the powerful black animals.\nThe prince entered the vehicle. Nebo-Ail\u00fb gave a quavering cry. The\nhorses plunged forward, and the shining chariot clattered after them\ndown the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb.\n\n\"To the house of Amraphel,\" said Belshazzar; and Nebo-Ail\u00fb inclined his\nhead.\n\nThey passed swiftly down the great street to where, north of the square\nof the gods and the holy houses of Nebo and Nergal, stood the spacious\npalace of Amraphel, high-priest of Bel-Marduk, and chief of the\npriesthood of Babylon.\n\nAs the chariot of the prince royal drew up before the palace gate, two\nattendants always in waiting there ran out, their swords held\nhorizontally above their heads, in presentation to one high in\nauthority. Belshazzar remained like a statue where he stood, and\nNebo-Ail\u00fb requested audience with the high-priest in such terms as the\nprince would have used towards an equal; for the priest of Bel-Marduk\nwas not at the command of the king.\n\nThe slaves disappeared with their message, and Belshazzar waited,\nmotionless, moving not so much as an eyelash, acknowledging no obeisance\nmade him by a passer-by: for such was the etiquette of royalty at that\nday. After many minutes in this trying attitude, a little company of\neunuchs emerged from the gateway. In their midst, shaded by a large,\nswinging parasol, and fanned on either side by black slaves, was\nAmraphel, an old man, white-bearded, bright-eyed, his stiff, white hair\ncrowned with a red, conical cap, his flowing muslin skirts sweeping the\npavement, and the goat-skin bound upon his left shoulder. Slowly he\nmoved towards the chariot. Ten feet from the wheel he stopped. At the\nsame instant Belshazzar turned his head. They gave to each other the\nbrother salute--of the mind, the lips, and the heart. Then Amraphel, who\nwas doing the prince an extraordinary honor, said:\n\n\"Will the lord prince, governor of the city, enter into my house?\"\n\n\"Receive my thanks for thy favor. Nay, Amraphel, it is Nabu-Nahid, the\nking, my father, that asks if thou wilt be conducted by me to his\npresence. He has some communication to make to thee.\"\n\n\"I will command my chariot.\"\n\nBelshazzar leaped from his place, while Nebo-Ail\u00fb descended more\ncarefully and went to stand at the horses' heads. \"Let my chariot be\nyours, Lord Amraphel,\" observed the prince, courteously.\n\nThe old priest bowed acknowledgment, and, having quickly whispered in\nthe ear of his nearest slave: \"My chariot at the gate of the new palace\nwithin an hour,\" stepped forward and mounted into the royal vehicle.\nBelshazzar followed him, and this time took the reins himself, leaving\nNebo-Ail\u00fb to reach home on foot; for there were few chariots that\nafforded comfortable standing-room for more than two people.\n\nNebo-Ail\u00fb left the horses' heads just as Belshazzar's ringing cry sent\nthem plunging up the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. At no great distance north of the\npalace of the high-priest there ran off from the boulevard a narrow but\nwell-paved road, that wound eastward and north to that part of the river\nthat was lined with palaces--on the east shore Nebuchadrezzar's and\nNabopolassar's, side by side, connected by the great bridge with those\non the opposite bank--the hanging gardens, Nabu-Nahid's royal dwelling,\nand the vast hunting-park used by Belshazzar. The Street of Palaces\nskirted this park, passed the portals of the present royal palace, and\nbranched off to the west end of the great bridge. Along this way to-day\nBelshazzar guided his steeds at break-neck pace; for in all Chaldea\nthere was not such another horseman as he, when he chose to exercise his\nskill; and it must be confessed that there was nothing in the person of\nAmraphel that made Belshazzar desirous of prolonging their drive\ntogether. The priest showed neither nervousness nor displeasure at the\npace set. Through all the jolting, the jarring, and the swift, dangerous\ncurves, he maintained an expressionless, passive demeanor. It was only\nwhen, with a wide sweep, the vehicle rounded up and the quivering steeds\ncame to a halt before Nab\u00fb-Nahid's gateway, that Amraphel, alighting\nfirst, remarked, ceremoniously:\n\n\"Thine are goodly horses, Prince Bel-shar-utsur. May Ram\u00e2n guard them\nthat you break not their breath some day with fast running.\"\n\n\"There are other horses to be bought for gold,\" was the brusque answer,\nas Belshazzar leaped from the chariot and signed to a slave to lead the\nfrothing animals to their stables.\n\nPrince and priest entered the palace together; but, once across the\nouter court-yard, Belshazzar left his companion to be announced before\nthe king, while he himself retreated to his own apartments, where\nmany hours' labor awaited him. Steward and chancellor sat in his\ncouncil-chamber when he entered it, and he greeted them with the air of\na man who was about to begin work. Yet work was impossible to-day to\nhim. Treasury and grain reports, accounts of the crops within the walls,\nlists of taxes, military supplies, arrangements of reviews, matters of\npension and promotion, deeds of sale, mortgages, matters of transport,\nall alike were impossible to be considered. That thing which was\nhaunting him would not go; and, after half an hour of wearisome effort\nto concentrate his mind on what was before him, he suddenly pushed away\nall the clay tablets and rolls of papyrus, leaped to his feet, and,\ncurtly dismissing the officials, himself left the room. Passing out of\nhis many and rather forlorn apartments, he walked aimlessly out across\nthe wide, central court-yard, around which the separate portions of the\npalace met, and went through a small gateway that led into the seraglio.\nThe small court, off which opened various sets of rooms, was white with\nthe glare of the afternoon sun. Three piles of scarlet rugs, an\nembroidery frame, and a broken peacock-feather fan, gave evidence of the\nfeminine character of the inhabitants of the court; but there was no\nwoman here at the present moment. Huddled in the shadow of the wall, his\nbronze back turned upon the world, lay a child of three or four years,\nfast asleep. Before each of the several door-ways stood a cotton-clad\neunuch, palm-staff in hand, rigid and sleepy. These inclined decorously\nas Belshazzar swept across the court, and they watched him from under\ntheir eyelids as he halted near the great entrance, looking thoughtfully\naround. From some chamber far in the interior came the droning sound of\na dulcimer and the crooning of a woman's voice. Other than this, the\nseraglio was still.\n\nBelshazzar stood apathetically listening to the song. Should he seek out\nthe singer? After a moment's indecision, and a step or two in the\ndirection of a small door-way, he halted. He had had enough of singing\nfor one day. Yet, till the day was cooler, time must be passed in some\nway. He might go to his father--his father and Amraphel, who were\ncloseted together. His father and Amraphel--clay and a sculptor; soft\nmetal and a hot fire; an arrow and the bow. Belshazzar caught at his\nidea, never looked again at the court-yard, but turned sharply on his\nheel and set off across the palace for his father's favorite\nlounging-room. He was met at its curtained door-way by Sh\u00e2-N\u00e2n\u00e2-Sh\u00ee,\nchief eunuch of the king's house, who regarded the advisability of an\nintrusion by the prince as a matter of doubtful wisdom.\n\n\"The priest of Bel is within, Lord Belshazzar.\"\n\n\"Who else?\"\n\n\"Sh\u00fbla--\"\n\n\"The architect?\"\n\n\"My lord speaks.\"\n\n\"Let me enter, then. Amraphel is dangerous, I say!\"\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2, his duty done, stood aside; and Belshazzar, unannounced, strode\ninto his father's place of dreams.\n\nHis entrance brought with it sudden silence. The prince felt this before\nhis hand had dropped the curtain. He looked from the effeminate figure\nof the king, reclining on a couch, to Amraphel, who stood stiffly on the\nother side of the room, and then back to little Sh\u00fbla, with his scrolls\nof papyrus upon the floor before him, and his expression apprehensive of\nsome unexpected disturbance. Belshazzar, in his one swift glance, read\nthe drama, smiled inwardly, shrugged, and stepped over to Nabonidus'\nside.\n\n\"My coming is ill-timed, lord my father?\" he asked, in a gently grieved\ntone, after the filial obeisance.\n\n\"No, Belshazzar, no,\" replied his father, with hasty courtesy. \"I\nrejoice at your arrival. You may, perhaps, show us the way out of our\ndiscussion.\"\n\n\"And of what is it that you speak?\"\n\n\"The great temple of Ishtar, in Erech, which I, at the behest and for\nthe love of the gods my fathers, have lately restored. Sh\u00fbla's drawings\nof the new building are here.\"\n\nLittle Sh\u00fbla's face betrayed wary signs of enthusiasm. Sh\u00fbla, alone with\nhis master the king, was an inspiriting sight; for the one was no less\nardent than the other on their particular hobby. But Sh\u00fbla with Amraphel\non the one hand, Belshazzar on the other, and Nabonidus in the\nbackground, was an unhappy object. The high-priest was like a wedge\ninserted between two teeth; himself unfeeling, impassive, unswerving, he\npossessed the unhappy faculty of causing everybody about him the most\nexquisite discomfort by the mere fact of his presence. From behind the\ndrawings that had been presented to him by Sh\u00fbla, Belshazzar looked\nabout him. The constraint of the atmosphere was still a mystery.\n\n\"So,\" he said, presently, in a tone of slow good-humor, \"your discussion\nis regarding the holy temple of Istar of Erech. And what of this\ntemple?\"\n\n\"My Lord Nabu-Nahid, why should this feeble matter in any way concern\nthe prince thy son? Has he not perplexities enough in the ruling of the\ncity--\"\n\n\"Nay, Amraphel,\" cut in Belshazzar, hastily, \"I am here because of my\nidleness. Here, if my father says me not nay, I will stay, and listen to\nyour speech. What speak you of?\" He turned again to his father, as the\nhigh-priest, with an angry frown, gave up the point.\n\n\"Yes, yes, Belshazzar, stay and tell Amraphel that the goddess Ishtar\nmust not be removed from Babylon to dwell for evermore in her holy house\nat Erech.\"\n\nBelshazzar's head swam; and he felt a pang as of a stab at his heart.\nThe knowledge that Amraphel's hawk-eyes were reading him like a bare\ntablet, enabled him to straighten up, without having betrayed himself\nutterly.\n\n\"The Lady Istar removed from Babylon?\" he repeated.\n\n\"Listen, Lord Belshazzar,\" observed Amraphel, smoothly. \"The primeval\nseat of Belit Ishtar was, as you know, in the ancient city of Erech. It\nwas from there, more than sixty thousand years ago,[8] after the death\nof Izdubar, that her worship was extended to all Chaldea. Now, on the\nsite of her old and ruined temple, your father has caused to be erected\nthe magnificent building of which the plans lie yonder. The king, out of\nthe goodness of his heart, is about to decree a great religious festival\nin honor of the goddess and the opening of the temple. At present the\nrightful inhabitant of that temple is alive in Babylonia. How\ndispleasing to her and to the gods her brothers would it be, if her\ntemple should be opened without her!\"\n\nAmraphel finished in a tone of quiet authority that was peculiarly\nirritating. That his logic, however, was incontrovertible, was at once\napparent to Belshazzar. Again, however, Nabonidus began with his\nplaintive, unreasoning: \"No, no. Babylon shall be protected. Babylon\nmust keep her goddess.\"\n\nAmraphel shifted his weight and gave the faintest shrug of the\nshoulders. The sheep-like complaint must run its course. After it, a\nvictory would be a simple matter. But Belshazzar's expression was not\nthat of his father. Amraphel regarded it uneasily. The high-priest's one\ndesire was to get Istar, goddess or demon, whichever she might be, out\nof Babylon, where her hold on the credulous and superstitious masses was\nsomething against which the priesthood could not contend. And this\ndesirable end might easily have been arranged with Nabonidus alone.\nBelshazzar's entrance at this particular time was the most unfortunate\nthing that could have happened. Amraphel had some faint, hardly defined\nsuspicion of Belshazzar's state of mind; and he was instinctively aware\nthat to remove Istar from Belshazzar's seat of government, would be a\ntask next to impossible. Belshazzar, after a few moments of thought,\nsaid, quietly:\n\n\"My father, Amraphel of Bel is right inasmuch as he saith that Belit\nIstar should go down into Erech to receive worship in her holy temple.\nDecree the festival in honor of her and of the great gods her brothers;\nand let her be in Erech for that time. But as the goddess of Chaldea\nsuffered her first incarnation in Erech, and there dwelt during her\nfirst earth-life, so now, since she received the flesh in Babylon, let\nher also dwell here, returning hither again after the opening of her\ntemple in the ancient city. Is it not reasonable that it should be so, O\nAmraphel?\"\n\n\"Truly, truly, Belshazzar, thou art inspired of the gods!\" cried\nNabonidus, delightedly, from his couch.\n\nLittle Sh\u00fbla ventured to smile; and Amraphel signalized a partial defeat\nby seating himself in an ivory chair, disdained by him a half-hour\nbefore. Belshazzar remained standing. He felt that his point was won.\nThere were, indeed, more words on both sides, but nothing further was\ngained by the priest. The festival was planned for the following week;\nand it was decided that Istar, the king, the prince, and many of the\npriesthood, should descend the river in the state barges kept ready\nequipped and frequently used by the king and the official household. At\nErech itself there would be processions, pageants, sacrifices, and\nmerry-makings of every description. For three days should Istar be\ninstalled in her holy house, returning afterwards to Babylon as she had\ncome. To this plan Amraphel was obliged to submit; for if the force of\nlogic pitted against him was as strong as his own, and the strength of\nwill were as great again, it was because Amraphel was laboring through\nhate, while Belshazzar worked in the thrall of an overweening, hopeless,\nunconquerable passion that meant more to him than his religion, and\nagainst which none could have contended. It was part of their times,\nprobably, that in the midst of the dispute it should not once occur to\nany of the three that Istar herself could best decide the place of her\nfuture dwelling. Goddess though she might be, her gender was feminine;\nand that fact, in this oldest of Oriental lands, in a way half\nneutralized her godhead.\n\nThe discussion ended, Nabonidus waited fretfully to be alone; but the\nhigh-priest still lingered, and Belshazzar, as Amraphel very well knew,\nremained for the purpose of watching him and preventing any attempted\ninfluence with the king. It was not, indeed, till Nabu-Nahid dismissed\nSh\u00fbla, and, rising, announced that he was going to the apartments of his\nlow-born queen, that Amraphel took an obligatory leave, and Belshazzar,\nin a very good humor, watched the high-priest drive from the portals of\nthe palace in his own chariot.\n\nBy now the sun hung low in the heavens. The heat of the day was passed;\nand the prince, dismissing from his mind all further thoughts of work,\ncommanded his chariot again. The victory of the afternoon had almost\ncounterbalanced the hopeless affair of the earlier day; and it was in a\ncareless and light-hearted mood that the prince royal started forth into\nthe city, chatting as he went with Nebo-Ail\u00fb, and showing by this means\nthat his business was unofficial.\n\nTheir way led once more into the \u00c2-Ibur, down which they rattled past\nthe treasury, the granaries, the house of Amraphel, the square of the\ngods, and finally across the bridge of the New Year. Here they turned\noff to drive along the street that ran by the south bank of the canal,\ntill they drew up in front of the palace and extensive gardens that\nstood almost directly opposite the tenement of Ut. Here, at a bound,\nBelshazzar alighted, dismissed his chariot, and turned to the\nresplendent slave who hurried out to meet him.\n\n\"Tell Lord Rib\u00e2ta that Bit-Shamash--nay, lead me rather into his\npresence without announcement. I can speak for myself.\"\n\nThe servant cringed obediently, and led the way through the empty\ncourt-yard into a long series of dimly lighted and sparsely furnished\nhalls, elaborately decorated, but as cold and as lifeless as unused\nchambers always are. From these they presently emerged into a very\nlivable apartment, where, in a big arm-chair, in front of a narrow\ntable, bending over a heap of neatly inscribed tablets which he was\nexamining with the aid of a magnifying-glass, sat the master of the\nhouse, Rib\u00e2ta Bit-Shumukin, one of the most important and one of the\nyoungest officials in the kingdom. His back was to the door-way, and he\nwas much engrossed in his task. Therefore he had no inkling of the\nappearance of Belshazzar till it was announced by a burst of hilarious\nlaughter, and the words: \"Truly here is an example for thy prince!\"\n\nBit-Shumukin started up and wheeled round. Belshazzar's laughter seemed\nto be catching, for Rib\u00e2ta, at sight of his friend's face, joined in his\nmerriment, and the two laughed together till the solemn secretaries and\nthe slave-porter were constrained to think the heir-apparent either very\ndrunk or very crazy.\n\n\"How art th--thou melancholy, O my Rib\u00e2ta? Is it granaries or Elam that\nknow thy labors at this hour of repose?\" gasped Belshazzar, when their\nmirth had diminished somewhat.\n\n\"Granaries, my prince. But if I labor further now, it is thou that shalt\nbe blamed for it.\"\n\n\"Never! Dismiss thy sweating secretaries and send them to their play.\nThen thou shalt once more show me Khamma, if thy jealousy hath indeed\nabated. Let her dance for us to the strains of the zither. Let us quaff\nwines of Khilbum and of Lebanon. Let us laugh, and make joy to flow\nabout us like rain in Tabit\u00fb. Yea! Harken unto me, for I speak as a\nprophet; I speak as the mighty prophet of my father's father--what was\nhis name? Bel--Bel--\"\n\n\"Belti-shar-utsur!\"\n\n\"Belti-shar-utsur! That! Without the _ti_ it is mine own. Come away,\nRib\u00e2ta, from this den of toil.\"\n\nBelshazzar's flow of nonsense ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and\nthe last phrase was spoken rather impatiently. Rib\u00e2ta recognized the\nchange and hastily obeyed his companion's suggestion, dismissing his\nsecretaries, and slipping a familiar arm through that of Belshazzar, as\nthey started away together towards the women's apartments. Here they\nentered a small, empty hall, at the upper end of which was a raised da\u00efs\ncovered with rugs and cushions, and overhung by a purple canopy.\nBelshazzar threw himself wearily down, while Rib\u00e2ta sent for refreshment\nof cool wines and fruits, for slaves with fans and perfumes, and,\nfinally, for Khamma, the fairest of his dancing-women.\n\nWhile he was waiting for these various luxuries, Belshazzar lay back\nupon the soft resting-place with an air of intense weariness. His\nevanescent gayety had gone, and he was bent beneath a weight of unknown\ncares. Rib\u00e2ta understood him in this state as well as in the other, for\nthe two men were as brothers--Bit-Shumukin having lived all his life\nunder the royal protection. Bit-Shamash and he had played together as\nchildren; together had reached the period of adolescence; had tasted the\nfirst delights of young manhood, entered upon a career of the wildest\ndissipation, and finally settled down to take up the duties of life,\nstill in each other's company, still holding fast to a brotherhood of\nspirit that was perhaps the most beautiful thing in the life of each.\nRib\u00e2ta was in no way possessed of the remarkable personal beauty that\nhad rendered Belshazzar famous--or, some said, infamous, through the\nland. Still, in his way, he was a handsome fellow, of good stature,\ncleanly built, with refined features, a merry eye, and the blackest\npossible hair and beard. His wealth was great and his taste highly\ncultivated; so that Belshazzar had only to admire whatever he might find\nin the house of his friend. This, a few weeks past, had been a fact\nsomewhat unfortunate; for a new slave of Bit-Shumukin's purchase, Khamma\nby name, a dancing-girl of some beauty, had appeared before the prince,\nand for the moment caught his fancy. The girl herself, being called to\nhim and receiving a word or two and a caress, suddenly fell on her knees\nbefore her master, and pleaded with childish tears and sobs to be sold\nto this man over whose wonderful eyes she was suddenly gone desperate.\nIt had been an embarrassing situation. Belshazzar knew Rib\u00e2ta to be, for\nthe moment, enamoured of his purchase; and he escaped her adoring\npresence as adroitly as possible. Yet for days thereafter Khamma had\nchosen to weaken her eyes with incessant tears, her voice with moans and\nwails, and, worst of all, her owner's affection by her exhibition of\ndislike for him. The result was that Rib\u00e2ta's passion cooled as rapidly\nas it had risen, and, a day or two before, he had actually offered her\nto Belshazzar, taking care to warn the prince that, save for her\ndancing, she was a perfectly useless piece of household furniture.\nBelshazzar was not too enthusiastic over her, but consented to see her\nagain, and hence his visit to-day. But now, while they waited her\ncoming, his mind was anywhere but upon her.\n\nSide by side the two men lay back on their cushions. The perfumed air\nwas stirred about them by the huge, slowly moving fans. At their feet\nstood a bronze pitcher of wine, and in their hands were chased silver\ncups. After a sleepy pause the prince, taking a long draught, introduced\nan unlooked-for topic.\n\n\"Beltishazzar, Rib\u00e2ta, the prophet of Nebuchadrezzar--he was one of the\ncaptives of Judea, I have heard.\"\n\n\"Ay. He is a Jew.\"\n\n\"_Is!_\"\n\n\"It is so. He lives, I know too well where. Thou, also, must have seen\nhim many times. His dwelling is in the Jews' quarter, not far from the\ntraders' square, and close to the house of \u00cagibi. In time, my lord\nprince, upon some council day, I shall speak to thee concerning the race\nof this Beltishazzar. For the last two years I have watched them, and I\nfind them giving promise of danger to the state. Beltishazzar himself,\nhe whom his people call Daniel, is no poor man; but he goes about with\nthe slinking manner of a pauper, ill-kempt, unclean, dirtily dressed,\nand yet--mark it well, O prince--he is not seldom seen in the company of\ntemple priests, with Amraphel himself sometimes, and with Vul-Ram\u00e2n of\nBit-Yakin.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta paused, noting with regret that he had brought a frown of trouble\ninto the brow of Belshazzar, and that the prince was slipping away from\nthe present scene of enjoyment to a realm of anxious thought. \"Priests!\"\nhe muttered, half to himself. \"Priests again! Priests forever! Priests!\nI tell thee, Rib\u00e2ta,\" and his voice rose high with anger--\"I tell thee\nthat should Babylon ever fall it would be at the hand of a priest. Their\npower is mightier than that of the throne. Everywhere through the land\nthey--\"\n\nHe broke off suddenly, displeased with himself for having spoken in such\na manner here. Two eunuchs were entering from the lower end of the room,\nand they seated themselves on either side of the door-way, with zithers\non their knees. Behind them appeared a woman, or, more properly, a girl,\nlithe and slender, with pretty, vacant face and floating black hair\ntwisted with golden ribbons. Her feet were sandalled in red and gold.\nHer dress was of flying, yellow gauze, with a girdle of crimson. Scarlet\npoppies were bound about her head, and a crimson scarf was in her hands.\nShe halted in the door-way with an air of grave modesty, performed a\nhumble obeisance before the two men, never lifting her eyes to the face\nof either; and then, as the zither-players began their music, she,\nKhamma, began the dance. Certainly she was a graceful creature, and, in\nher dreamy way, possessed of a perfect sense of rhythm. Belshazzar\nwatched her with half-closed eyes. Rib\u00e2ta's attitude was that of polite\nweariness. While the dance progressed, both men replenished their\nwine-cups, and occasionally addressed each other in an undertone. Khamma\ndid not look at them. Nevertheless her whole body was cold with emotion,\nand as she continued the dance she trembled, and her very teeth\nchattered with terror and delight at the near presence of Belshazzar.\nOrdinarily she had remarkable powers of endurance, and often danced for\nhalf an hour at a time before Rib\u00e2ta. But to-day was different. At the\nend of fifteen minutes she was in a state of utter exhaustion; and, as\nthe eunuchs, noting her condition, mercifully began their closing\nharmonies, she advanced up the room to the foot of the da\u00efs, and\npresently sank, half swooning, in the last prostration before her\nmaster.\n\nRib\u00e2ta glanced at his friend. \"Wilt thou have her?\" he muttered, too\nsoftly for the girl to hear.\n\nBelshazzar considered, and a different expression came over his face.\n\"Nay,\" he said.\n\n\"What sayest thou!\" cried Rib\u00e2ta, in astonishment. \"Since when dost thou\nrefuse my gifts? Is she so unlovely?\"\n\nAt this last phrase, which she had heard, Khamma looked up, straight\ninto Belshazzar's eyes. Instantly a sharp sigh, like a groan, escaped\nher lips, and in spite of himself the prince softened.\n\n\"She is fair--enough. Let her be conveyed to my house. Thy gift could\nnot be unwelcome, Rib\u00e2ta, thou knowest it. Accept this, my brother, in\nplace of her.\"\n\nBelshazzar took from his shoulder a pin of beautifully wrought gold and\nfastened it upon his friend's sleeve. Rib\u00e2ta's little displeasure was\ndispelled, and, after returning affectionate thanks, he signalled the\neunuchs to come forward and lead the girl away. Before going she knelt\nbefore Belshazzar, and left upon his feet the hot imprint of her lips.\nThis act affected the recipient in a curious way. His color suddenly\nfled. The storm-eyes opened wide, and flashed with a new fire. He drew a\ngasping breath, and then, while his face grew crimson, the veins in his\nneck and in his temples swelled out in bright, purplish blue. His\nmuscles twitched with emotion. Rib\u00e2ta, watching him with a smile of\nsympathy, looked to see his comrade rise and run after the dancer. But,\nto Bit-Shumukin's vast amazement, he perceived that, for the first time\nin all his life, Belshazzar was fighting fiercely with himself. The\nanimal in him was a very lion in strength, but the opposing force was\nthis time stronger. What this force was Rib\u00e2ta had yet to learn.\nBelshazzar, tight-lipped, lay back again upon the cushions, his two\nfists hard-clenched. Rib\u00e2ta bent over him and laid a hand upon his\nshoulder.\n\n\"What is this, Belshazzar?\" he asked, softly.\n\nBelshazzar looked into his face with an inscrutable smile. \"It is Istar,\nRib\u00e2ta, Istar my goddess.\" Then, with a long-drawn cry, all the strange,\nwarped, blasphemous emotion in him burst forth: \"Istar! Istar! Istar!\nBeloved! Lift me up! Make me divine, or cause my mind to lose the\nthought of thee! Istar! The iron sears my soul!\"\n\n\"Belshazzar!\" exclaimed Rib\u00e2ta, in horror. And then, in an undertone, he\nmuttered: \"By Nebo and Bel, our sins overtake us! He is going mad!\"\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE JEW\n\n\nOn that July afternoon Amraphel, the high-priest, left the presence of\nthe king, bearing with him not only the discomfiture of a defeat at the\nhands of Belshazzar. He had lost much that it had been his hope to\nobtain, but he had also gained something that might prove more valuable\nthan what he had lost. Even if this something were a mere suspicion,\nunfounded, not to be proved, yet it was what might, by adroit\nmanagement, be built up into a successful rumor which, spread through\nthe city, would form the first step in the long flight from the top of\nwhich Istar, now the greatest menace to Amraphel's power, might some day\nbe hurled, in broken radiance, to her doom.\n\nUp to this time, for hundreds, perhaps thousands--nay, as the na\u00efve\nBerossus has it, hundreds of thousands--of years, the Babylonians had\nworshipped, nominally, their gods and spirits: virtually, they had bowed\nbefore the priesthood and its orders. The priests themselves, knowing no\ngods, had, from all time, held in their hands unlimited power. For many\ncenturies the king himself had been a pat\u00easi of An\u00fb--high-priest of the\nsky-god. Then, when the temporal ruler became a man apart, when the\noffice was secular, and when Babylon had writhed under the lash of\nNineveh, the people had always their religion. The high-priest and his\nseers became more than ever absolute; ruling king and slave by means of\nunreasoning superstition; while in the houses of the priesthood the gods\nwere regarded as an amusing myth. But now--_now_--for two years past,\nall Babylonia, from Ag\u00e2d\u00e9 to the gulf, had been in a state of feverish\nreligiosity, for the reason that there was a goddess in Babylon: a\ngoddess--a living, baffling, radiant presence, whose origin none knew.\nAmraphel was baffled by her at every point; but, trained from his birth\nup to a creed of absolute materialism, he still refused to believe in\nher divinity, because he had lost the power to rise to a conception of\ndivinity.\n\nTo-day, as his carriage rolled slowly across the great bridge to the\neast side of the city, the high-priest pondered again over this problem\nof problems, though now less than ever seemed there any way of solving\nit. Down the Mut\u00e2qut\u00fb, the second boulevard of Babylon, and from there\nto the great temple of Marduk, the largest building in the city, but\nsecond in size to that of Bel in Borsip, he went. By now the sacrifice\nand heave-offerings for the afternoon would be ended, but it was\nAmraphel's self-appointed task daily to inspect the temple, the shrine,\nand the priests' rooms, before he retired to the college of Zicar\u00fb for\nthe evening meal and a talk with his under-priests.\n\nThe monster temple and the great square of Marduk were aglow with the\nsunset as Amraphel's chariot drew rein at the platform steps. The old\nman alighted with his customary assurance. He had not reached the\nplatform itself when his eye was caught by a figure in front of him\nmoving slowly towards the temple door. It was a lean and sorry figure,\nill-clothed, and hardly clean: that of a man hook-nosed and hawk-eyed,\nwho leaned wearily on his staff and muttered to himself as he went. Him\nAmraphel overtook and familiarly accosted.\n\n\"Surely, Daniel, thou goest not into the house of a 'false god'?\"\n\nThe Jew turned on him with a sour smile. \"Yea, I go for my haunch of the\nday's heave-offering. God pardons a poor man the acceptance of\nunsanctified food.\"\n\n\"A _poor_ man--ay, verily. But since when art thou poor, Jew?\"\n\nDaniel turned an ugly look upon the high-priest, who, having motives for\npolicy, suddenly changed his tone and said, in a low voice:\n\n\"Come thou and talk with me. The heave-offering, or something better,\nshall be sent to thine abode. There is a near matter that waits\ndiscussion.\"\n\nThe Jew consented silently to the proposal and followed the high-priest\ninto the temple, across its vast hall, and back into one of the small\nrooms used only by priests. The little place was empty, and Amraphel\nseated himself in it with an affectation of feebleness. His back was to\nthe light, and he motioned his companion to a seat whereon the last\ngleams of dying sunlight would fall direct from the small window behind\nthe priest. Daniel sat down, drew his garments together, laid his staff\nacross his knees, and caused his face to fall into an expression of\nvacancy that betokened the utmost alertness of mind. Amraphel had,\nhowever, not the least intention of trying deceit with his companion.\nRather, he was about to risk a very daring piece of frankness upon this\nruler of captive Judea.\n\n\"Daniel,\" said the old man, speaking in Hebrew, \"you have told me that\nyour people worship one only God. In your holy scriptures is there any\nword of another--a goddess--that is divine?\"\n\n\"No!\" was the quick answer.\n\n\"Hast thou--\" Amraphel bent towards him--\"hast thou beheld, closely, her\nwhom they call Istar?\"\n\n\"Yea.\"\n\n\"Hast thou spoken with her?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"Nay, be not cautious with me, Jew. I speak from my heart. I ask as one\nthat knows nothing, what is the idea of thy mind concerning the woman\nthat dwells in the holy temple of the goddess? Is she divine?\"\n\n\"Divine! Say rather that she is the incarnation of Satan! Her heart is\nfull of evil.\"\n\n\"Yet you see in her a supernatural power?\"\n\nAmraphel asked the question with unmistakable anxiety; and Daniel,\nraising his eyes, glanced for an instant into those of the priest. It\nwas the only answer that he gave, yet it was the one that Amraphel had\nmost feared. So, then, Daniel himself did not know the secret of Istar's\nexistence. It was well enough to call her an incarnation of evil. That,\naccording to Amraphel's way of thinking, did not at all lessen her\npower. It was a rather discouraging silence that fell between the two; a\nsilence that Daniel finally broke.\n\n\"Why, O Amraphel, dost thou question me about the woman of Babylon? What\nwould you with her?\"\n\nThe high-priest hesitated for a bare second. Then he answered, openly:\n\"I would have her driven from Babylon! Driven hence, because--because\nshe menaces the state. Because she takes our power from us. Because with\nher the Elamite may find himself powerless against the city.\"\n\nDaniel drew a sharp breath. \"Cyrus, too!\"\n\n\"Sh! Be silent! That name spells death. But consider what I have said.\nThe people of the city worship their 'goddess' as they no longer worship\nthe great gods of the silver sky. Should there come a time when Bel and\nMarduk commanded the surrender of the city to the Elamite, if Istar held\nnot to us, if she raised her voice in behalf of the old dynasty, in\nbehalf of the tyrant, then indeed our lives might well be forfeited. For\nwhen she commands, the people obey. And hark you, Daniel, I fear that\nIstar of Babylon will not have the blood of Belshazzar redden the\nstreets of the Great City.\"\n\n\"Nay; for she _loves_ the tyrant Belshazzar!\"\n\n\"Ah! You say it!\" Amraphel, in high excitement, half rose from his\nplace. Here were his suspicions most unexpectedly confirmed.\n\nDaniel, the imprudent words having escaped him, sank apathetically back\nin his place, giving the high-priest to understand by his attitude that\nnothing further was to be expected from him on that subject. And\nAmraphel had the tact to waive the point. He felt it to be too broad for\ndiscussion; for, in spite of himself, Istar roused in him unmistakable\nfeelings of awe. But now there was at least a strong bond of sympathy\nbetween himself and Daniel. Amraphel realized that, and began at last\nupon the real object of his conversation--a description of the proposed\nfestival at Erech, the three days that Istar was to spend in that holy\nhouse.\n\n\"And why,\" queried Daniel, quietly, \"should she not remain in Erech, the\nseat of her ancient worship? Surely that were well for all Chaldea?\"\n\n\"Ang!--all Chaldea--not for Belshazzar, the king's son,\" was the reply.\n\nDaniel looked at his companion with a twinkle in his eye. \"If they were\nbut married!\" he muttered to himself, not quite daring to speak the\nwords. But aloud he said, softly, with stress on every syllable: \"Yet,\nAmraphel, if Istar of Babylon leaves the Great City, who is there to say\nthat she shall enter it again?\"\n\n\"None! As I am priest of Babylon, there is none that may say it!\nYet--yet--I do not perhaps understand thy words.\"\n\nThe Jew relapsed. \"I said nothing!\" he replied.\n\n\"Yea, thou saidst. Say again, Jew, _how_ shall Istar not return again\ninto the Great City?\"\n\nDaniel would not speak; but Amraphel, perceiving that much lay behind\nthe obstinacy, tried every means in his power to open the mind of his\ncompanion. Finally the high-priest, driven to bay, took the risk, and,\nbending over the Jew, said, softly: \"There is no deed that could be\ncalled by the name of just execution that I would not see performed--for\nthe sake of Babylon and that captive race of thine that longs for\nliberty again.\"\n\nThereupon Daniel, straightening, answered and said: \"God is not flesh,\nbut spirit. I, with mine eyes, have perceived that Istar of Babylon is\nof the flesh. Therefore, priest, she must be mortal, and subject, as all\nof us, to death. There be points of bronze and of iron which, piercing\nthe body, free the soul. So Istar--\"\n\n\"Thou hast said it! It shall be! When? Where?\"\n\n\"It should be--thus.\" Daniel paused for a moment, his keen face working\nwith his thoughts as he arranged the plan. \"Belit Istar, the king, and\nthe priests, descending Euphrates in boats, will come to Erech on the\nevening of the second day. Let the woman, on that night, go to rest in\nthe sacred precincts of the temple, but not then penetrate to the sacred\nshrine. On the morning of the third day from Babylon all the people\nshall be assembled in the great hall of the temple that they may behold\ntheir goddess ascend into the shrine. Let her enter there alone for\npurification and for communion with the great gods her brothers. And\nlook you, Amraphel, if she come not forth alive from that place it shall\nbe for a sign that she was not divine, but an evil thing, that had\nindulged in unholy mockery, and had angered the great goddess Istar that\ndwells on high in the silver sky.\"\n\nNot till after he had spoken did the narrow eyes of the Jew meet those\nof his companion; and he found Amraphel regarding him with grave\nstolidity. Such things as this that they were planning were in no way\nunheard-of among the holy orders; for the goat-skin, had it taken its\ntrue color, would, long years ago, have been dyed crimson with the blood\nof those slain under cover of its power. To be sure, Daniel did not wear\nthis badge of office, and he proffered worship only to the God of Judea.\nBut his was a captive race; and just at present his position was\ngallingly unimportant. Therefore he believed that there were no means\nactually unjustifiable for him to use to free himself and his people\nfrom their nominal captivity. Amraphel's next question, however, brought\nup a new train of thought.\n\n\"And who is to perform this deed? Thou, Daniel?\"\n\n\"Nay! Nay, verily!\" Daniel spoke in haste. \"Is it not written in the\nlaws of Moses, 'Thou shalt not kill'? It must be a man of Babylon, not\nof Judea, that does this thing.\"\n\n\"Then shall some younger member of the priesthood be instructed to the\ndeed: Vul-Ram\u00e2n, of the temple of Nebo; Siat\u00fb-Sin, of the temple of Sin;\nG\u00fbla-Zir, of Bel at Borsip--\"\n\n\"Rather, Amraphel, than that one alone should be trusted to fulfil the\ndifficult command, let there be three concealed within the shrine. So\nshall they gain courage, each from his fellow. Then there could be\nlittle danger of cowardice or of impiety.\"\n\n\"Truly, truly, that is well spoken. There shall be the three of them.\nNow, Istar hath not yet been told of the approaching journey. I, on the\nmorrow, bear the word of it to her. It cannot be possible, Beltishazzar,\nthat from any source she could hear anything of this plan? Surely there\nis no danger that the dagger will fail to pierce her flesh?\"\n\nDaniel grinned evilly. \"Ho, Amraphel! Thou that believest in nothing! Is\nit divinity now that you attribute to the woman? And where is divinity?\nWhere is a god? Where a goddess? Those words are foolish.\"\n\n\"Time runs away. I must depart,\" observed the high-priest, rising\nhastily. \"I go for the evening meal to the house of Zicar\u00fb. There also\nwill be Vul-Ram\u00e2n, and probably the others. Will you come with me?\"\n\nDaniel assented eagerly. It was not his idea ever to refuse a meal which\nwould cost him nothing. Moreover, he was well known to the members of\nmost religious houses, in which he was more or less respected as\nrepresenting the great colony of Jews in Babylon, whose co-operation in\nthe coming revolution was a very necessary thing. However little, then,\nthe ex-prophet might be personally liked, his presence commanded a\nrespect that was born of fear; and this, for him, in whose secret heart\nwas implanted an implacable hatred for the race that held him and his\npeople in so-called bondage, was enough.\n\nThe house of Zicar\u00fb was a kind of monastic institution in which\nunordained members of the priesthood received an education, and where\nall the various under-priests and attendants of the various temples\nmight lodge and eat. One of these houses was supported by nearly every\ntemple of Babylon, and the luxurious rooms of the house of the temple of\nMarduk were the resort of high-priests and elders from every temple in\nthe city. As institutions of learning, the monasteries were celebrated;\nand there were schools attached to them for the instruction of the laity\nin such courses of study as were not taught in the market-place.\nAstronomy, algebra, geometry, astrology, augury, and many languages--old\nAccadian, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Sanscrit could be learned there from the\nmost efficient instructors in Chaldea. Without doubt the priesthood of\nBabylon was a highly intellectual order, and the people whom they ruled\nwere ruled intelligently.\n\nAs Amraphel and the Jew reached their destination, daylight sank, at a\nbreath, out of the sky. They found the world within at supper. The\nhigh-priest was greeted by a general rising, and the chief place at the\nhead of the table was vacated for him by Vul-Ram\u00e2n, of the house of\nYakin, priest of Nebo and Nergal, next in rank to Amraphel. Vul-Ram\u00e2n\nwas a far younger man than his immediate superior, and his face was\npleasantly expressive and unusually animated for a Babylonian, who, of\nall peoples, were the most impassive.\n\nAmraphel took the place at the head of the table with accustomed\ndignity, while Daniel found a seat farther down, among the elders, and\nhis yellow face lighted with pleasure as he smelled the savory odor of\nroasted meats taken from the day's sacrifices. No table in the city,\nbarring the king's own, was furnished so lavishly or so richly as this;\nfor the rarest offerings made each day to Father Marduk were sent to\nthis larder at sunset. That which was not eaten was afterwards given\naway to the poor, who nightly clustered about the gates of the house,\ngiving thanks to the gods for their generosity.\n\nAmraphel was a small eater, and never eager for food. To-night his beef\nremained before him untasted. His bread was unbroken, and the barley\npaste grew stiff and cold as he sat drinking cup after cup of the wine\nof Lebanon, talking with those around him, using eyes and brain keenly\nas he watched the right moment at which to speak. Vul-Ram\u00e2n and\nSiat\u00fb-Sin were side by side upon his left; while, as fortune arranged\nit, G\u00fbla-Zir was next but one upon his right, having come in from\nBorsippa for the night.\n\nAmraphel knew that every man at that table was at his command,\nunquestioningly, day or night. None would dare dispute his word; none\ndare even to ask his motive for a deed. Nevertheless he carefully bided\nhis time, waiting till the moment when that that he had to propose might\nseem not only possible to do, but, in the interest of their creed, the\nmost desirable of all deeds. The time arrived. Vul-Ram\u00e2n had happily\nmade reference to a somewhat similar affair of many months before, the\nresults of which had been beyond question beneficial--from the priestly\npoint of view. Amraphel took the last words out of the other's mouth,\nturned them to unique account, and in less than five minutes had laid\nbare to his companions the skeleton of his design. It was done so\ndeftly, so lucidly, and withal so delicately, that Vul-Ram\u00e2n could not\nbut regard his superior with envious admiration. The whole arrangement\nof the murder was planned by suggestion. Not once was an imperative\nused. Yet the man of simplest mind could not have failed to see what was\nto be done, how, and by whom. Amraphel concluded more boldly with a\nphantasy of the deed:\n\n\"I can see the great and holy temple, and the many hundreds that stand\nwithin, waiting the coming of Belit Istar. I see the steps ascending to\nthe holy shrine all carpeted with stiff gold. At last I behold her\ncoming radiantly into the dusky temple-room. Her tresses float lightly\nbehind her; her tresses, like spun silk, hang as a veil about her\nshoulders. Falsely now she moves between the rows of kneeling men and\nwomen. Falsely she glides up the holy steps, and, profaning all\nholiness, draws aside the curtain of the sanctuary and enters alone into\nthe little room. The curtain falls again, concealing her from the\nwatching eyes. Silently and swiftly do the faithful of the great gods\nsteal behind, seizing her about the throat, with firm hands stifling her\ncries of terror. Before her stands her judge. The instrument of his\njustice is in his hand. Well he wields it. Three times it strikes\nswiftly to the heart of the woman. The silent body is left in the\nshrine. Only the false soul wails its way into the dismal land of\nNinkigal. The judges, high in favor with the gods, depart even as they\ncame, by the statue-door in the back of the shrine. In high heaven the\ntrue Istar sings for joy. Crowns and much wealth she gives to those that\nhave served her. And now, down the golden carpet that covers the steps\nleading up to the high place, flows a long thread of crawling crimson,\nwhich, with its brightness, shall speak to the people of the mortality\nof her whom falsely they worshipped. Belit Istar shall be discovered to\nthem as a woman.\"\n\nThese artistic and well-chosen words of the high-priest were greeted by\nall those around him with mental applause. The three men detailed for\nthe work eagerly accepted their task, and were enviously regarded by\ntheir companions; for would not the true Istar, doubtless in the person\nof Amraphel himself, reward them with \"crowns and much gold\"? Ah! In the\ndays of the great gods how might a prince have envied his priest!\n\nAt the end of the meal, details of the forthcoming murder were discussed\nby Amraphel and the three priests in a room apart. After everything was\nproperly understood Amraphel quietly left the house, and, once more\nmounting his chariot, made his way homeward through the long, dark\nstreets. His mind was at peace. The defeat at Belshazzar's hands of the\nearly afternoon, had merely necessitated another battle, in which, this\ntime, victory to the other side was an assured thing. There would be\nlittle fighting about it. The disposition of forces was the simplest in\nthe world. There remained only two things to do. A vast celebration must\nbe decreed, through Nabu-Nahid, for all Babylonia; and, more delicate\ntask, Istar herself must be persuaded into taking an interested part in\nthe festival. This last thing could best be done by himself. And in\norder to prepare himself as adequately as possible for the coming\ninterview with the goddess in her own temple, Amraphel betook himself at\nthis early hour to his couch, and shortly after lying down, mind and\nbody alike being at rest, the aged and reverent man sank serenely to\nsleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUnique as was Istar's outer life, splendid as were her surroundings,\nawful and holy the places in which her time was passed, yet to an\nordinary person her existence would have been intolerable. Her absolute\nisolation was something that those who regarded her from the outside\nnever considered. To them she was above all ordinary things. She was\npart of many a pageant, a dazzling vision to be looked upon, stared at,\nfrequently prayed to in various affected ways, but in the end treated as\nsomething inhuman, some one far from real life, the real world, real\nfeelings of joy and of sorrow. Gradually she had grown accustomed to her\nvast solitude. Her loneliness was uncomplaining; but her days were\ninterminably, cruelly long. This was one reason why, when Lord Amraphel\nasked audience of her on the morning after the breaking of Charmides'\nlyre, she joyfully granted the request.\n\nIstar lay upon a pile of rugs in the prettiest interior court of her\ndwelling behind the temple, listening to the distant droning of a\nflageolet that came from a narrow street behind the temple platform. The\nrays of her aureole had been very faint; but, as Amraphel was announced\nto her, her veil of light quickened into new life, and the vibrations\npulsated rapidly, as if to protect her from close contact with some\ndangerous force. The high-priest was ushered into the divine presence\npreceded by four eunuchs and followed by two black pages. Three times he\nprostrated himself before her, with every mark of humility and\nreverence. After the third obeisance Istar commanded a chair to be\nbrought for the old man, and bade him be seated in her presence.\nAmraphel, however, with a sudden, inexplicable qualm, refused the honor.\n\n\"Belit Istar,\" he began, after a prolonged silence which Istar had not\nthought of breaking, \"for two years now, ever since the miracle of the\nincarnation, you have dwelt secluded in the Great City. Here all men\nhave worshipped you in awe and in love. But now, from that city in which\nyour first earth-life was lived, where, in the early dawn of Chaldean\nhistory, you and your bright Tammuz and the mighty Izdubar dwelt\ntogether, your people cry aloud to you again. By the benevolent\ngenerosity of Nabu-Nahid, their king, the men of Erech have raised a new\nand mighty temple in your honor, have called it by your name, and they\npray, through my mouth, that you will go down into Erech and will with\nyour divine presence consecrate the far-famed holy house in which\nhenceforth, in all honor and glory, you will dwell. This, to-day, is my\nmission to you, Lady of Heaven. May my words find favor in your ears!\"\n\nWhile he spoke to her Istar had watched the man with troubled eyes.\nSomething in his way of speaking moved her to distrust and to\nunhappiness. When he had finished the trouble lay in her heart, and she\nrebelled inwardly against him. But when she spoke, it was but to ask,\nquietly:\n\n\"The people of Erech pray me to go down among them. When would they have\nme come, and how?\"\n\n\"Eight days hence they wish to consecrate to you their new temple. You,\nthe king, the king's son, the priests, your own attendants, and many\nlords and slaves of the royal houses, will journey in barges down the\ngreat river. It will be two days before Erech can be reached; but\nentertainment will be provided by the way for you and for the king and\nthe king's son. Musicians, dancers, and singers shall show their skill\nbefore you. Canopies will shade you from the fierce fires of Shamash.\nCool wines and fruits and grains, with the flesh of cows, will be\nprovided for your sustenance. Through the journey, Lady of Heaven, you\nshall know no want.\"\n\n\"And at the journey's end I shall behold the temple?\"\n\n\"Not on the first night. At sunset of the second day's journey the\nsacred city will rise up before you; and all night there will be\nfeasting and rejoicing. You will be housed as fittingly as mortal men\ncan make your lodging, in the long rooms behind the temple. Far more\nspacious are they than these. Here, in communion with the gods your\nbrothers, the night will quickly pass away; and when the morning dawns,\nand many people fill the temple, then you shall enter among them, and\nshall pass up the steps of the sacred shrine and shall enter into the\nhigh place, where purifying water will be placed in the deep. When this\nwater is blessed at your hands it will be carried down among those in\nthe temple and sprinkled over them, and thereby great miracles will be\nperformed. Then, when you sit in the mercy-seat and receive the holy\nprayers of the people, giving them leave to address you and worship your\nholy name, all lower Babylonia will fall upon its knees before you, will\nproffer sacrifice, and hold in highest honor you that are come to dwell\namong them. Yea, and the city of Erech shall be forever holy among\ncities. O goddess, may my words find favor in your ears!\"\n\nIstar listened to these words as to the others, quietly, but with a\ndistrust that she would have been unable to explain. When the\nhigh-priest ceased to speak she let the silence remain unbroken for some\nminutes. Finally, rising up before him, she replied, more dogmatically\nthan she had ever spoken to any one:\n\n\"I, O Amraphel, will go down into Erech, and there will I consecrate, as\nmuch as in my power it lies, this newly erected temple. I will listen\nthere to the prayers of the people, and will answer them if I may. Yea,\nfor three days I will take up my abode in the city of Erech. But longer\nthan that I will not tarry. Babylon is the seat of my dwelling; and in\nBabylon I will fulfil my time. Moreover, let not the festival be ordered\ntill two more Sabbat\u00fb be passed. Then shall the barges at the great\nbridge be made ready, and the king, and the king's son, and the priests,\nand lords, and slaves may assemble there on the twentieth day of this\nmonth of Ab. Lo, I have spoken.\"\n\nAmraphel made no protest. Once again he prostrated himself before her,\nin token of obedience to her will. Then, for a moment, he made an effort\nto scan her face. But the light flowed round about it so that he could\nperceive nothing. Presently there came over him a sudden rush of dread\nlest she should read the thoughts in his heart. Yet as his hands touched\nthe hem of her garment she did not shrink from him; and, as he turned to\nleave her, she looked upon him with kindly eyes. He left her presence\nwith perplexity and doubt in his mind; though how it had entered in he\ncould not have told. _Was_ Istar human? _Could_ she be divine? As the\nold man drove rapidly away down the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb, it seemed to him that\nthe firm, material beliefs of fifty years were swept from his mind, and\nhe was left again as a child before whom the world and its inscrutable\nmysteries are opening for the first time.\n\nWhen the high-priest was gone, Istar rose from the rugs upon which she\nhad sunk back for the moment, and began to move slowly up and down the\nsunlit court. As she went the rays of her aureole grew dim, till the\nembroidery of her purple robe could be distinguished, and her hair\nglistened only under the beams of the sun. And Istar's thoughts, like\nher steps, were slow. She would neither define nor analyze them. Only,\nbeing as ever alone, she murmured them aloud to herself; and it was as\nwell, perhaps, that no one was at hand to hear her, as she said, softly:\n\n\"The king will go--and the king's son! Twelve days--and then--Belshazzar,\nthe--king's--son.\"\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nISTAR OF ERECH\n\n\nEarly on the morning of July 20th, half Babylon assembled at the great\nbridge that connected the king's road with the Mut\u00e2qut\u00fb. Floating on the\nwater, beneath the bridge and along the west bank, were the twenty\nmagnificent barges destined to bear a divine and royal company down the\nwell-flowing river to the ancient city of Erech. It was not many hours\nafter dawn that the start was to be made. Istar, driven in her flaming\ncar, arrived in good time, but too late to see the parting between\nAmraphel, who could not leave Babylon, and his three trusty priests,\nVul-Ram\u00e2n of Bit-Yakin, Siat\u00fb-Sin and G\u00fbla-Zir, priest of Father Bel in\nBorsip. Their barge had been placed farthest from that of Istar, for the\npurpose of attracting as little notice as possible. Their words with\ntheir master were not many, but they were well chosen. Vul-Ram\u00e2n was\nsmiling grimly as he moved to his place. The other two were serious, a\nlittle pale, perhaps; but in neither heart was there any thought of\ndrawing back from the purpose.\n\nIstar was in her place before the royal party arrived: Nabu-Nahid in one\nchariot, Belshazzar with Rib\u00e2ta in another, and behind them a long line\nof lords, councillors, judges, and members of their households. As the\nprince stepped from his vehicle to the embankment, Istar caught sight of\nhim. At the same instant his eyes, moving hurriedly over the scene as if\nin search of something, encountered hers. A quiver passed through each\nof them, and which was most affected it would be difficult to say.\n\nIn the general m\u00eal\u00e9e of embarkation that followed, Belshazzar and his\nparty managed to obtain the barge to the right of that on which Istar\nlay. Nabonidus and his officials were on the left; and after them formed\nthe lines of other boats, three abreast. When every one was safely in\nhis appointed place, and the fastenings had been cut, Istar's boatmen\nraised a long, quavering cry, that resolved into the first notes of a\nsong. In this the men of every boat joined; and by the time the first\nphrase was at an end, the long, thick-bladed oars were moving regularly\nthrough the water, and the brilliant pageant was moving down the ancient\nstream.\n\nTo Istar the hours of this, her first day's journey, were long dreams of\npleasure. She had known nothing of the course of this river after it\nleft the confining banks of the city, through which it flowed darkly,\nrapidly, unbeautifully. Now the freedom of its winding course, the\nnative life, and the richness of verdure along its banks, the mighty\npalm-forests, the long stretches of grain-fields, the picturesque\nirrigators at which men were continually at work, the droves of cattle\nand water-buffalo on the banks, the troops of cranes, pelicans, and\nflamingos in the water itself, the very warmth, the singing of the\nhurrying river, and the mournful answers of the boatmen, brought to her\nsuch a novel sense of joy and content as she had never before known. If\nmen loved life as she did for this moment--then she had already\ndiscovered the secret of the Great Master. It was freedom--freedom to\nroam at will through the fair world, with no tie to bind one to any\nspot--the whole world one's home, one's delight.\n\nThis day, with all its varied beauty, ended at last--melted away through\nthe short, purple twilight into a starry night. The songs of the rowers\ndied. The river was very still. Those in the boats dropped away to\nsleep, one by one. Only Istar lay through the velvet hours open-eyed,\ntrying to fathom the depths of this delight of hers--the delight that in\nsome way had not all to do with the day and the scenery. She seemed now\nto have entered into life. Till to-day she had been so protected, so\nhedged about with ceremonial and form, so hindered by her supposed\ndivinity, that now, in this first flush of her freedom, there rose again\nfrom her heart that deep cry for mortality that should bring her true\nknowledge as to the falseness or truth of the new-found joy. She had\nhoped for Allaraine to come to her that night; but the hours wore away,\nand when false dawn foreshadowed the morning he had failed her for the\nfirst time since her incarnation. There was a little sadness over this;\nbut it was forgotten, presently, in the general stir of waking, of\neating, and of greeting the exquisite first moments of the day.\n\nJust as the barges started at full speed again after the long night of\ndrifting, there came an incident that changed the aspect of the second\nday from dreamy content to uneasy, troublous delight. One of\nIstar's fan-slaves, whose duty it was to waft before her one of the\nlong-handled, peacock-feather fans, had disappeared in the night, no one\nknew whither or why. Nothing was said to Istar about it. Some one had\ntaken the slave's place. Her fans were waving as usual. It was an hour\nbefore some slight awkwardness in the manipulation of the implement\ncaused her to glance up at the wielder of it. Instantly a sharp cry\nescaped her lips. It was Belshazzar who was playing the slave. Instantly\nshe bade him cease the work and return to his barge. This, stubbornly\nenough, he refused to do; and the matter was finally ended by a eunuch\ntaking his place, while he lay down at the prow of Istar's boat, with\nhis face turned towards the goddess, who reclined uneasily on her\ncushions, seeking to avoid his glance, but returning to it again and yet\nagain, perhaps not wholly against her will.\n\nAs Amraphel had foretold, the city of Erech appeared to them like a\nshadow through the twilight of the second day, rising, many-towered,\nfrom the east bank of the river. Darkness had come on before a landing\nwas made. Great bonfires had been lighted all along the banks of the\nriver; and thousands of people stood thronged together in their flaring\nlight, waiting to welcome their goddess and their king. Lus\u00fb-ana-Nuri,\nthe governor of the city, with his lords and judges, stood at the\nlanding-stage. Istar, supported on the one side by Vul-Ram\u00e2n, on the\nother by Siat\u00fb-Sin, waited till the prostrations of the governor were at\nan end, and then mounted the magnificent car prepared for her, on which\nshe was drawn slowly between endless lines of kneeling and awe-struck\ncitizens to her new abode, the vast temple of Istar of Erech, rebuilt by\nNabonidus on the site of that ancient one that her prototype was said to\nhave inhabited thousands of years before.\n\nOn the temple platform, back of the great ziggurat, was the third\nbuilding--the dwelling-house of the living goddess; a palace of a\nhundred rooms, pricelessly furnished and decorated. Hither, alone in her\ncar, Istar was driven. It had been arranged that the king and all of his\naccompanying suite, together with Prince Belshazzar, should proceed with\nthe governor to his palace, where a huge feast had been prepared. The\ngoddess herself, it had been thought, would prefer to pass this night in\ncommunion with her heavenly brothers, in preparation for the ceremony of\nthe morrow. At the entrance of her new abode she was received by a large\ncompany of eunuch priests, and of female Ukhat\u00fb and Kharimat\u00fb, together\nwith veiled nuns, prophetesses, and dancing-women. By these she was\nsurrounded, and reverently conveyed to an inner room, where was spread a\nsavory repast. Of this she partook in solitude, to the mournful sounds\nof flutes, lyres, and cymbals playing a slow, rhythmical dance, to which\ntwo maidens postured before her. It was a lonely and a dreary meal--one\nsuch as she had been long accustomed to, but which these two short days\non the river, where there had been many people, and laughter and gay\nsinging, had rendered more distasteful than ever before. Having eaten a\nlittle, Istar requested that she be conveyed to her sleeping-room and\nthere left alone; for the strange faces and awed behavior of those about\nher rendered her more forlorn than she would have been in entire\nsolitude.\n\nThe sleeping-chamber was a long, narrow hall--the usual shape of\nBabylonian and Assyrian rooms. At one end of it, on a raised da\u00efs, was a\ncouch of ivory and beaten silver, piled high with rugs and cushions of\nthe most costly materials. The walls and the narrow door-way were hung\nwith rich embroideries of a deep, purplish-blue color. The tiled floor\nwas strewn with rugs and skins, and the whole room was dimly lighted\nwith swinging-lamps of wrought bronze. Chairs of ebony, teak-wood, and\nivory, with tables of the same materials, were placed about the\napartment. High in the wall at the lower end was a little, square window\nthrough which might be seen a single brilliant star.\n\nIstar looked around her with pleasure. Two attendants remained at her\nside till a eunuch slave had brought in a silver tray containing a jar\nof rare wine with a golden drinking-cup. This he placed on a table near\nthe couch. Then all three of them, obedient to her command, departed,\nafter a series of the tiresome prostrations that were a continual\nweariness to her.\n\nAnd now, at last, she was quite alone again--alone with the night, with\nthe great silence, with the dimly burning lamps, and with the\nawe-inspiring hush that had settled over her. She seated herself upon a\nlow chair and folded her hands upon her knees. The presence of God was\ndistinguishable in the room. All thought of the day that had just passed\nwas gone from Istar now. She felt a sense of the vastness of time, and\nof the immateriality of all things. She seemed to be alone in a great\nvoid, a void filled by the incomprehensible power of the universal\nmaster. Her own thoughts frightened her. Her breath came more slowly.\nFor a little time it seemed to her that to-night she was to return into\nher former state. Whether she welcomed the end with joy or with sorrow\nshe could not have told. But the end was not yet come. How long it was\nbefore she was restored to herself by the appearance of the rosy cloud\nof Allaraine she did not know. The strains of music from his lyre came\nfaintly to her ears, as from an immense distance. The mist and its\nwell-known nucleus were there with her. Yet now, and for the second\ntime, that nucleus did not take on its proper shape; was not formulated.\nAllaraine was striving vainly to come to her. Considering the great\nspirituality of her mood, this was doubly strange. Istar looked into the\ncloud with eyes that spoke her fear. The music itself melted--slowly\ndied away. The cloud grew paler and more mistlike. Quietly Istar rose,\nand, with mental insistence, held out her arms. There was one last burst\nof chords--chords that fell as from a great height in organ-tones as dim\nand beautiful as the evening wind. The single phrase struck home to her\nheart; it was a phrase of sorrow, of warning, of preparation for coming\nevil; a phrase that spoke, as a voice speaks, of suffering. Then, once\nagain, there was silence; a silence as oppressive as heat. The window\nwas clear again, and through it the star could be seen. The odor of\nsandal-wood was strong in the room.\n\nIstar lay back in her broad chair. The memory of her old life grew\nfaint. Babylon lay leagues to the north, and she was no longer part of\nit. The history of the ancient and sacred city in which this, her\ntemple-dwelling, stood, the shadowy legends that clung about its\ncrumbling and honored walls, presented themselves vividly to her mental\nvision. She seemed now to be a part of the spirit of that other Istar,\nthe Love-goddess, who, in her great incarnation, had loved and married\nthe warm and exquisite Spring, the Tammuz of present-day festivals, who\nhad appeared in human form then, when the world was younger and more\nfair. And she knew also with what vehemence that Istar had loved the\ngreat hero, the slayer of lions, the man of wisdom and strength,\nIzdubar, who had sought her out for aid in battle when the power of his\ngood genius, \u00caa-Bani, failed him. And that Istar of old had not failed.\nAs she thought of the two, and how Istar the Love-goddess had become the\nwoman of war, the lady of Arbela, the mind of this other of divine race\nwas filled indiscriminately with the soft murmurings of spring and the\nmartial clang of arms. Happy, indeed, had been that Istar of old; for\nshe had loved, and had protected whom she loved, fearing none, obeying\nno power higher than herself. But now--if the people of the city were\nseeking such another as she had been, they must wail at last in their\ndisappointment. Neither Tammuz nor Izdubar--neither beauty nor\nstrength--had come to her to love her; nor could she have given all that\nher predecessor knew so well how to give. Love! What was it? Vague\nimaginings flitted through the Narahmouna's mind. She paused, in\nthinking, to hearken to the silence. A city of sleep lay about her on\nevery hand. Stirred any creature there through the night? Her head\ndrooped upon her knee. She listened to the throbbing of the stillness.\nYea, some one besides herself was awake with the darkness. She could\ndistinguish soft footsteps near her door. Some slave, no doubt, was\ngoing to a vigil in the temple. Silence again. The steps had not died\naway, but seemed suddenly to stop near by her very portal. Istar\nlistened again, but still did not lift her head. She knew that the\ncurtain overhanging the door-way was being pushed aside. There was some\none else in the room with her. She felt the presence, and her heart\nceased to beat. Yet it was not fear that sent the blood to her heart.\nOnly when the some one was very near, when the fold of a flowing mantle\ntouched her shoulder, did she finally lift her bowed head and look. At\nthe same instant, before she could rise up, half in terror, half in joy,\nthe man sank abjectly at her feet. A white, fearful, half-daring face\nwas lifted up to her. A pair of haunted storm-eyes caught and held her\nlook. A moving, nerveless hand clutched the hem of her garment.\n\nIstar hardly breathed. It was all too vague, too dreamlike, too\nimpossible, for her to realize what had happened. She was without fear,\nyet she shook like an aspen. She let her eyes answer that other look.\nThen, from the gaze, something was born within her. Something choked\nher. She gasped for breath. Finally, with a sudden cry of terror, she\ncovered her face with her hands and rose unsteadily to her feet.\n\nBelshazzar did not stir; neither did he take his eyes from her as she\nmoved across the room. His heart was pounding furiously against his\nside, and his head swam with the power of the emotion that had driven\nhim in this way to her presence. A wonderful thing passed before his\neyes. That veil of light, that had held the goddess safe in its\nprotective depths since her incarnation, was almost gone. It had been\nrent and torn from her by the force of the change within her; and now it\nhung around her form in thin, glittering shreds that melted away like\nhoar-frost in the sunlight. At last he saw unconcealed what that had so\nlong unbearably tantalized him: that which, hitherto, had only revealed\nitself to him by accident, a line, a single curve accentuated by a\ngesture, at a time. Now, all at once, it was before him quite\nvisible--the delicate, fragile form of a perfect woman, clad in clinging\ndraperies of purple embroidered in silver, sandalled in silver, the head\nuncrowned, the waves of silken, black hair falling unbound behind her.\n\nShe had stood at the far end of the room, statue-like, for a long time,\nbefore he came back to himself, before he realized how he lay. Then, in\nsome way, he got to his feet and went to her; carefully by instinct;\nrepressing himself at every step. She knew that he came, yet did not\nseem to shrink. Before he reached her side, however, he broke the\nsilence between them, saying, huskily:\n\n\"Istar--do you bid me go?\"\n\nShe did not at once reply, though he did not know whether or not she\nmeditated over her answer. While she still paused, the eyes of the\nprince dilated with anxiety. Finally came the reply in a whisper so low\nthat it was a miracle he heard it: \"Not Istar of Arbela; Istar of Erech,\nI. Go--if thou wilt--\"\n\nIn another instant Belshazzar was upon her, had taken her into his\nheroic arms, was drowning her cries of amazement in the passionate\ntorrent of his emotion; and for a little she was still, while wonder\ntook full possession of her. Then there came from her lips one cry that\nwould not be silenced--a cry that rang through the room and passed out\nof the window, winging its way upward to high heaven: a cry of momentary\nanguish, of something forever lost, of something also gained. It was no\nmore the voice of the Being Divine. It was that of a woman.\n\nHearing it, involuntarily, Belshazzar drew back from her, smitten with a\nkind of terror at what he must have done. She was there, wide-eyed and\nshivering, before him. The last shred of her aureole was gone. She\nsobbed. Her eyes had become blindly bright, and presently overflowed. In\nthat first moment of humanity she wept. It was her destiny. Something\nmore she did also. In her weakness, in her great solitude, she did what\nwomen will. All alone in a strange world, unsheltered, unprotected,\namazed and confused by the great tumult raging within her, she turned to\nhim who stood before her, the embodiment of human strength and beauty,\nand to him she held out her arms.\n\nBelshazzar went to her, not fiercely now, but reverently, almost as much\namazed as she herself at this more than fulfilment of the dream that he\nhad so long and so blasphemously cherished. Holding her again close in\nhis arms, his senses reeled under the human warmth of her body. Bending\nhis dark head over hers he whispered to her, in such a tone as he had\nnever used before, those words that make the world immortal:\n\n\"Istar! Oh, my beloved! I love thee!\"\n\nOne of her arms crept fearfully round his neck, and the tears from her\neyes fell upon his cheeks, and he understood that she answered him.\nKnowing not what else was left for her, she clung to him the more\nclosely as he lifted her slender body and carried her up to the da\u00efs at\nthe far end of the room. And so through the night, while the lamps\nburned low, and the white star sank from sight, for those two, through\nthe wisdom of God, time ceased, and their souls were mingled with\neternity. And over them, though neither of them saw, in answer to the\nmortal cry of their one-time sister, archetype on archetype descended\nfrom the height to watch over the place where Istar had become a woman.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNight, the enchanted night, the twenty-second of the burning midsummer\nmonth, hung heavily through the great spaces of the temple of Istar.\nSilence, far-reaching and luminous, spread within from the open portals,\npast the altar and the deep and the sacred recording-stone, to the foot\nof the first of the steps that led up to the curtained door of the\nsanctuary, within which the sanctification of the temple was to take\nplace in the morning. The east was still black when the first dim\nfigures, forerunners of the vast crowds that by sunrise would fill the\ntemple to overflowing, passed the bronze gates and took their places at\nthe foot of the sanctuary steps.\n\nWhite dawn entered, mistlike, through the portals of the high house, and\nthe myriad temple lights that had pierced the night with their tiny\npoints of flame grew very dim; and when at last the sun sent his first\nscarlet and golden messengers up the eastern sky to announce his coming,\nthese lights came to resemble mere reflections of the burnished brass\nand beaten gold that covered the temple walls. By now there was an\nimmense throng inside, and moment by moment it was augmented; for all\nErech, and all the country-side for miles around, was making its way to\nthis place. Finally the long-awaited Shamash leaped into the sky,\nholding before him his shield of glory, sending a great shaft of light\ninto this dwelling-place of his sister Istar. A murmur of prayers for\nthe morning rose up through the lofty spaces of the temple-roof, and the\nsilence that followed these was intense with expectation; for now, at\nany moment, their goddess might come to them.\n\nWithin the sanctuary everything had long since been prepared. During the\nnight several priestesses of Istar had kept a vigil there, offering up\ncontinuous prayers before the stone pedestal on which, in any other\ntemple, the statue of the goddess would have stood. Water, over which\none hundred charms and incantations had been said, filled the purifying\nbasin. The place was sweet with the odor of spices, and its air hung\nhazy with incense. Beside the broad basin, upon a table plated with\ngold, stood a flask of perfumed oil, treasured for many years for use\nupon some such holy occasion as this. The little, windowless room was\nlighted by a swinging-lamp of exquisite workmanship, kept burning night\nand day in the perpetual gloom. In this place the consecrated hierodules\nhad held their prayerful watch through the long night of the passion;\nand at dawn they left it empty, to await the coming of its divine\noccupant. Five minutes after the departure of the veiled women, however,\nthe sanctuary was invaded by three persons who bore no resemblance to\ngods. Vul-Ram\u00e2n and his two companions, their priests' dresses covered\nwith long cloaks of sombre hue, glided in through the concealed door\nbehind the pedestal. The three of them were pale and rather anxious-eyed\nas they took up the positions suggested by Amraphel. Vul-Ram\u00e2n, only,\ncarried a weapon: the same thin-bladed, delicate knife that he had used\non more than one occasion similar to this. Twice he ran his finger\ncarefully along the edge of the blade, and the last time his skin was\nneatly slit by the metal. Satisfied with the trial, he slipped the\nlittle instrument under his cloak again, and then the long, nervous\nvigil of the murderers began.\n\nBy the time the sun was half an hour high, the crowd outside the temple\nhad become restless, and the close-packed rows of men and women were as\nimpatient as they dared to be. No one of any importance had yet made an\nappearance. Surely the king, the prince, the governor, and their\nattendant lords should be here by this time. Would Istar come if they\nstill delayed? Would that she might! And then, the mention of Istar\nagain bringing up the most absorbing of all topics, every man and his\nneighbor fell to talking of how he had seen her on the previous evening\non her way from the river to her temple; and on every hand were heard\ndescriptions of her wonderful and unearthly presence. That baffling\nradiance that flowed about her was the veil of Sin, her father. It\nproclaimed her divinity as nothing else could have proclaimed it.\nHeretofore there had been not a little scepticism over the exaggerated\nreports brought down from Babylon during the two past years; but there\nwas no scepticism in Erech to-day. Goddess she assuredly was; and as a\ngoddess she should dwell in the heavenly house they had built for her,\non ground consecrated to her many thousands of years ago.\n\nAt last, from the street leading up to the temple, came a blare of\ntrumpets and a clangor of cymbals, and a shiver of excitement overran\nthe people when they realized the approach of the king and his royal\ntrain. Four ushers with lily-topped wands forced a passage through the\ncrowd, and finally entered the temple itself, where the making of an\naisle was no easy task.\n\nAmid tumultuous shouts the lordly company left their chariots, and\npassed in processional line, between the people, clear to the foot of\nthe sanctuary steps. Gentle-faced Nabonidus, arm-in-arm with the\ngovernor of the city, came first; and the throng made reverent way for\nthem. Belshazzar, pale-faced and utterly overwrought, physically\nexhausted, mentally apprehensive, followed his father, walking alone.\nThe people looked after him curiously as he passed, and many were the\nwhispers to the effect that the prince-royal was a wild and dissolute\nfellow. After these three notables came the lords, judges, and\ncouncillors, Rib\u00e2ta among them, more puzzled than he would have\nacknowledged at his friend's too apparent state of mind. This entire\ncompany found places immediately at the foot of the sanctuary steps.\nNabonidus and his son faced each other, standing the one on the left,\nthe other on the right hand of the spot where Istar must pause ere she\nwent up into the high place. Both king and prince were in priest's\ndress--white muslin, goat-skin, and golden girdles, with anklets and\nbracelets of gold, and feather tiaras set in wrought gold. Seeing this\ngarb, a few among the people chanced to remember the three Babylonish\npriests that had come down the river with the king. But there was no one\nthat knew where they might be, and none cared enough to press an\ninquiry.\n\nNow, certainly, Istar was late. The people were tired and impatient, and\nthere were not a few who, having waited here since dawn, complained\nbitterly of the divine tardiness. But there was only one person in that\nthrong that suffered both physically and mentally with suspense. This\nwas he who, one hour before, had left Istar's side; he who now stood,\nghastly pale, heavy-eyed, and nerveless with anxiety, at the sanctuary\nsteps. Could she come here this morning? Would she come? And how would\nthe ordeal affect her? It seemed almost impossible that she could go\nthrough with it, overwrought as she was. Yet what would be the result\nwith the people did she fail them?\n\nAh! What was that? The minor cadences of the chant of priestesses were\nto be heard outside the temple. She was coming then. She was here!\n\nAt the door of the temple stood a large company of yellow-robed women,\nhalf of them veiled, half of them with their faces bare. In their midst,\nas yet invisible to the people, was Istar. Still, they recognized her\npresence, and there was a sudden, vast rustling, as all that immense\nthrong, with one impulse, sank to their knees there in the sacred hall.\nAfter a momentary pause on the threshold the ranks of the women parted,\nand Istar came forth alone.\n\nClothed like the sun she was, in tissue upon tissue of woven gold, that\nshimmered with a thousand rays. Her hair was crowned with gold,\nincrusted with deep-hued beryls, and from the back of the diadem floated\na gold-wrought veil, beneath which lay her lustrous hair, a dark, silken\nmass. Dazzled at first by her shimmering garments, it was not till the\nsecond moment that the ten thousand eyes sought her face. Then--it\nseemed to Belshazzar that he could _feel_ the change in the multitude.\n_Goddess?_--That?--That pale-faced, wide-eyed woman? Nay! And yet--she\nwas beautiful. She was so beautiful in her unveiled pallor that she\nmight well have been looked on as something more than human. There was\nno radiant aureole of divinity around her now. Perhaps that had been a\ntwilight dream. And, the first shock of disappointment over, most of the\npeople would have worshipped her still. Men's eyes followed her with\ninexpressible wonderment as, inch by inch, she moved up the aisle. What\nagony that passage was to her even Belshazzar could not know. She was\nbarely conscious as she neared the steps; for it was the first time that\nshe had ever really walked.\n\nTo Istar's eyes the temple was dim. The murmur of whispers reached her\nas from a great distance. She realized vaguely what she was expected to\ndo, while her eyes were riveted on one thing, and her soul was striving\nto leave her body that it might reach the sooner that which she loved.\nIn the first instant of her mortality Belshazzar's image had been\nstamped indelibly upon her heart and in her brain. And now that he\nhimself was there before her, she felt only that she must get to him.\nShe cared to go no further.\n\nThe long distance was traversed at last. She stood at the foot of the\nsanctuary steps, Belshazzar close upon her right hand, the king upon her\nleft, all the mass of people behind her. She must go up, she must mount\nup into the space that for a moment seemed to stretch out before her\nlike the spaces of heaven--vast, limitless, infinite. She placed her\nfoot upon the first step, hesitated for an instant, shivered with cold,\nthen, with a mighty effort, lifted herself up and stopped. Perhaps it\nwas well that at this moment neither Vul-Ram\u00e2n above nor the crowd below\ncould see her face. It bore an expression of fear, of horror, such as\ncannot be pictured by human imagination. Still she ascended one more\nstep, and none could have realized the heroism that carried her there.\nCould she go on? Must she? Suddenly a great cry burst from her. Her face\nbecame livid. Her teeth chattered, and her hands worked nervelessly. She\nwas forbidden to progress. There, towering above her in menacing wrath,\nwas a throng of shadowy things, of huge wings, of heavenly forms, just\ndiscernible to her eyes, invisible to all others. The archetypes of\nheaven were before her, barring her way, crying her fall to her, driving\nher back from the high place to which no mortal might attain. One\ngesture she made--lifted both arms to them in pitiable pleading. Then,\nwith a fainter cry, she reeled and fell, backward and down, and, while\nthe mighty vision faded from her mortal eyes, Belshazzar caught her\nlifeless body in his arms. As he did so there came an uproar from every\nside of the temple: vague, indeterminate, angry murmurs, presently\nsilent before one trumpet-voice, bolder than the rest, that voiced the\nfeeling of the men of Erech. This cry was taken up and repeated, and\ncried again, till the temple-roof quivered with it, and the stoutest of\nhearts quailed before its wrath:\n\n\"This is a woman! A woman! It is a woman!\"\n\nBelshazzar, with lion mien, and storm-eyes blazing with fury, faced them\nall with his burden in his arms; and, angry and disgusted as they were\nat the great deceit, not a hand was lifted against this prince of their\nblood who espoused the cause of the false woman, the pretender. As he\nbore her from them out of the temple, there was none to notice the\nparting of the sanctuary curtains; none to perceive the pale, peering\nface of Vul-Ram\u00e2n of Bit-Yakin, whose glittering knife was cold with\ndesire for human blood. The priest stared fearfully upon the general\ntumult; for of all that company he was now the only one that believed in\nthe divinity of Istar of Babylon. For how but by divinity had she that\nmorning escaped her death?\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nLORD RIB\u00c2TA'S GARDEN\n\n\nIstar did not keep her word about Charmides' Greek lyre. It was not\nreturned to him at all, whole or broken. So, after a little waiting, the\nGreek, hungry for an instrument, was obliged to replace his old one with\none of the awkwardly fashioned Babylonian lyres, on which his skill was\nadmirable, but which did not by any means produce the music of the Greek\ninstrument. He felt the circumstance in two ways: one of disappointment\nwith his goddess, the other as an omen--that the last tie that had bound\nhim to Sicily was forever broken. Henceforth, in everything but\ncomplexion and religion, he was of Babylon. The Great City held every\ninterest of his life. Everything that belonged to it was dear to him;\nand he wished nothing better than to have no distinction made, even in\nthought, between him and the natives of Chaldea. Only Apollo and the\nmemory of his mother lived in his heart to remind him that his childhood\nhad been something far away. And more than once, by night, thinking of\nthe mother's loneliness, he sent her, by Castor and Pollux, fervent\nmessages of affection. Perhaps Heraia received these and was content;\nfor a mother-heart is quick to feel even a thought, though it be\ngenerated ten thousand miles away, and a mother can rise to any\nsacrifice for the happiness of the child of her flesh.\n\nBy the middle of July Charmides began to know Babylon, its ways and\nbyways, very thoroughly. At first he had lost himself almost every time\nthat he ventured from Ram\u00fba's side; but, by much wandering to find his\nway back again, he learned the streets and their crooked twistings as\nnot all of the old inhabitants knew them. He was likewise in a fair way\nto overcome his greatest and most uncomfortable difficulty--the\nlanguage. His necessarily constant intercourse with those that knew no\nword of any tongue but their own, very shortly familiarized him with the\ncommonest phrases of every-day life. Beyond this, his greatest help came\nfrom the temple in which he worked. During the long hours that he spent\nbehind the high place, listening to the plaints and confessions of\ndevout ones, and while he chanted the replies put into his mouth by the\nattendant priest, he had, perforce, to occupy his mind in some way; and\nthe way most obvious was by trying to comprehend what he was saying, and\nwhat the people before him were talking about. With the assistance of\nthe words that he had acquired, and his very slight natural aptitude,\nsupplemented by an ardent desire to learn, he made quite astonishing\nprogress. By the end of July it would have disturbed the priest not a\nlittle to know the thoughts that were in Charmides' head as, little by\nlittle, the gigantic system of deceit unfolded itself before him. But\nCharmides was discreet. Never by word or look did he betray the least\nknowledge of the Babylonish tongue, but performed his required duties\nregularly, and appeared satisfied with the position, while becoming\ngradually more and more disgusted with the realities of this new\nreligion.\n\nSome days before it was generally known in the city, Charmides learned\nfrom the temple-priests about Istar's journey to Erech. That her\ndeparture was to be for good was generally understood among the\npriesthood, though of the intended murder not a single member of the\nlower orders dreamed. The Greek, however, was sorrowful enough over her\ngoing; and it was the desire of his heart to be one of the musicians of\nthe voyage. Of this, however, there was no hope; for Charmides had\nbecome too valuable an adjunct of the temple of Sin to be spared even\nfor a week to the service of Sin's daughter. He, however, with Ram\u00fba and\nBaba, went down to the water-front by the great bridge, and looked, for\nwhat the Greek in his heart thought to be the last time, on the form of\nher for whom he had come to Babylon. For the next few days he was very\nunhappy. It seemed to him that he had in some way been untrue to his\nvow. Babylon was his Babylon no more; and were it not for Ram\u00fba, he\nwould have set out instantly for Erech. But Ram\u00fba had become even more\nnecessary to his happiness than the great Istar. To leave her would mean\nundying regret. Either way, apparently, his existence would be\nincomplete, and what to do to remedy it was a cause of speculation that\nwas happily ended by Istar's return to Babylon. She came unheralded, in\na covered barge, and went back to her temple in a close-fastened litter,\nsurrounded by a troop of Belshazzar's cavalry. To all the strange tales\nand sinister rumors circulated through the city about this unexpected\nreturn, Charmides turned a deaf ear. She, his goddess, was again in her\nabode. It was enough.\n\nDuring this time the affairs of the Greek's non-professional life had\nbecome very absorbing. When his peace of mind was restored by the\nhome-coming of Istar, he discovered that he was utterly and hopelessly\nin love with Ram\u00fba. That Ram\u00fba returned some part of his affection he\nsometimes, for a wild moment or so, permitted himself to hope; more\noften doubted so entirely that his misery seemed to be complete. She\ncould not care for him, of course. Yet, barring the two or three hours a\nday that he spent in the temple, the two of them were never apart while\nthe sun was above the horizon; and no one ever heard Ram\u00fba object to the\narrangement, or appear to be wearied by it. Eyes, ears, mind, and soul\nof each were all for the other, though as yet neither could believe that\nthe other cared. And neither of them, in their joyous selfishness,\nperceived the little creature who stood apart from them both, watching\nin silence that which was bringing heart-break into her eyes. Poor Baba!\nMany a time by day, and more often still by night, Zor's silken coat was\nwet with her mistress' tears. Beltani had caught more than one stifled\nsob coming from the hard pallet in the dark hours; but Ram\u00fba, wide\nawake, perhaps, yet dreaming of sunshine and bright hair, never heard at\nall, or else put it down to that most unpoetic of all sounds--a snore.\n\nOne evening, some time after Istar's return from Erech, when Charmides\nhad become more proficient in the Chaldean tongue, and when he also felt\nquite at home with Beltani and the two girls, he asked a question of\nwhich the effect on the family was something entirely unlooked for. It\nwas simply as to how Ram\u00fba obtained her daily supply of fresh flowers.\n\nA silence, complete and strained, followed his words. Ram\u00fba flushed.\nBaba hid her face on Zor's back; and even Beltani looked uncomfortable.\nCharmides, puzzled, and wholly ignorant of any reason for the silence,\ninstantly feared some embarrassing mistake in his language, and quickly\nrepeated the question in different words, wishing to remedy any possible\nimpropriety that might have crept into his former speech. Ram\u00fba now\nlooked at him imploringly; but Baba, turning to her mother, said, in a\nlow voice:\n\n\"Let us tell him. Then Bazuzu will no longer have to wait till so late.\nNow he loses his sleep.\"\n\nBeltani considered for a moment or two.\n\n\"Let us trust him. He will be silent,\" said Baba again.\n\n\"No! No, indeed!\" cried Ram\u00fba, unhappily.\n\nBaba regarded her sister with the slightest hint of scorn. \"Will you\nalways deceive him?\" she said, bitterly.\n\nThen Charmides, not a little disturbed by these unpleasantly suggestive\nwords, looked at Ram\u00fba to find her lips quivering and her eyes ominously\nbright.\n\n\"Tell me of this thing! Let me hear, that I may know all!\" he demanded,\nstumbling more than usual, in his new-born anxiety.\n\nThen Beltani, perceiving that matters were being made to look worse than\nthey actually were, took the affair into her own hands, and proceeded to\nanswer at great length, with the assistance of many gestures and much\ntautology, Charmides' unfortunate question.\n\nThe tenement of Ut, in which Beltani and her family dwelt, was, as of\ncourse Charmides knew, separated from the palace and the extensive\ngardens of Lord Rib\u00e2ta Bit-Shumukin only by the canal of the New Year,\nand by two or three hundred feet of waste ground on the other side of\nthe stream. And in these gardens behind the palatial residence, bloomed,\nall the year round, flowers of every kind known to Babylonia and the\nWest, in such countless numbers that a hundred blossoms taken daily from\nthe wilderness of fragrance, could never be missed. Moreover, neither my\nLord Rib\u00e2ta nor any member of his household, ever, so far as Beltani\nknew, appeared in these grounds. Therefore, if, every night, black\nBazuzu went, unseen and unheard, into the gardens, and very carefully\nselected enough flowers for Ram\u00fba's basket next morning, could either\nthe gods or Rib\u00e2ta be very angry? Nay, indeed, had not my lord himself\non more than one occasion actually purchased a rose of his own from the\nflower-girl on the steps of the temple of Istar? And was not this a sign\nfrom heaven that the great gods winked at the whole proceeding? Ram\u00fba\nmight weep if she would. She had countenanced the arrangement for two\nyears, and it was not exactly honest to be smitten now with repentance.\n\nBeltani finished her explanation a little defiantly and looked up, not\nwithout apprehension, to find Charmides' face filled with relief, and as\ncheerful as possible. Ram\u00fba refused to look at him, though he was\nsmiling at her broadly; and it was only when he said, \"Let us together\ngo and seek thy flowers for to-night,\" that she flashed at him a look of\nhappy acquiescence.\n\nCharmides' eyes grew brighter yet. Evidently that fateful garden was\ngoing to prove a little paradise for him. He had a quick and delicious\nvision of himself and of her shut far away from everything sordid and\nunbeautiful, wandering together through fragrant, flowery paths in the\nmoonlight, whispering words meant only for the stars and for themselves.\nMoreover, this was a dream that might be repeated many times; for, while\nRam\u00fba must sell flowers for her livelihood, and Bazuzu deserved a night\nof unbroken rest, it--\n\nHere this pleasing reverie came to a halting finish. Charmides suddenly\nfelt that Baba's mournful, owl-like eyes were reading his thoughts as he\nwould have read a Greek tablet. Beltani, too, was by no means blind; and\nshe, at any rate, had not the slightest intention of permitting Ram\u00fba\nand the hare-brained Greek to go alone together into Rib\u00e2ta's garden.\nThe good woman's mind was of a purely Babylonish turn, and the ideas\nattendant on a fine sense of honor had never occurred to her. Charmides,\ntherefore, was not of high enough birth, nor possessed of sufficient\nwealth, to admit of any dangerous philandering. This fact Beltani made\nknown to him in terms as terse and to the point as only she was capable\nof using. It was nothing that Charmides should clench his fists and grow\npurple with rage at the insult; or that Ram\u00fba was ready to dissolve in\ntears of shame. To these things the good housewife closed her eyes\npleasantly. What did they signify? She was mistress of the situation,\nand, as such, the feelings of others had no effect on her.\n\nThe sunset hour was over at last, and the small household descended from\nthe roof and entered their rooms, where the regular incantation was made\nand the prayers to Marduk and to Sin were said. Then Beltani and her\ndaughters passed into the inner room, and Charmides was left alone for\nthe night with Bazuzu.\n\nIn spite of his ill-humor, the Greek could not lay him down for the\nnight without his address to his patron, Father Apollo. Bazuzu watched\nhim as he knelt, his face turned towards the west, and saw his fretful\nexpression gradually soften to one of reverence and love as the\nmelodious words left his lips. Charmides did not guess how often and how\nclosely Bazuzu followed his devotions, nor realize that, in the heart of\nthe deformed black man, a very deep affection for himself had been\ngrowing throughout the summer. His prayers finished, he gave Bazuzu\ngood-night and a smile, as he lay back upon his pallet. But sleep was\nnot very ready to his eyes. Now that the explanation had been made, now\nthat Ram\u00fba's tearful face was no longer pleading with him, the matter of\nthe flowers took on rather a different aspect in his mind. In the year\n539 B.C. the Greek notions of justice were strict and well defined, and\nthe laws were enforced far more stringently than in later times. The\nword theft was a synonym for dishonor. And Charmides was thoroughly\nimbued with the traditions of his race. Therefore, now that he had begun\nto consider the affair impartially, it had not a pleasant look. Twist it\nas he would, he could not but see that Rib\u00e2ta was being wronged, and\nthat--much worse!--the maiden who was dearer to him than anything else\nin the world, had been for two years an open party to this wrong. To be\nsure, Beltani was the originator of the scheme, and Beltani was the\ngirl's mother. Implicit obedience to one's parents was also another law\nof Greek social life. Was Ram\u00fba, after all, so much to blame? Then, as\nCharmides thought of his own mother, her honor, her goodness, her\nsympathy, there came to him the wish that he might be to Ram\u00fba all that\nand more than his own mother had been to him. He determined that Rib\u00e2ta\nshould some day be made aware of this whole matter, and should be repaid\nfor his loss by Charmides himself, who would have the right to do so\nwhen Ram\u00fba was his wife.\n\nThis thought came to him together with the first touch of drowsiness;\nand so comforting was the idea, and so heavy were his eyelids, that,\nfive minutes later, the Greek was dead to the world. Thus he did not\nknow when Bazuzu, basket in hand, slipped quietly away into the night.\nIt was much earlier than the slave had been accustomed to depart; but,\nnow that Charmides knew the household secret, Beltani's slave might as\nof old choose his hour of departure on the unlawful errand.\n\nIt was very dark to-night as he crept down the alley to the bank of the\ncanal. The moon had passed the full, and its red rim had just peered\nover the horizon, as the slave, having crossed the little bridge over\nthe stream and traversed the intervening distance between it and the\ngarden, stood before the high hedge and the concealed opening in the\nwall through which he was accustomed to enter Rib\u00e2ta's domain.\n\nBazuzu could have come to this place blindfolded and have entered with\nperfect accuracy. Now, for the thousandth time, he crawled in on his\nhands and knees, drew the basket after him, straightened up, and,\nlooking neither to the right nor to the left, hurried over to the long\nbed of flaming red lilies, now in their prime, and, in consequence,\nRam\u00fba's chief stock in trade till the paler flowers of early autumn\nshould come into bloom. Here, with by no means ungentle fingers, the\nblack man began to pluck the shapely flowers, selecting them with such\ncare that no one, casually overlooking the bed, could have perceived how\nmany had been taken. Bazuzu was in no hurry. Perhaps, once here, he\nenjoyed being in the garden. Any one might, indeed, have enjoyed it, for\nthe place was rarely beautiful. The newly risen moon, showing now above\nthe shadowy, distant towers of the various temples, flooded the dreamy\nrecesses of tropical verdure with a soft, bluish light that drew forth\nperfumes from every blossom, and caused the new-fallen dew in the\nflower-cups to glisten like opals. Occasionally Bazuzu paused in his\nwork, and lifted up his head to look about him in the luxuriant\nstillness. Dimly he realized that even sleep rested and refreshed him no\nmore than this. He did not now regret that Ram\u00fba and Charmides had not\nbeen allowed to come here together. To what raptures of love their souls\nwould have been drawn by the beauty of this scene, the black man did not\nknow. In the midst of his small, untutored ecstasy, he passed\nfrom the lilies to a clump of rose-trees that overhung a pond where\nlotus-blossoms floated. It was here, while bending over the perfect\nspecimens of the fair flower of Persia, that his quick ear caught the\nsound of steps--footsteps--coming measuredly towards him.\n\nBazuzu's heart gave a throb of terror as he looked up the path leading\nto the palace. Yes, it was true. Two figures--men--were approaching.\nClasping the basket close to his breast, Bazuzu knelt and drew himself\nas far back as possible in the shadow of the rose thicket. He was no\nmore than hidden when the men passed him, so closely that the rich\nmantle of one of them dragged over the slave's hand. Down to the hedge\nand then back by the same beaten path, always slowly, always earnestly\nconversing together, moved the twain; and as they passed him again,\nBazuzu had recovered himself sufficiently to recognize both. One was\nRib\u00e2ta himself, lord of the house, whom Bazuzu knew, as a matter of\ncourse, to be Beltani's landlord. The other was a figure familiar to\nevery one in Babylon: Bel-Shar-Uzzur, governor of the city and\nheir-apparent to the throne. It was he who talked most. Bazuzu watched\nhim interestedly, for it was no small thing to sit listening to the\nconversation of royal princes. Hitherto, when he had chanced to see the\nprince, or when he had heard others tell of seeing him, Belshazzar had\nworn an air of over-confident and joyous pride, of haughtiness, even,\nfor which he was none too well loved by his people. Perhaps now it was\nonly the whiteness of the moonlight that changed him so; but to-night\nthere was neither pride nor joy in that imperious face. A great pallor\nwas on him and his look was troubled. From the fragments of speech that\nhe caught, the slave could not determine what difficulty Belshazzar\nmight be in. He spoke often of temples and of priests, and there was\nsome one whom he never called by name, but spoke of as \"she,\" or\nsometimes, extravagantly, as \"Belit\"--\"goddess.\"\n\nIn his interest in the scene before him, Bazuzu gradually forgot the\ndanger of his position. A dozen times the two lords had brushed him as\nthey passed, but never chanced to see the shadowy figure huddled at\ntheir very feet. Presently, however, in his eagerness to catch the end\nof a sentence, Bazuzu crept an inch or two forward, and did not draw\nback when the two turned towards him once more from the end of the path.\nThey drew near, and Belshazzar's eyes were fixed on the ground. Rib\u00e2ta\nwas speaking, when, three feet from the thicket, Belshazzar suddenly\nseized his comrade's arm and stopped short.\n\n\"Dost thou, fearing danger, keep about thee concealed guards,\nBit-Shumukin?\" he cried, roughly.\n\n\"What sayest thou, Belshazzar?\"\n\nFor answer, the prince strode forward, stooped, seized Bazuzu by the\ncollar, and dragged him to his feet.\n\nThere was a silence. The slave, cold with fear, stood open-mouthed, his\neyes wildly rolling, the basket still clasped tightly in his arms.\nRib\u00e2ta, who had grown white with astonishment and anger, stood staring\nat him. Belshazzar, lips compressed and brows drawn together, moved\naside.\n\n\"Are you of my house, knave? And for whom art thou here? Speak! Answer\nme!\" And Rib\u00e2ta stamped upon the ground.\n\nBazuzu, remembering, even in his terror, the helplessness of Ram\u00fba,\nanswered, shiveringly: \"Yea, of thy house, O lord!\"\n\n\"He lies, Bit-Shumukin,\" interrupted the prince, sharply. \"His collar is\nof leather. Those of thy house--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" cried Rib\u00e2ta, still more angrily. \"Speak the truth, thou\nvillain, or--there is death in my garden. Who art thou?\"\n\nWith thickening tongue and reluctant heart, Bazuzu made reply: \"I am the\nslave of the Lady Beltani.\"\n\n\"And who is the Lady Beltani?\"\n\n\"She dwells across the canal, in the tenement Ut of my lord.\"\n\n\"Ho! _Lady_ Beltani! A dweller in Ut! And why, then, art thou here and\nnot in thy lady's own spacious gardens?\"\n\nBazuzu helplessly held out his flower-basket.\n\nRib\u00e2ta seized it by the handle, and examined it and its contents. \"These\nflowers--they go to beautify, no doubt, the person of the Lady Beltani?\"\n\n\"My lord, they are sold by the Lady Ram\u00fba, her daughter, who sitteth\ndaily on the steps of the platform at the temple of Istar, that she may\nobtain bread-money for her mother. My lord knoweth well that the\ndwellers in the tenement of Ut know not gold.\"\n\n\"Ah! Ram\u00fba, the flower-seller, is thy mistress' daughter?\" demanded\nBelshazzar, stepping forward a little.\n\nBazuzu inclined his head.\n\n\"Then, Bit-Shumukin, unless the knave lies again, the gods favor thee\nwell. Have her brought to thee, the Lady Ram\u00fba. She is as fair a maid as\nany in Babylon; and as she has sold thy flowers--let her now pay for\nthem.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta turned to his friend with interest in his face. \"Do you laugh at\nme, Bit-Shamash, or is this thing so?\"\n\n\"It is so, Rib\u00e2ta. Send only for the maid, and see if Bel is not kindly\ndisposed to thee.\"\n\n\"Send for her here? Now? Nay--the knave no doubt lies.\"\n\n\"By my father's throne, I think he does not! The maiden Ram\u00fba is known\nto me. Have I not passed her daily for months, sitting on the temple\nsteps? Have I not oftentimes worn a handful of flowers bought from her\nfor a _se_, to win a smile from her maiden lips? Br-r! Rib\u00e2ta! Thou hast\nthe blood of Oannes[9] in thy veins. Send for her to be brought before\nthee. She will teach thee the beauty of Sin's bright beams better than\nI. Buy her, Rib\u00e2ta, and keep her for thine own. 'Tis those that cannot\nbe bought that make men miserable. Send for this maiden, I tell thee.\nBrother, I go home.\"\n\nFinishing this rather cynical advice, Belshazzar turned on his heel and\nstarted for the palace. Bit-Shumukin, catching him by the arm, tried all\nhis eloquence to make his friend remain. The prince was obdurate, in his\nlight, self-willed way, and finally concluded the argument by saying:\n\n\"Now I will send a slave to thee from the court-yard, who shall go with\nthis man to bring the lady to thee from her dwelling. Quarrel not with\nthy fate, O son of ingratitude! May Marduk bless the meeting!\"\n\nAnd thereupon Belshazzar departed and went his way, leaving Rib\u00e2ta alone\nwith the still trembling slave. By this time Bazuzu was utterly\nwretched, bitterly angry with himself for speaking Ram\u00fba's name, vaguely\nhating Belshazzar for his mockery, thoroughly apprehensive of the power\nof the man who stood at his elbow tentatively regarding him.\nFortunately, Belshazzar lost no time in carrying out his own suggestion,\nand presently a slave of Rib\u00e2ta's household appeared, coming rapidly\ndown the path from the mansion. Reaching the spot where his master\nstood, he inclined himself profoundly, and waited his lord's will. After\na little hesitation Bit-Shumukin, seeing nothing else to be done, said,\nin a tone of quiet command:\n\n\"Thou, Baniya, must go, in company with this slave here, to the tenement\nof Ut, across the canal, and bring to me, from her abode, the Lady\nRam\u00fba--her, and none other. See that none but you attends or follows her\nhither. In this place I shall wait for your return. Behold, I have\nspoken. Hasten to obey.\"\n\nThe slave inclined himself again, and then, driving Bazuzu peremptorily\nbefore him, left the garden by a gate that was always fastened on the\ninside. Once without, the two started together across the bare field\nleading to the foot-bridge that crossed the canal. Baniya knew the way\nas well as Bazuzu himself, for the tenement of Ut was one of Rib\u00e2ta's\nlargest buildings, and any one familiar with the poor quarter of the New\nYear was sure to know where this house was. Therefore there was no hope\nof Bazuzu's leading the man astray. There was but one thing that he\ncould do now for Ram\u00fba, and this he tried.\n\nIn spite of his ungainliness, which amounted to actual deformity, Bazuzu\nwas a powerful, and, in a way, an agile man. He had come victorious out\nof more than one brawl, and physical pain meant very little to him. Now,\nas the two of them came to the edge of the bridge, the black man fell a\nstep behind his companion, and after a second or two darted quickly upon\nBaniya, seized him about the body, and lifted him high in the air with\nthe intention of flinging him into the canal and then taking to his\nheels in an opposite direction. But Bazuzu had reckoned on Baniya's\nlosing his head at the crucial instant; and this Baniya did not do. The\nmoment that he was seized, the sinewy little slave twisted one arm from\nthe other's grasp, drew something from his girdle, and struck twice at\nBazuzu's brawny shoulder. The black slave uttered a quick cry and\ndropped his burden. His right arm fell helpless at his side, and the two\nred streams that had gushed forth from different points in his shoulder,\nmet on the upper arm and flowed in a thick flood down to his hand.\n\n\"Let the slave of the Lady Ram\u00fba guide me quickly to her,\" observed\nBaniya, with a grin at the distant moon.\n\nAnd Bazuzu, thoroughly cowed, made no answer, but started in advance of\nhis companion across the bridge.\n\nThe door to the general room of Beltani's _m\u00e9nage_ was open, as Bazuzu\nhad left it an hour before. Across the threshold lay Zor, quietly\nasleep. From within came the faint, regular sound of Charmides'\nbreathing. Everything was perfectly still. As Bazuzu started to enter\nthe first room, however, Baniya pulled him back, and, once more drawing\nhis knife, breathed softly:\n\n\"I will enter that room first, slave, and my knife is in my hand. Thou\nshalt rouse the Lady Ram\u00fba from her sleep and bring her to me alone. But\nif any man or any other living thing in this house wakes, know that thou\nshalt not escape death at my hands. Now heed me!\"\n\nBazuzu signified his acquiescence by a nod, and presently Baniya was\nleft alone beside Charmides' pallet, while the black man crept on his\nhands and knees into the other room. Ram\u00fba's bed was near the door.\nBeltani lay in the far corner, Baba on the other side of the room.\nBeside Ram\u00fba Bazuzu stopped and knelt down. All three women were asleep.\nBeltani's light snores brought reassurance to the slave's heart, though\nthe task of waking one of the sleepers in this room without rousing\neither of the other two seemed, on the face of it, impossible.\nNevertheless, Bazuzu must try for his life. Therefore, with the most\ndelicate of touches he laid a finger on Ram\u00fba's forehead. She quivered a\nlittle. Her eyes flew open. Then, seeing the strange shadow beside her,\nshe asked, softly:\n\n\"What is it? Thou, my Baba?\"\n\nBazuzu, speaking between his teeth in a tone scarcely audible, answered:\n\"It is I, Bazuzu, Lady Ram\u00fba. Rise thou without noise and creep into the\nouter room. There we may more safely speak.\"\n\nForthwith he set the example by starting upon his hands and knees back\ninto the other room, where Baniya waited and the Greek slept.\n\nRam\u00fba, instinctively dreading her mother, and fearing also the unguessed\nerrand of Bazuzu, implicitly obeyed the words of the slave and\nmade her way skilfully, without the faintest sound, out of her dark\nsleeping-place into the moonlit living-room. Seeing her, Baniya stepped\nswiftly forth, causing an exclamation to rise to her lips. Bazuzu stood\none side, his head bowed, till Rib\u00e2ta's slave had insolently examined\nher, from the pretty head with its loosened hair, down the ragged tunic\nto her delicately arched feet. Then a slight smile broke over the face\nof my lord's servant, and he bowed as he whispered:\n\n\"Will the Lady Ram\u00fba deign to follow me?\"\n\nRam\u00fba, who had been regarding the man in mute amazement, now turned\nquickly round and looked to Bazuzu for some explanation of this\nastonishing request. Bazuzu, weary, suffering from his wounds, and\nutterly despairing over Ram\u00fba's impending fate, lowered his head still\nfurther.\n\n\"Lord Rib\u00e2ta waits,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Rib\u00e2ta!\" In her terror, Ram\u00fba scarcely whispered the words. She looked\nwildly from Bazuzu, who had lost all hope, to Baniya, uneasy with\nimpatience. Then, slowly, she turned her eyes to the spot where\nCharmides lay. He slept. The Greek slept tranquilly on while she passed\nthrough this great peril! It was the sight of him there, sunk in\noblivion, that suddenly decided Ram\u00fba. That he _could_ sleep through\nthis time was an omen that he was not for her. A sudden anger against\nhim rose up in her breast. With her heart full to bursting of tears, of\nterror, of misery, she started forward into the moonlight, following the\nfootsteps of the swiftly moving slave.\n\nIn the mean time my lord, kept up later than he had expected to-night,\nwas trying to amuse himself with the beauties of his unfrequented\ngarden. While he wandered up and down the deserted paths, he could not\nbut muse on the rather curious and entertaining incident of the night.\nRib\u00e2ta was not by nature an ungenerous man; and now, as he looked about\nhim on the extreme beauty of his surroundings, it seemed rather well\nthan otherwise that some one should have had so much benefit from his\nunheeded flowers. Certainly the plants seemed to have suffered no harm\nat Bazuzu's hands. Instead, the gardeners had, in all probability, been\nsaved a daily hour or so of labor of the same kind. Then Rib\u00e2ta pondered\nfor a little on the code of laws that might put a slave to death for\njust such a deed--something that did no harm to any one, and on the\nother hand helped a poor family to live. Certainly, for a judge of the\nroyal court, Rib\u00e2ta was not narrow; neither was he harsh. Presently, as\nhe continued his walk, he came upon the basket still containing a\nhandful of red lilies, lying, as he himself had finally dropped it,\nbeside the rose thicket. Rib\u00e2ta picked it up, and, as he moved on again,\nbegan, half absently, to pluck flowers--such flowers as Bazuzu had never\ndared take--and to put them into the light receptacle. My lord confessed\nto himself that his work was not artistically done. Great clumps of\njasmine from their carefully trained vines, thick bunches of heliotrope,\nheavy lotus-blossoms with their rubber-like stalks, golden roses and\nwaxen camellias, the rarest of his garden's lustrous treasures, he\npulled and dragged about with his unpractised hands, and threw in a\nfragrant, tangled heap into Ram\u00fba's basket.\n\nIt was soon filled to overflowing, and then Rib\u00e2ta went back to the gate\nthrough which Baniya must return. Near this was an arbor overgrown with\nsweet, white flowers, and here he seated himself to wait. He was not\nimpatient. The beauty of this unvisited part of his own domain had made\na strong impression on him, and he leaned back comfortably to gaze out\nupon the moonlight and to dream unwonted dreams. Around and above him\nthe heavy jasmine exhaled its overpowering sweetness into the limpid\nmoonlight. Near him row upon row of brilliant lilies lay like scarlet\nbutterflies asleep. Presently, from a distant thicket, a nightingale\nbegan to pour forth its full-throated song; and then, as Rib\u00e2ta in a\nquiet ecstasy raised his head to listen, the gate opened, and Ram\u00fba,\nbare-footed, with flowing hair, came into the garden.\n\nShe could not, from where she stopped, see Rib\u00e2ta; and he, wishing to\nknow her first, did not immediately rise. Baniya, however, broke in upon\nhim by running forward, performing his obeisance, and demanding to know\nif he had done well. My lord peremptorily dismissed him, and then,\nrising reluctantly, went to the maiden.\n\n\"Ram\u00fba is made welcome to Rib\u00e2ta's dwelling-place,\" he said, quietly,\nlooking at but not offering to touch her.\n\nRam\u00fba's reply was to cover her face with her hair, and to fold both\nhands across her breast, in token of the deepest woe.\n\nSomewhat against his will, Rib\u00e2ta changed his tactics. Assuming a tone\nof severity that did not in the least accord with his mood, he said:\n\"And it was you, then, that despatched your slave into my garden, that\nhe might steal my blossoms for your gain?\"\n\nThe girl fell upon her knees and touched her forehead to the earth.\n\"Alas, my lord! Alas, it is true! My lord, be merciful to me! May my\nlord grant a little time and he shall be repaid--shall be repaid for\nall. I will repay him. By day and by night shall my hands labor. I will\nearn a maneh of silver wherewith to buy new plants for his garden, if he\nwill let me now depart from him. May the great gods put mercy into the\nheart of my lord!\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta looked down at her with a smile that she could not see. An honest\nmaid, apparently, yet too pretty to give back to toil and poverty. The\nsolitude, the song of the nightingale, and the intoxicating odors of the\njasmine, had put Rib\u00e2ta into a sentimental mood. He lifted Ram\u00fba in his\narms, carried her inside the arbor, and placed her tenderly upon the\nseat that he had occupied. Then, while she vainly struggled to free\nherself from his touch, he continued his scrutiny of her face and form.\n\nRam\u00fba was choking with terror at her position. It seemed to her now\nthat, rather than have come hither, she should have killed herself. Yet\nCharmides had slept through her trial! Charmides! Doubtless he was\nsleeping yet. And, unreasonable as it was, that thought angered her\nanew. Ah! When he did finally awake he would find his world changed for\nhim.\n\nThese bitter thoughts, that occupied her mind even as she strove to hold\noff from the man at her side, were broken in upon by Rib\u00e2ta, who\nplaintively addressed her:\n\n\"Lady Ram\u00fba, I have no need for manehs of silver. They are mine in\nplenty. At the thought that you labored for my sake my heart would be\ncut with each hour of your work. Nay, maiden, rather than that, I offer\nyou or your mother as many golden manehs as you desire if you, fair one,\nwill become a flower of my garden that shall bloom near me forever. This\nthat is around you now, and my palace yonder, and slaves and silks and\nperfumes, sandal-wood and frankincense, wines of Helbon and spices from\nthe East, soft couches and embroidered garments, shall be all your own.\nCome, then, Ram\u00fba! Let us out of the sweet night into my house! And\nto-morrow shall thy mother be made glad with wealth. Say that thou wilt\nfollow me, my beautiful one!\"\n\nNow this offer was a very fair and more than generous one--for the day.\nThere was no insult in it. So much Ram\u00fba knew. And she knew also that it\nwas something that Beltani would have heard with unbounded delight. It\nwas a chance that any girl of her station might regard as a gift from\nthe silver sky. For this reason Ram\u00fba could show neither scorn nor\nanger. She had no refuge but tears. Weep, however, she certainly did,\nand to much purpose; for, before the deluge, Rib\u00e2ta was perfectly\nhelpless. He was also not a little amazed, for he knew no man who had\never been refused such an offer. It was not a little mortifying to his\nvanity; and as he thought the matter over while still she wept, his\ntemper began to rise. Poor man! He was unaware that he was pitted\nagainst a youth with a halo of shining hair, eyes like the summer sky,\nthe physique of a Tammuz, and a voice like the notes of an ivory flute.\nEven he would scarcely have expected to compete with these things,\nadded, as they were, to the hope, faint though it might be, of an honest\nmarriage with such masculine beauty. But in his ignorance the good man\nbegan to regard his rebellious prize with no little impatience.\n\n\"Well, maid,\" he observed at length, \"are these silly tears all thine\nanswer? Hast thou no other word? If so, thou shalt be carried in!\"\n\nThen Ram\u00fba, terrified in earnest, repeated, tremulously: \"My lord! Have\npity! I will work! I will repay the debt! Only, in the name of the great\nSin, be merciful!\"\n\n\"Now is this girl surely a fool!\" muttered Bit-Shumukin to himself.\n\"Listen thou, Ram\u00fba! I will take no money from thee.\"\n\n\"Then let my lord take my life,\" she answered, wearily.\n\n\"Gladly!\" was the eager reply.\n\nMisunderstanding her entirely, he would have seized her in his arms\nagain, but that the girl, shuddering a little, drew the knife from his\nbelt and pressed it into his hand.\n\n\"Ram\u00fba is ready!\" she gasped, faintly.\n\nRib\u00e2ta uttered an exclamation. \"Child! Would I kill thee, thinkest\nthou?\"\n\nShe looked up at him stupidly. \"Thou hast said it.\"\n\nNow Rib\u00e2ta was amazed. Fool she might be, indeed, but she was no coward.\nHe had not thought any woman possessed of such ready courage. Stepping\nback a little, while she still sat there before him, drooping and\nsilent, he considered the situation. He was not brutal at heart,\nBit-Shumukin; and he was too experienced to lose his head through that\nmad intoxication known only to youth in its first freedom. Besides this,\nno woman in all Babylon could have said that he had not been perfectly\nfair with her. This present matter being, in his wide knowledge, unique,\ndemanded a unique finale. Presently he took up the basket with its rare\nand fragrant burden, and put it into Ram\u00fba's passive hand.\n\n\"There, my maid, are thy morrow's flowers. Go thy way with them, and\nsell them as is thy wont. But may it be thy last day upon the steps of\nthe temple of Istar. To-morrow, at sunset, I and my slaves will come to\nthee in thy dwelling. By then thy heart must be softened towards me.\nFor, as Sin sheds his light from above, I swear that I will have thee\nfor mine own! Go thy way in peace to thy home, and the great gods bring\nsleep to thine eyelids.\"\n\nHe made way for her to pass; and Ram\u00fba, panting with anxiety to escape,\nstill clinging to her basket, rose and ran from him, swiftly as a deer,\nto the unfastened gate. Rib\u00e2ta watched her go, and heard the little sob\nof relief that she gave as she found Bazuzu, weak from loss of blood and\nbitter anxiety, awaiting her outside.\n\nSo Rib\u00e2ta, pondering philosophically upon the mysteries of woman-nature,\nand looking forward with no little interest to the sunset of the morrow,\nwended his way slowly towards his palace.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nBABA\n\n\nNext morning, just as the sun rose over the city, Charmides opened his\neyes. If ever Charmides could be said to be lighter of heart, brighter\nof face, and cheerier of spirit at one time than another, it was in the\nvery early day. The smell of the dawn, its peculiar, charming freshness,\nthat penetrates to the very heart of the most crowded city, was as life\nto his soul. To-day, when he went forth for his solitary stroll by the\nedge of the canal, the air, unbreathed and dewy as it was, brought him\nas usual a sense of undimmed delight.\n\nAs he walked, scarcely heeding the rows of ungainly flat-boats drawn up\nalong the edge of the canal, or the small army of scavenger-dogs that\nslept the sleep of the hungry near them, Charmides dreamed. This,\nindeed, was a matter of course. The morning and the sunlight would have\nlost half their beauty had not the thought of Ram\u00fba been in his heart.\nTo-day his pure pleasure in her was a little tainted by the impression\nthat last night's revelation had made upon him, in the not very clear\nsense of right and wrong that it betrayed in her whom he loved. Yet he\nhad absolute confidence in his influence over her; and, as he returned\nto the house, no premonition of the new trouble disturbed his happy\ntranquillity.\n\nUpon recrossing the threshold of the outer room an unwonted sight met\nhis eyes. It was still early: so early that neither the girls nor\nBeltani would, ordinarily, have been about. Yet here was Bazuzu, sitting\nnear the door-way, bare-shouldered, while Baba bent over him, deftly\napplying a paste of bruised onions and sesame to the two blood-incrusted\nwounds in the slave's back. Bazuzu sat dumb and patient beneath the\ngentle hands; but Baba's face was drawn, and the tears rained from her\neyes as she worked. Beholding them, Charmides uttered an exclamation:\n\n\"Apollo! What is it, Bazuzu? What has happened?\"\n\nThere was no answer. Bazuzu did not even look up. Baba gave the Greek a\nwretched little glance, compressed her lips, and bent over her task\nagain with a stifled sob.\n\n\"Baba! Bazuzu! Tell me!\"\n\nStill they were silent. But as the rhapsode, more and more bewildered,\nwas about to question them more intelligently, the slave, lifting his\neyes for an instant, muttered, indistinctly:\n\n\"To him that sleeps too well by night Nebo grants little knowledge.\"\n\n\"Stop, Bazuzu! I will not have thee speak so!\" cried Baba, instantly\nresenting the suggestion.\n\n\"What is this that you say?\" And Charmides, who had but half caught the\nslave's words, moved closer to him. Then, suddenly, a new idea struck\nthe rhapsode. His heart shot downward for one sickening instant.\nSpeaking very slowly, out of his dread, he asked: \"Ram\u00fba--where is she?\"\n\nBaba sobbed again; and Charmides, with a great cry, sprang to her side\nand laid a fierce hand on the child's shoulder. \"Ram\u00fba!--Ram\u00fba! Where is\nshe?\"\n\nBaba raised her eyes and made a sidelong gesture towards the door of the\nother room. Charmides followed the look, and he almost laughed with\nrelief to see Ram\u00fba standing there in the door-way, looking at him. She\nwas just as usual: her hair smoothly coiled and bound about her head\nwith strips of bright cloth; her feet shod with wooden sandals; her\nragged tunic fitting her slender figure closely. But Ram\u00fba's eyes were\nred--far more red than Baba's. She was not, however, weeping now.\nCharmides thought her tears for Bazuzu, and he went to her with\nsympathetic phrases on his tongue and comforting tenderness in his\nheart. It was a shock, then, when she shrank from his approach and\nturned her head away. Baba, watching them both, read both their hearts;\nbut her tightened lips let no sound escape them.\n\nBy the time that Bazuzu's shoulder was bandaged and bound up, and\nCharmides, stung to silence, had seated himself on his bed and bowed his\nhead, Beltani bustled forth from her chamber, her face beaming, her\nwhole manner breathing busy cheerfulness. As she called a loud greeting\nto Charmides, the youth started up in hopeful astonishment. Beltani was\non her way up-stairs to the roof, however, to begin preparations for\nbreakfast; and no one spoke as she left the room. Ram\u00fba seated herself\nlistlessly on Bazuzu's bed, and Baba presently went to her and sat down\nat her side. Bazuzu, after moving vaguely about for a few minutes,\ncrossed suddenly to the far corner and drew out the basket of flowers,\nnow arranged in small nosegays, and sprinkled, as usual, with fresh\nwater. At sight of them Ram\u00fba gave a faint groan, and Charmides, hearing\nit, jumped suddenly to his feet, strode across the floor, and confronted\nthe two girls in a manner that showed his temper:\n\n\"Baba--Ram\u00fba--I know not my fault. Before I leave you, then, you shall\ntell me what it has been. Speak to me!\"\n\nRam\u00fba's only reply was to droop her head a little lower; but Baba\nanswered and said: \"There is no fault in you, Charmides. Our trouble is\nnot yours.\"\n\n\"What, then, is your trouble? Why is it not mine? Your mother smiles\nto-day. Is it Bazuzu, then?\"\n\n\"Nay.\"\n\n\"Then what? What? Will you never tell me?\"\n\n\"If thou wouldst know--Ram\u00fba is to be sold to-day--at a goodly price.\nTherefore our mother smiles.\"\n\nBaba spoke in a stupid, matter-of-fact tone, and Charmides heard her\nstupidly. \"Ram\u00fba to be sold!\" he repeated. \"Ram\u00fba to--be----RAM\u00dbA!\" he\nshouted. \"RAM\u00dbA! Speak to me! Apollo! My lord! Tell me what this thing\nis! Tell me that this woman speaks lies to me! Apollo!\"\n\nAs understanding finally came home to him, he broke into his own tongue.\nRam\u00fba's gentle, dog-like eyes were lifted for an instant only to his. In\nher glance Baba's words were corroborated. Charmides knew from her look\nthat the thing was true. Then he suddenly went forward and took her into\nhis arms.\n\n\"Ram\u00fba,\" he said, brightly, \"I love thee. Thou shalt be my wife.\"\n\nThen at last her resignation was broken through, and she caught him\nwildly about the neck. Clinging to him, she gave forth a long, wailing\nsob that seemed to have no end. Baba, white and choked, moved from her\nplace and aimlessly crossed the room to where Bazuzu crouched, nervously\ntwisting a rosebud in his hand. Tight and yet more tightly Charmides\nheld her whom he loved; and in that close embrace peace came upon them\nboth. It would take more strength than my Lord Rib\u00e2ta had to part these\ntwo now.\n\nAt this juncture some one came upon the scene--not Rib\u00e2ta, but Beltani.\nAt the sight that met her eyes her harsh face lost its light, and\nCharmides was made aware of her presence by a stinging blow on the back\nof the neck. With the strength of a strong man she tore him away from\nRam\u00fba's close embrace, thrust the girl back upon Bazuzu's pallet, and\nlifted her hand again to strike the Greek in the face. Charmides caught\nher by the wrist. Then they confronted each other, the wide, blue eyes\nblazing into the small, glittering, black ones. The woman's look did not\nfalter. She seemed to have in her no sense of shame. Then Charmides,\nsuddenly flinging her off from him, spoke two words in such a tone as he\nnever again used towards a woman:\n\n\"Thou fiend!\"\n\nFor a second Beltani cringed; but she recovered herself. With an\nunconcern that to the rhapsode was incomprehensible, she presently said,\naddressing the room generally:\n\n\"The food is ready. If any would eat, let him come up-stairs.\" Then,\nturning on her heel again, she retreated to the roof.\n\nNot a single one of the four left behind her, disregarded the summons.\nSuch was Beltani's peculiar power. Baba, Bazuzu, and Ram\u00fba, went from\nfear. Charmides followed them, out of a sense of prudence--the prudence\nwhich told him that Ram\u00fba could only be protected if he were permitted\nto remain in the household. He knew also that her one chance of escape\nwas through him; as perhaps her single desire to escape was on his\naccount. Therefore, with a superhuman effort, he forced himself to bland\nattention to Beltani throughout the meal, during which the entire story\nof the adventures of the past night was recounted at length. Charmides'\nhorror at what Ram\u00fba had been through was equalled by his shame and\nself-reproach at having slept while she, with Bazuzu and Baniya, had\nstood almost at his side. He made no comments on the tale. Only, when\nBeltani concluded her recital with the information that at sunset on\nthis very day Rib\u00e2ta would come in person to bring the gold and to take\nRam\u00fba away, Charmides, seeing the girl's shiver of dread, met her look\nwith a smile that sent the first glow of hope back to her heart. The\nGreek had made a very simple and feasible plan, as it seemed to him.\nRam\u00fba would go forth that morning as usual with her flowers, while he\nwould set out towards the temple of Sin. But at nightfall, when Rib\u00e2ta\narrived at the tenement Ut, with his manehs of gold to exchange for a\nsoul, Ram\u00fba, for the first evening of her life, would not be under her\nmother's roof. Rather he, Charmides, her husband, would keep her out in\nthe city, wherever he chose to lodge, rightfully and lawfully, and with\nher full consent; for there was no doubt that the priest of Sin would be\nquite willing to tie the marriage-cord about their wrists for such a sum\nas the Greek could afford to pay out of the still unemptied bag of his\nfather.\n\nTruly it was a pretty scheme, and an easy--so obviously easy, indeed,\nthat it happened to occur to Beltani also, and she so arranged matters\nthat Baba was detailed to sell the flowers on the steps of the temple of\nIstar, while Ram\u00fba remained at home under her mother's eye. When, at the\nusual hour for the departure of the workers, this forethought was\ndisplayed, Charmides began to realize his helplessness. There seemed\nnothing to do but to go forth as usual to the temple, to do his work\nthere, to fill out the day as he might, and to trust to the love of\nApollo to preserve her whom he loved from the fate that hung over her.\nBetween now and sunset were ten round hours. Cities had been taken in\nless time than that, did one but know how to set about it. But there was\nthe rub. The only thing that seemed left to do--go to Rib\u00e2ta himself\nwith an appeal--was a manifest absurdity. Charmides knew enough of\nBabylonish character for that. And even had Rib\u00e2ta's reputation as a\nrou\u00e9 and a roisterer not been what it was, still, the notion that he\ncould be prevented by a mere nobody from acquiring a beautiful slave in\nsuch a simple manner, was something that a man of Charmides' own race\nwould never have thought of. Ram\u00fba knew this as well as Charmides. She\nsaid good-bye to him in the door-way of the tenement Ut, her mother\nbeside her, and Baba just behind. There was no more than a long look and\nhis miserable whisper:\n\n\"At sunset I will be here.\"\n\nHe knew that she quivered at the mere mention of that hour. Then he\nturned abruptly away, and she could only watch him go.\n\nCharmides went straight from the bank of the canal to the temple of Sin,\nby a much shorter way than that that held so many happy memories for\nhim. He must accustom himself now to take his walk in solitude. Never\nbefore, however, had he realized what a dreary distance it was. The city\nlay about him, spread out in all its filth, ill-kept, teeming with\nnaked, half-starved children, noisy with mongrel dogs, rattling with\nbuffalo-carts. He saw to-day only the wretchedest and ugliest sights.\nHis own heart responded to the wails of every child throughout the\nendless walk; but he reached the temple a half-hour before his usual\ntime.\n\nThe mercy-hour had not yet come. A sacrifice, however, was in progress,\nand the officiating priest called to him to play while the augurs began\ntheir work. He saw the goat quartered and its flesh cooked, while the\nentrails, which had been removed, were carefully examined for any\nspecial omen of good or of evil for him who offered the sacrifice. When\nthis was over the Greek retired alone to the sanctuary, where, from the\nsacred image, he was to listen to the plaints of those that came to seek\naid in trouble. How vain that quest was he knew too well. Yet, because\nthis was a consecrated place, the Greek knelt to his own fair god, and\nprayed as a man prays once in his life, for Ram\u00fba, her honor, and his\nhappiness.\n\nWhen finally a priest came to him and opened the door in the back of the\nstatue, Charmides' heart was a little lighter. He ascended quickly into\nhis place, where he could look through the eyes of the god and speak\nthrough its mouth to those who knelt before it. Presently came a woman\nwith a sick child in her arms. No conjurer had been able to help her, no\ngod would take pity on her. Charmides told her a charm that could not\nfail, mentioned the price of the information, and sent her away. Then\nfollowed in rapid succession a stream of men and women, each with a tale\nof misery. By this time the Greek knew the types by heart, and, while he\npitied, he was wearied by them. Which of them all had a heart as sore as\nhis to-day? Alas! Could they have known that their god himself stood in\nthe shadow of despair's black wings, would they have departed from him\nserene in faith, and so confident in their new-found wisdom?\n\nHowever, when half the allotted mercy-time was over, there came one\nsuppliant who, for a moment, took the Greek's thought from himself. A\nman, entirely muffled in a dark mantle, his head covered with such a\ncloth as desert-travellers wear, entered the secluded place before the\nstatue, prostrated himself thrice before it, finally lifted his head,\nand, throwing the embroidered cloth back from his face, clasped his\nhands in the attitude of abject supplication. Charmides started to find\nhimself gazing into the deep-blue eyes of Belshazzar, the prince royal.\n\n\"May Sin look mercifully upon me from the high place,\" began the\nsuppliant, according to the ritual.\n\n\"Mercifully looks Sin upon them that approach him with humble hearts.\"\n\n\"Father Sin, bring peace to my heart!\"\n\n\"Child of Sin, peace is to thee.\"\n\n\"Hear thou the woe of my spirit. Heal me, and guard me from pain.\"\n\n\"I hear thee. Speak.\"\n\nHere the suppliant began in his own words, and Charmides listened\neagerly to him; for Belshazzar, priest as he was by birthright, was not\noften to be found at the mercy-seat of a god in whom, in his own heart,\nhe could have no faith. How far he had been initiated into the monstrous\ndeceits of the church, however, the Greek could not tell. And he now\nspoke with a humility of which Charmides had not deemed him capable.\n\n\"Great Sin, lord of men, father of Ishtar the divine, hear and pity me!\nTell me, I beseech, wherein I have angered the great gods? I have\noffended my goddess. With me my goddess is exceeding wroth. I kneel down\nbefore the gate-way of the temple of Istar, and am not admitted to her.\nI am become unholy in her eyes. I may no more pass over the threshold of\n\u00ca-\u00c2na. The Lady Istar knows me not. O god, her father, hear my prayer,\nthat I may learn how I shall placate the great goddess thy child! How\nmay I again in peace behold her? Bring answer, O god, to my prayer!\"\n\nOnce more Belshazzar touched his brow to the floor, while Charmides\nwatched him in amazement. For the moment he forgot to listen to the\nprompting words of the priest at his elbow. But when, after half a\nphrase, the fellow stopped and was silent, Charmides turned to look at\nhim, and remained fixed in astonishment. The under-priest was in the\nthroes of a frenzy such as the Greek had never seen before. Belshazzar,\nkneeling below, waited anxiously for his answer, while the oracle could\nonly stand there, helplessly, looking at the priest who trembled and\nshook so violently that his joints were threatened with dislocation.\nPresently, after a long stillness, when the suppliant had become not a\nlittle impatient, there came from the mouth of the Zicar\u00ee words that\nwere not of his making, spoken in a deep and sonorous voice with which\nCharmides was quite unfamiliar:\n\n\"Belshazzar, be not disturbed. The heart of Istar undergoeth change.\nThine hath she been; thine will be. In time, of her own will, she will\nseek thine aid. Then, by the might of thine arm, shalt thou protect her;\nand cherish her unto the end. Yet a little while and that end cometh for\nboth. Therefore go forth in peace, and wait her will.\"\n\nSilence followed these words, and Belshazzar, trembling with strange\nemotion, touched his brow to the floor, and rose, and went his way.\nCharmides turned from him back to the priest, who stood beside him in a\nnormal attitude, and said, presently:\n\n\"Reply thus to the suppliant: 'Thou must sacrifice to the Lady Istar, in\nher temple, fifty fat oxen and one hundred goodly lambs. By this shalt\nthou be brought back into the favor of Istar, the child of my heart. Sin\nhath spoken. Arise. Go thy way.'\"\n\nAnd Charmides, wondering more and more, repeated the words, as he was\nbidden, to the empty air. The temple of Istar had lost a hecatomb; but\nBelshazzar had, perhaps, been won to faith in his native gods.\n\nAt the end of the mercy-hour the Greek left the temple as usual, and\nwent forth into the streets. He did not turn to the square of Istar. It\nwere too miserably empty for him to-day. Rather he set off in another\ndirection, wandering drearily along. And how the long hours of noon and\nthe afternoon slipped away, he hardly knew. His unhappiness took no heed\nof time; for, all of a sudden, time had become worthless to him. It was\njust one hour to sunset when he turned his steps southward towards the\ncanal of the New Year.\n\nMeantime, while the Greek had wandered through unfamiliar quarters of\nthe city, Baba had sat all day on the steps of the temple of Istar, with\nRam\u00fba's flowers in her lap. Of the three young people who passed those\nunhappy hours in brooding over the general misfortune, it was the\nyoungest that endured most, and had suffered most acutely. Baba had to\nreview the situation of her family always hopelessly for herself,\nsometimes not without hope for the cause of her sister and Charmides.\nChild as she was, Baba loved Charmides with a love to the heights of\nwhich Ram\u00fba could not have risen. For, for the happiness of him whom she\nloved, the woman-child was willing to renounce him, to give him up to\nanother, though by that act her own life was spoiled forever. From the\nfirst moment of seeing Ram\u00fba and Charmides together, she, with the quick\nperception of one who loves unloved, had foreseen the end. Never once,\nafter the night of their first meal on the roof of the tenement, had she\nrebelled at this fact. Her resignation was absolute. It had even been a\nlittle comfort to her to dream of her sister's happiness, of the wedded\nhome in which she, Baba, might hold a definite place. That she might\ncontinue to see Charmides, and to hear his voice day by day, was all\nthat she had asked. But now it seemed that this, too, might be taken\nfrom her. She saw Ram\u00fba, a slave, secluded deep in the labyrinth of\nRib\u00e2ta's inaccessible palace; Charmides departed, in his grief, back to\nhis dim, distant home; herself and her mother left alone, to toil\nthrough the endless days, living only on the memories of a doubtful\nhappiness that was hopelessly gone.\n\nIt was at this juncture in her imaginings that Baba began to rebel.\nRib\u00e2ta should not have her sister, though he perished by her own hand\nthere in the tenement of Ut. This resolve she made at a little past\nnoon; and she looked up from the vow to find my Lord Rib\u00e2ta about three\nfeet away, regarding her.\n\n\"By Nebo, maid,\" said he, \"thou art not she who came last night into my\ngarden!\"\n\n\"Nay, verily, lord.\"\n\n\"Yet these be the flowers that my hands plucked for her who becomes mine\nto-day. Who art thou, girl?\"\n\n\"Baba, I,\" was the answer, as the child lifted her elfin face and\ndog-like eyes to the man.\n\n\"Baba! And she--the pretty one--is Ram\u00fba. What is she to thee?\"\n\n\"A sister.\"\n\n\"Ah! And you sell her flowers while she waits at home for me! Then give\nme of my roses, Baba, and I will pay for them.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he picked two crimson-petalled blossoms from the tray,\ntossed a shekel into the girl's lap, and passed on, laughing, while Baba\nstared after him, just realizing the opportunity that had come--and\ngone. Had she only killed him as he stood before her there, with the\nlittle weapon that she carried always in her girdle, who, in the\nexcitement of the moment, would have thought of her family? She would\nhave been carried off at once before the royal judges, have been\nspeedily condemned, and probably taken straight from the court to her\ndeath. But to kill Rib\u00e2ta in the tenement was a different matter. It\nwould implicate every member of her family: Charmides, as well as Ram\u00fba\nand her mother. Undoubtedly some desperate chance must be run to-day,\nbut how or when Baba did not know. It would probably be left for the\nexigencies of the sunset hour.\n\nThat hour was approaching. Baba watched it come, dreading it as much as\ndid Charmides, and more than Ram\u00fba. Ram\u00fba, indeed, had been singularly\ndull all day. The grief that she suffered was not poignant. It was as\nheavy and as lustreless as only despair can be. The fact that this was\nher last day of youth, of freedom, of love, of maidenhood, her last day\nin her home, the last day, in fine, of the life she had been born to,\nwas something that overwhelmed her completely, and made sharp\nrealization impossible. She followed her mother obediently about the\nhouse. She bathed the wounds of Bazuzu, who hid his face from her touch.\nAnd the only tears that she shed were over Zor, Baba's goat, which had\nstayed at home to-day, and had eaten its noon meal from her hand. At the\ntouch of the creature's tongue Ram\u00fba gave way for a few seconds. But she\nrecovered herself quickly, and presented an impassive face when, a few\nminutes later, her mother came down from the roof.\n\nRam\u00fba also watched the sun; but in her case it was more to know when she\nmight be expecting Charmides than anything else. Baba and the Greek\narrived somewhat before the time, within five minutes of each other.\nBaba had a scolding because four of the flower bouquets remained in her\nbasket unsold. She made her peace by producing Rib\u00e2ta's silver shekel,\nforbearing, however, to tell who had bestowed it upon her. After this\nlittle, indecisive skirmish, there was stillness in the lower room of\nthe tenement of Ut. All the family, Zor included, were gathered there\ntogether. Ram\u00fba sat at Baba's side on one of the beds. Beltani knelt\nnear the door-way, grinding sesame in a mortar. The slave Bazuzu wove on\nat his baskets; while Zor lay comfortably at the feet of Charmides, who,\nvery pale and silent, sat on his pallet on the darkest side of the room.\n\nThe sun reached the horizon line--and passed it. The evening flung out\nher victorious banners of purple, crimson, and gold. Still no Rib\u00e2ta.\nRam\u00fba lifted her head at short intervals, to look across the empty space\nthat stretched out from the open door. Charmides' heart palpitated so\nthat breathing became difficult. There seemed to be a hope on which he\nhad not calculated. Rib\u00e2ta might have repented of his bargain and not\ncome for the girl. This idea occurred to Beltani also, perhaps, for\npresently she rose from her labor, set the grain-jar aside, and hurried\nout of the door to look down the lane towards the canal. When she\nre-entered the room the look of smug satisfaction on her face was easy\nto read. Charmides' heart ceased to beat as she bustled over to Ram\u00fba,\nstood her up, examined her with the greatest care from head to heels,\nfastened in a flying lock, saw that her poor tunic was straight, and\nthat the garland on her head contained no withered leaf--for this might\nbe considered a most unfortunate omen. She was still fingering her\ndaughter when there was a clatter of yellow wheels outside, a prancing\nof glossy steeds on the hard pavement, and Rib\u00e2ta, in his most\nresplendent chariot, drew rein at the door of the tenement of Ut.\n\nBeltani's pride knew no bounds. She saw in her heart how every soul in\nthe neighborhood was eagerly peering out from its corner to look at her\ndoor, where, this time, no mere steward-collector of rent had stopped,\nbut my lord of them all, in golden attire, was come to pay them a visit.\nAs he dismounted from the vehicle and entered the room, Beltani was\nnearly on her knees to him, though Ram\u00fba, from her dark and shadowy\ncorner, shrank back as far as she could. Charmides, scowling bitterly,\nand so pale that his face made a white spot in the gloom where he sat,\nclenched his two fists, but made no sound. Bazuzu's fingers dropped from\nhis work, while he craned his neck to examine the enemy.\n\nRib\u00e2ta saluted his hostess in his most elegant manner, asked carefully\nafter her welfare, wished her health and fortune in the name of\nBel-Marduk, and then casually, without too much interest, inquired for\nthe object of his quest.\n\n\"The fair one, the Lady Ram\u00fba, the flower of my heart, let mine eyes\nbehold her, O mother of lilies!\" said he, with a manner that matched his\nwords.\n\n\"Ram\u00fba!\" called Beltani, gently--\"Ram\u00fba, greet thy lord!\"\n\nThe girl, trembling like a frightened rabbit, the fire of despair\nburning in her large eyes, rose from her place and came haltingly down\nthe room. Never, perhaps, had she been more beautiful than in this\nwretched hour. Charmides knew it. Rib\u00e2ta, who watched her every move,\ngave perceptible signs of pleasure. Bowing before her as he might have\nbowed to the queen of Babylon, he lifted one of her cold and unresisting\nhands to his lips. It had scarcely reached them when, with a suddenness\nthat startled Rib\u00e2ta, Ram\u00fba's hand was snatched away. She was pushed\nviolently backward, and my Lord Bit-Shumukin found himself eye to eye\nwith Charmides of Doric Selinous.\n\nThe Greek was choking with rage, with excitement, with biting jealousy.\nFor a moment after his act he could not speak. Rib\u00e2ta regarded him with\nfrowning amazement. He said nothing, however, till Charmides, with a\nconvulsive breath, opened his lips and began, very quietly:\n\n\"My Lord Rib\u00e2ta--\"\n\n\"Knave!\" thundered my lord, finding his voice. \"Out of my way!\" He\nlifted his hand to strike, but Charmides rather nonplussed him by\nawaiting the blow without a movement. He merely stood, white-faced and\nunflinching, looking Rib\u00e2ta in the eyes.\n\n\"My Lord Rib\u00e2ta,\" he repeated, still more gently, \"I beg you as a man,\nas one of the judges of the Great City, to hear me. This lady whom you\nwould purchase for gold to be your slave is my promised wife.\"\n\n\"Are you wedded?\" asked Rib\u00e2ta, quickly.\n\n\"No, no, no!\" screamed Beltani, shrilly, hurrying forward.\n\n\"No,\" admitted Charmides, with that extreme of calm that held Rib\u00e2ta's\nattention in spite of himself. \"No. She is but my promised wife.\"\n\n\"He lies, my lord!\"\n\n\"But can I see her whom I love taken from me without one word? Nay,\nverily, it must be over a lifeless body that Ram\u00fba goes to you.\"\n\nIt was all the plea that Charmides could make; yet perhaps it had stood\nhim in good stead if Beltani had not been there. She, flashing-eyed and\nfuriously angry, cried loudly:\n\n\"My lord! My lord! This man lies! He is no suitor to my daughter. She\nshall not call him lord though you cast her away. I say it, and I am her\nmother. Behold, he came a stranger into my house, and I sheltered and\nfed him. Thus does he repay the charity. My lord, wilt thou take Ram\u00fba?\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta listened to her quite as attentively as to Charmides. The\nsituation puzzled him not a little. Many and varied as his experiences\nhad been, he had never met with one like this. His official nature, as\none of the judges of the royal court, came up and stood him in good\nstead now. Having heard both sides of the case, he turned, for\ncorroboration of the one or the other, to the principal factor in the\nwhole matter--Ram\u00fba herself.\n\n\"Maid, what sayest thou to all this? Wilt thou come to me in peace, and\nwillingly?\" he asked.\n\nRam\u00fba's answer was not encouraging to his hopes. She moved forward a\nlittle, still trembling, the sudden hope of release lighting up her gray\npallor. She did not reply to the question in words, but sank to her\nknees on the floor at Rib\u00e2ta's feet, her hands upraised and clasped, the\npleading in her face too easy to read. Not Beltani's daughter, this.\n\nRib\u00e2ta gazed at her in pronounced admiration. Suddenly he coughed,\nturned on his heel, and began to pace up and down the narrow space\nbefore the door, head bent, brows contracted. Charmides knew well enough\nall that was in his heart, but he mightily feared the outcome of the\ndebate. Nevertheless, the very fact that there could be a debate\nconsiderably raised Rib\u00e2ta in his estimation. Even as he thought,\nCharmides prepared himself for a further and greater struggle. If Rib\u00e2ta\ndecided against him, if Ram\u00fba went forth with the man, it should be, as\nhe himself had said, over his, Charmides', dead body. Therefore he\nquietly loosened from its place the short, broad knife that had\ntravelled with him from home, and with this in his right hand, lying\nalong the under-side of his wrist, he stood leaning against the door,\nwatching the death of the bright sunset in the west, the gay chariot\nwith its rearing horses in front of the door, and, finally, the group in\nthe room with him. No one spoke. Rib\u00e2ta alone moved.\n\nAt length my lord's head gave a quick jerk, and he turned briskly\ntowards Beltani:\n\n\"Mother of fair women, is thy daughter Ram\u00fba ready to follow me? There\nlie in my chariot certain bags of golden coin that I have brought for\nthee; not that these could be any payment for a thing so priceless as\nthy child; but they shall go to show the love that I bear thee for her\nsake.\"\n\nBeltani grew radiant. Here, certainly, was no indetermination. \"Ram\u00fba!\"\nshe cried. \"Go thou instantly to my lord! He will take thee into the\nland of happiness.\"\n\nRam\u00fba obeyed her mother's words by moving swiftly to Charmides' side,\nlaying one light hand on his arm, and saying, quietly: \"Behold my lord!\nHim will I follow forever, into Mulge and Ninkigal, or up to the silver\nsky, as Marduk decrees.\"\n\nCharmides, looking into her face, smiled at her with his soul in his\neyes. Then he turned again to Rib\u00e2ta. \"My lord,\" he said, \"thou hearest.\nThou wilt not take her from her heart; and her heart is with me.\"\n\n\"By Nebo and Bel, I will take her!\" cried Rib\u00e2ta, furious at last. \"Do I\nnot buy her? She is my chattel. You, foreigner, can, at my word, be\nslain like a dog!\" With a heavy stride, and a mien that had more than\nmenace in it, he strode over to where Ram\u00fba stood cowering at Charmides'\nshoulder.\n\nHe had put out his arm to grasp her, and the knife became visible in\nCharmides' hand, when suddenly there was a faint exclamation from the\nother end of the room, and a little figure came running forward, and\nprojected itself in a heap at Rib\u00e2ta's feet.\n\nMy lord paused and looked down into an elflike face, with a pair of\nwide-open, black eyes, and a little mouth of rosy hue, parted just so as\nto show a row of snowy teeth. Masses of unbound hair hung loosely around\nher head and neck. Beneath her tattered vestment the lines of a\nremarkably graceful little body could be discerned. Rib\u00e2ta, looking at\nher steadfastly for a moment, found something in her face that caused\nhis own to relax its unpleasant expression.\n\n\"Thou art--Baba--!\" he said, with a recognizable imitation of her way of\nspeaking, and an ensuing grin at his success.\n\n\"My lord remembers!\" said Baba, with every appearance of coquettish\ndelight.\n\nRib\u00e2ta laughed as he touched a scarlet rose on his embroidered tunic. \"I\nremember--sprite,\" he said.\n\n\"My lord, I am Baba, the sister of Ram\u00fba. I have no lover nor husband.\nBehold, were my lord to ask it, I am my lord's. Let him take me in\nRam\u00fba's place for half the gold that he offers for her!\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta, Beltani, Ram\u00fba, most of all Charmides, stared at Baba in open\namazement at her shameless suggestion. All of them judged her exactly\naccording to her words. Only one in the room guessed at the real reason\nfor this unparalleled act, and he, knowing that reason, wept and loved\nher. Bazuzu, who had long ago realized the great, concealed sorrow in\nher life, was capable now of appreciating her unbounded devotion, and in\nhis secret heart he hated Ram\u00fba for the innocent part that she played in\nthis pitiable drama.\n\nRib\u00e2ta, his thoughts quite turned out of their angry channel, looked for\na long time down into the lively, witchlike face, and finally a smile\nparted his severe lips.\n\n\"Good Beltani, hearest thou thy daughter?\"\n\n\"My lord, I have heard her,\" returned the woman, in a subdued fashion,\nnot sure that Baba had not found the real solution of their difficult\nproblem.\n\n\"And thy words, woman?\"\n\n\"May my lord accomplish his will,\" she replied, disclaiming all further\nresponsibility.\n\nMy lord, who by this time began to find himself not absolutely certain\nof his will, bit his lip and looked thoughtfully from Baba to Ram\u00fba, and\nback again. The goat-girl sat at his feet, curled up like a kitten, her\neyes staring unwinkingly into his face, her lips pressed together in\napparent anxiety. Her whole _ensemble_ struck Rib\u00e2ta as peculiarly\npleasing. Ram\u00fba was hiding her face from his gaze, and certainly her\nfigure was not so graceful as that of her sister. Baba was not pretty,\nin the correct sense of the word; but Baba, he felt, would not weep for\nanother in his presence.\n\n\"Straighten thy garments, bold one, and rise up. Thou shalt come with\nme,\" he said, suddenly, with a half shrug of the shoulders.\n\nRam\u00fba quivered, whether with delight or displeasure she scarcely knew.\nAt any rate, it was not to Baba that she turned. Baba was strange to\nher, all of a sudden; was some one to pity, perhaps, but also to be\nashamed for. Her good-bye to her sister was reluctant and very gentle,\nbut not warm. Beltani, satisfied, now that one daughter had found wealth\nand the other a husband, kissed her little one light-heartedly. Black\nBazuzu pressed his lips to each of her bare feet, feeling her quite as\nworthy of the homage as his sovereign could be. Last of all, on her way\nout of the house of her childhood, Baba passed Charmides. His blue eyes\nlooked into hers for an instant with an expression of puzzled distaste.\nShe had won for him his life's happiness. This was all his thanks. Baba\nknew his mind, and a dull, half-human smile crept over her face--a smile\nthat Rib\u00e2ta would not have thought pretty had he been watching her just\nthen. On the threshold of the door, however, Zor was standing; and as\nshe perceived her goat, which she had always loved better than she loved\nherself, she suddenly seized the creature by its silken hair and gave it\na wrench that drew from Zor a long bleat of indignation. Rib\u00e2ta,\ncatching this proceeding on the part of his new possession, laughed\ndeeply. Here, at last, was something original.\n\nDay had crept in upon Baba in her new home before, at last, she could\nturn her face to the wall of her luxurious prison-house, and wail out\nher little agony alone, in the pale, golden light of the new dawn.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nBABYLON BY NIGHT\n\n\nBaba's departure into her new life left an unexpectedly large gap in the\nhousehold of the tenement. The child's personality had been very strong;\nand though she had been little heard, little seen even, she had been\nmuch felt. Charmides especially found this true. He had always believed,\nwhen he played and sang for himself at home, that Ram\u00fba's presence had\ngiven him the support of understanding and sympathy. He was scarcely\nwilling to admit, even to himself, that, in the absence of Baba, the\npleasure of improvisation had materially lessened. Baba's action in\ngoing to Rib\u00e2ta he still misunderstood. But as time passed and the want\nof her was as strong as ever, she came gradually to assume in his mind a\nplace that she had dreamed of filling but had never hoped to attain.\n\nThough Baba was at liberty to visit her home, if she chose, during the\nfour or five hours at mid-day, when her lord would never demand her\npresence, she had the strength to withstand the temptation, knowing that\nby such visits her unhappiness would be greater than ever. Her\nhomesickness was pitiable enough. She managed to conceal it from the\neyes of the curious very well. Her tears would never flow when any one\nwas near. But by day and by night the iron entered into her soul; and as\nday followed day, the weight of the hours past, and yet more the presage\nof those to come, crushed her spirit with a merciless slowness. Baba was\ntoo young to realize the healing power of time, how it bears\nforgetfulness on its kindly wings, how its shadow becomes finally a\nshield by which the keen daggers of remembrance are blunted and turned\naside. She did not know that the human soul can suffer only so far. Her\ncapacity seemed infinite. She appeared to have entered into an eternally\ndreary land, the boundless valley of shadow. She wept till tears were\ngone. Day renewed the misery that night confirmed. Finally, when she had\ncome to dream wildly of death as the one desirable thing, the limit of\nher unhappiness was reached and the tide turned. The beginning of the\nchange for the better was made by the appearance of Zor, her beloved\ngoat, who had mourned for her mistress so continually that life in the\nneighborhood with her became impossible, and finally Bazuzu carried the\ncreature to the gates of Rib\u00e2ta's palace, and commanded the magnificent\nslaves of the portal to carry it instantly to the Lady Baba. The Lady\nBaba being, at the moment, an unconscious but none the less real power\nin my lord's household, Bazuzu was obeyed with alacrity, and the eunuch\nthat led the animal into the court-yard, where Baba lay alone upon her\ncushions, could only stand in open-mouthed astonishment to see that lady\nrun forward, screaming with delight, throw her arms about the animal's\nneck, and clasp it to her heart with a warmth that my lord had never\ndiscovered in her.\n\nZor herself baaed with joy; and, having completely forgotten the\nanything but affectionate parting of two weeks before, put her nose to\nher mistress' cheek and loudly sounded her pleasure.\n\nBaba always remembered this meeting as the first ray of light in her\ngloomy existence. Little by little, now, the luxury of her new home\nbegan to grow more worthy in her eyes, when she contrasted it with the\nsqualor of her childhood's home. Little by little, as the feeling of\nsilken garments became more familiar, she lost the craving for her rags,\nand the hair that could fall in unrebuked tangles round her face. The\ncourts, the halls, and the rooms of Rib\u00e2ta's beautiful abode, no longer\nlooked vast, barren, and tomblike to her eyes. Rib\u00e2ta himself was not an\nobject of terror now. He had always been gentle, always kind, with her.\nThis, long ago, she had begun to realize. And now, at length, a visit to\nthe tenement began to seem possible--desirable. Bazuzu, indeed, had come\nto see her more than once, to bring her her mother's love, and to say\nthat she and Ram\u00fba would see her as soon as she could come. Ram\u00fba was\nvery busy and very happy. Her wedding with Charmides was to be\ncelebrated before the first rains of Tasrit\u00fb (September), and it was now\nwell along in Ul\u00fblu, the last of summer. Baba heard the news without\nsurprise, but determined to wait till the knot was tied before she went\nback to see her home.\n\nThe time came soon enough. It was not quite three months after the\nGreek's first sight of the Great City that he took up that city as his\nabode for life, bound to it by every tie that can bind a man to his\nhome. Throughout his wedding-day, with its quaint ceremonies and its\nhigh feasting, Charmides' mind was upon his mother and her distant land.\nCould she only know his wife, see her for an hour, behold her pretty\ngentleness, and read her great love for him, Charmides felt that Heraia\nwould rejoice with him. But, as it was, through this, the most important\nday of his life, the youth was rather silent and grave, save when Ram\u00fba\nlooked at him with her shy, inquiring smile.\n\nThe wedding ceremony was long and fatiguing. It meant prayer and\npurification in the morning before the assembled images of the gods.\nThen there was the procession to the nearest temple, the signing of\ncontracts, the giving of Ram\u00fba's hard-won dower by Beltani, and\nCharmides' reverent pledge to support, protect, and cherish his wife so\nlong as she should remain faithful to him. Then his wrist and hers were\nbound together with a woollen cord, a prayer was chanted, there was a\ngreat blare of trumpets and clashing of cymbals, a public proclamation\nthat Charmides had taken unto himself Ram\u00fba, the daughter of Beltani of\nthe tenement of Ut, and then, at last, the sacrifice. The chief portion\nof the animals slaughtered was carried to the house of the bride for the\nwedding feast, which lasted as long as the food held out.\n\nNot till early evening did Charmides find himself alone. The guests had\ndeparted, and Ram\u00fba and her mother were up-stairs in the little room\nthat Charmides had taken for Ram\u00fba and himself on the top floor of the\ntenement. The Greek seated himself on a stool in the door-way of the\nliving-room, watching the sunset, that poured, a river of living gold,\nover the lane and square before him. The thought of Sicily and his\nfamily there was with him still; and he tried, for a little while, to be\nalone by the sea with his parents and his brother. With all his soul he\nprayed to Apollo for happiness in the new life, for forgiveness of any\npast wrong, for a blessing for his wife, and a continuous renewal of\ntheir love for each other. Then between him and Ram\u00fba came the thought\nof little Baba. Her life was dishonorable, despicable, in his eyes; yet\nit was she that had saved him either from a great crime or the loss of\nthat that was dearest to him. Did she know of her sister's wedding? If\nshe knew, why had she not come to it? There was no telling. But, in any\ncase, he thought of her very kindly to-night, as he sat alone with the\ngathering dusk.\n\nCharmides' head was bent with abstraction and he was no longer looking\nat the square before him. Presently a four-footed creature ran against\nhis knee and laid its head there. He looked up quickly, to find Zor at\nhis side and Baba in the square. She came towards him through the\ntwilight like a wraith, in her trailing, silken garments, with her hair\npiled up on her small head in a crown of black braids fastened with\nwrought golden pins. Beneath the dark hair her face looked very pale and\npointed. It was infinitely different from the face he had known. There\nwas no longer anything of the child in it. The elf-look was gone. In its\nplace was an expression of gentle weariness, of patience, of\nlong-suffering that affected the Greek strangely. As she came closer he\nlooked her full in the eyes, and, with one of his old, shining smiles,\nheld out both hands to her.\n\nBaba had steeled herself to meet any greeting, but this was the one that\ncame nearest to breaking down her self-control. She managed to answer\nthe look steadily; and no one, least of all Charmides, could have\ndreamed how her heart was bleeding. She gave him her hands, and he saw\nwhat she carried in one of them.\n\n\"For Ram\u00fba's bridal,\" she said, placing on his knee a long, golden chain\nof Phoenician workmanship. It was far more valuable than anything Ram\u00fba\nhad dreamed of possessing; and Charmides, examining the fine work on the\nmetal links, said so to her.\n\nBaba dropped her eyes. \"It was from my lord to me,\" she said. \"But it is\nmy hand that brings it to Ram\u00fba. Thou wilt let her wear it--for\nme--Charmides?\" The tone was doubtful.\n\nMuch as he might not have desired it, the Greek could not refuse her.\n\"Ram\u00fba is above. Go thou and make thy costly gift to her thyself, Baba.\"\n\nBaba bent her head, accepting the dismissal with the unquestioning\nobedience that she had had instilled into her all her life through.\nWhile she mounted to her sister, to hear the tale of that sister's\nperfect happiness, Charmides sat him down again, the current of his\nthoughts quite changed; his dreams all of the new life, no longer of the\nold.\n\nOne week and then another passed away. The rains had come upon the land,\nand all Babylon rejoiced that the fiery summer was over. Wonderful and\nterrifying were these rains. Sometimes, for six hours at a stretch, the\nskies would open wide, and all the waters of the upper air descend upon\nthe earth in such floods that, by the time they had passed away, and\nRam\u00e2n and his demons ceased to scourge the souls in Ninkigal, Babylon\nwould lie quivering in mud, her brick huts melted into shapeless\npuddles, her drains overflowing with water and refuse, her river tearing\nalong through its high-bricked banks, threatening to inundate all\nChaldea, from Cutha to the gulf. And yet--one short day of sunshine and\nthe \u00c2-Ibur and all the squares were dry again; the canals flowed soberly\nbetween their banks; the troops of beggars, children, and dogs came out\nfrom their lurking-places, and homeless ones gathered their scant\nfurniture out of the muddy ruins and began the yearly task of rebuilding\ntheir unstable homes.\n\nThe days were growing short, and Charmides, whose work at the temple\noccupied more time than formerly, while his salary had correspondingly\nincreased, frequently walked home at the very end of twilight. One\nevening, during the first days of Arah-Samma (October), the young Greek,\nwho had been detained by a special sacrifice in honor of the full moon,\nwas wending his way homeward by its light. His steps were slower than\nusual and betrayed the reluctance that he felt. His mood was arbitrary.\nFor the first time since his marriage, for the first time in his life,\nperhaps, Charmides felt a great craving for masculine society. The idea\nof the eternal supper with Ram\u00fba and her mother, the evening spent in\nhearing his wife discourse upon effeminate matters, or in poetry of his\nown making, palled upon him. Were there a single man in all this city\nwhom he could call comrade, Ram\u00fba might have waited for him in vain\nto-night. So at least thought Charmides, as he loitered along in\nchildish ill-humor; and either Sin or Apollo must have read his heart.\nPresently, as he came to a turn in the way, he espied, just emerging\nfrom a door on the left, a whilom familiar figure, bandy-legged,\ncrook-shouldered, with spotless white cap and tunic, and a walk by which\nhe would have been recognized at the end of the world. Without\nperceiving Charmides, he turned towards the south. But the Greek, his\nheart leaping with pleasure, darted forward and grasped the little\nfellow by the shoulder.\n\n\"Hodo!\" he cried, in Phoenician. \"Hodo! Dost thou forget me?\"\n\n\"By Nebo, my little Greek!\" shouted Hodo, blinking violently once or\ntwice, and then opening his eyes wide with delight. \"Well, my Greek!\nStill in Babylon? And how? And where? I will turn my steps in the way of\nthy going.\"\n\n\"They go in mine already. Come you home with me, Hodo, and greet my\nwife.\"\n\n\"Wife--_wife_! Horns of Bel! Why, Greek, thou art the wonder of my\nheart! 'Home'--to thy 'wife'! Who may she be? Thou hast not won the\ngoddess over?\"\n\nCharmides flushed, but did not lose his temper. \"Come you home and eat\nof my bread, and behold the light of Ram\u00fba's eyes.\"\n\n\"Oh, ay. Give you thanks. I will in happiness break bread with you.\nThen, later, come you out with me where I am going--to the temple of the\nfalse Istar. Let us behold the witches who wander abroad; the vultures\nthat snatch at the bodies of the fallen in the pale beams of Sin; and\nthe vampires and ghouls that haunt the Great City by night. The Lady\nRam\u00fba will sleep soundly enough for this only time.\"\n\nCharmides laughed blithely. \"Verily, 'tis what I would do, Hodo. Babylon\nby day I know all too well. But Babylon by night--often have I heard of\nthe \u00cegig\u00ee and the bat companions of Mulge. Together we shall behold\nthem. Now yonder is the tenement of Ut, wherein I dwell.\"\n\n\"Aha! Near to Rib\u00e2ta's palace. Is thy wife awaiting thee?\"\n\n\"It is Ram\u00fba in the door-way there, with the jar upon her head.\"\n\n\"By Nebo and Bel, a slender lass!\"\n\nAs the two men arrived at the door Charmides introduced his wife to his\nfriend; and Ram\u00fba, for Charmides' sake, greeted the grotesque little\ncreature with cordial if modest hospitality. Beltani hurried forth to\npurchase a river-fish from the nearest vender, and this was hastily\ncooked for supper, along with the usual sesame. These things, and the\nmilk, figs, and dates, they ate in-doors; for, though the moon still\nshone brightly, none could say that in fifteen minutes a hurricane might\nnot be raging. Ram\u00e2n was fickle, and, in the rainy season, he was the\nsupreme god of the skies.\n\nHodo seated himself delightedly at Charmides' table. Here, indeed,\nthought he, was a miracle: that a fellow scarcely attained to manhood,\nignorant of every detail of the life and the language of a people also\nnew to him, should have entered the gates of the greatest city in the\nworld, and in four months find himself master of a household, earning a\ncreditable income, and should at the same time have won for a wife one\nof the most delightful young women that the little Borsipite had ever\nseen. Ram\u00fba, in fact, with one long-lashed glance, had completely\nconquered him. The crooked little man forgot his food in the interest of\nobserving what went on around him; and only by the noble efforts of\nBeltani was the conversational ball kept moving, however fitfully and\nunevenly. Ram\u00fba, shy and a little nervous at this first tax on her young\nmatronhood, said almost nothing, but managed that Bazuzu should keep\nevery plate and cup filled without putting too severe a strain on the\ndiminutive larder. It never occurred to Charmides to watch the food, nor\nto be in the least ashamed of their open poverty. His Greek nature was\ntoo primitive for that. He was decidedly sorry when the meal came to an\nend, and Ram\u00fba, making the proper salutations, followed her mother into\nthe inner room, leaving Charmides and the guest to divert themselves as\nbest they might.\n\n\"Thy wife--does she dance?\" inquired Hodo, hopefully, when they were\nalone.\n\nCharmides shook his head. \"No. Had she the aptitude, I should forbid it.\nA dancing-woman is not for a man's wife.\"\n\nHodo sighed, nodded, and seated himself resignedly, while Charmides\nmoved over to the door and looked out upon the night. Presently he\ndarted out and up the stairs, to return a moment later wrapped in a\nvoluminous cloak of dark stuff: an article never unacceptable at this\ntime of year. Re-entering the room, he turned eagerly to his friend.\n\n\"Come, Hodo! Now let us go forth into the city, up to the temple of the\nfalse Istar. For I am ignorant of all that happens within it at night.\nDemons and witches I have never beheld. Come you and show them to me.\nRise up and come!\"\n\nThe trader obeyed these suggestions with alacrity, there being no\nfurther prospect of seeing Ram\u00fba that night. Before leaving the house,\nhowever, Charmides went to her to explain whither he was going, lest she\nmight lie awake for him. Like a dutiful wife, she made no protest;\nthough had he chosen, Charmides might have read in her eyes her little\nsense of disappointment and depression. However, Charmides did not\nchoose. Hurrying quickly out of the house, he and Hodo crossed the\nsilent square and reached the bank of the canal, across which, at a\nlittle distance, rose, like a huge shadow, the great palace of\nBit-Shumukin, where the tiny windows set high in the bright-colored\nwalls were marked in blotches of pale light.\n\nDown in this quarter of the city the streets were deserted. Stillness\nlay over everything. The moonlight made a fairy day, that hid all the\nblemishes, the filth, the ruinous rubbish-heaps, and so beautified the\nthings that were shapely that one might have been walking through a city\nof the silver sky. But the heavens were not perfectly clear. As the two\nwalkers finally arrived upon the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb a heavy cloud suddenly hid\nSin from their sight, and a faint growl of thunder rolled out of the\nmists, coming to their ears as from a great distance. Charmides\nstraightened up, muffled himself a little closer in his cloak, and\nturned to Hodo.\n\n\"Where find we the second Istar?\" he asked, crisply.\n\nHodo looked at him with a little smile. \"Charmides is changed since that\nday that he took part in the rites of Ashtoreth,\" he observed, turning\ntowards the north.\n\nIn the darkness the Greek frowned. It was the one incident in his life\nof which he could not bear to be reminded. And this--was this to put him\nback into that day? It was only with an effort that he shook off a\nsudden reluctance; but it passed as the moon suddenly shot a stream of\nlight forth from the cloud, and he looked about him. They were well\nalong the \u00c2-Ibur, just opposite the royal granaries. So much the Greek\nrealized. But otherwise the street had a most unfamiliar appearance.\nMany, many people were abroad in it: shadowy, dark-flitting forms,\nwhether of men or of women it would have been hard to say. Cries, vague\nand incomprehensible to Charmides, yet each with its peculiar\nsignificance among frequenters of the streets by night, came weirdly out\nof the shadowy darkness. At short intervals on each side of the broad\nstreet a string of lamps stretching above a door-way would mark the\nentrance to some drinking or gambling den unknown to daylight. Into\nthese places muffled figures were continually passing; but few emerged.\nIt was yet too early for that. Charmides would have paused to look into\none or two of them, but Hodo hurried along, glancing neither to the\nright nor left. Every few yards, now, the younger man was accosted by\nsome creature of the night, a devotee of false Istar, or a priestess of\nLil the ghost, the queen of Lil\u00e2t, who was lord of darkness. Not once\ndid Charmides make reply to the women; but, had it not been for Hodo, he\nwould have liked very well to halt at some dark corner to watch more\ncarefully all that was going on around him.\n\nThe Borsipite knew Babylon too well to stop on so transitory and\nuninteresting a site as the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. Far to the north, almost under\nthe shadows of Imgur-Bel, near the gates of Sin and the Setting Sun, in\nthe square of the temple of the false Istar, all the viciousness of all\nhumanity was visible to every man, and was permitted, in the name of\nreligion, to go on between the hour of the first darkness and the gray\nof dawn.\n\nOn the right side of the square, on the usual platform, but without any\nziggurat or tower near it, was the low, broad building miscalled\n\"temple,\" dedicated to the worship of the goddess of night. This\nbuilding by day was gray, silent, deserted, shut as to doors and\nwindows, open to no one. By night one would not have known it for the\nsame thing. Its unguarded gates were wide to any that chose to\nenter--and these were never few. The hundreds of miniature apartments\nthat composed the interior of the place, glowed with light. In the first\nof these rooms the eager or the new-comers were waylaid, while the idle\nor the fastidious penetrated as near as possible to the central shrine,\nwhere she who represented the goddess, the living substitute elected\nevery year on the first of Nis\u00e2n, reposed in a dimly lighted grotto of\nunsurpassed splendor. To her many were summoned; and one out of every\ntwenty, perhaps, remained. But the Chaldean visitor in Babylon that\npassed five nights in the city and saw not the queen of the temple of\nfalse Istar, was, indeed, an old and ugly man.\n\nOn the opposite side of the square stood a little row of houses, also\nquiet but not utterly deserted by day. In them dwelt the orders of\nwitches, sorceresses, hierodules, priestesses, and vampires attached to\nthe far-famed and infamous temple across the square. These, like their\nqueen, lived by night and slept by day. Into their houses none but\nmembers of their orders were admitted. The greatest precision was\nobserved in their rules of life; and the great public knew nothing at\nall of the real and rather pitiable existence of these dwellers in\nsilent places.\n\nThese buildings were the only ones upon the square. To the north and to\nthe south it was enclosed by high walls pierced by as many gates as\nthere were streets leading into it; for no one ever had any difficulty\nin getting into the place if he cared to enter it.\n\nFinally, what was the square itself? By day it was the quietest spot in\nthe city. By night it was the most crowded and the most wonderful. Great\nthrongs of people always assembled here during the first hour of\ndarkness--men of every station and age; priest and lord, bondsman and\nofficial, tradesman, shopkeeper, farmer, laborer, and soldier. All of\nthem were solemnly clad, and they mingled together in an inextricable\nmass about the myriad bonfires that served to light the performances of\nthe jugglers, snake-charmers, and wizards who earned their living here.\nFanatical priestesses of Lil flitted among the people; and these women\nwere a very real danger, for they menaced life in a peculiar way. They\nwere professional vampires, whose habit it was to slip a delicate,\npoisoned dagger into the vital spot below the heart of a victim, throw\nthemselves upon the body as it fell, and rob it, under the horrid\npretence of sucking the blood. Incredible as it is, these women were\nheld in superstitious reverence. No one dared resist the attack of a\nvampire, through fear of becoming one of them after death. Vigilance and\nflight were the only means of safety; and certainly what violence was\ndone did not seem enough to deter all Babylon from congregating at this\nplace.\n\nAs Hodo and Charmides at length ended their weary walk and entered the\nsquare, the trader gave his companion a quick warning of the dangers\nthere to be encountered; and the Greek, feeling nothing but a\npleasurable thrill of excitement, placed his left hand on his not\ntoo-well-filled money-bag, and eagerly followed his companion towards\nthe bonfire nearest the door of the temple. It was not easy to force a\npassage through the close-packed crowd that stood here about the\nperformer. But with some expostulation, a good deal of elbowing, and not\na little Babylonish profanity, the two finally reached a vantage-point\nwhence they could watch the performance of the wonder-worker. The man\nwas a Hindu outcast from the Sindh, come hither only he knew how. But\nfrom some one, somehow, perhaps by aid of his own mystical religion, he\nhad learned a profession that could not but win him a living, wherever\nhe might be. Charmides, who had never before heard of an exhibition like\nthis, looked on wide-eyed, in great delight. He was utterly absorbed in\nwatching a parrot come slowly forth out of a ferret's throat, when a\nlithe arm slid gently around his neck. He started backward in terror.\nHodo was upon him instantly and the white arm was withdrawn, its owner\nmelting so quickly into the throng that Charmides could not even\nrecognize her. Trembling a little, with a combination of outraged\ndignity and fright, the youth drew away from the scene that had now lost\nits interest. Once in the more open spaces of the square, Hodo went to\none of the liquor venders who passed continually to and fro, carrying on\ntheir backs skins of the heady liquid made from the cabbage of the\ndate-palm, together with various other cheap and highly intoxicating\ndrinks.\n\n\"Come hither, my Charmides, and drink with me!\" called his guide, as he\nbought a double cupful of red liquor from a little, shrivelled man with\nnewly filled pig-skin.\n\nThe Greek bravely accepted the invitation and lifted the cup to his\nlips. He took a single mouthful of the stuff, and then poured the rest\nof it quietly out upon the ground. Hodo saw nothing. He had taken his\nbeverage, with no joy in its flavor but with every confidence in its\nhappy result. Charmides was not to be outdone in good-fellowship.\nStraightway he made for another vender, Hodo, grinning approval, close\nat his heels; and the first performance was repeated, save for the fact\nthat this time the Greek paid for both drinks. Hodo was now bent upon\nhaving too much. Charmides watched him quaff for the third time, himself\noffered a fourth cup; and after that, having wasted thirty _se_ to very\ngood purpose, took his companion by the shoulder and remonstrated.\n\n\"Hodo, I shall leave you if you do not cease.\"\n\n\"Spirit of Lil, my wonder, we have but begun! The n-night is young.\nBehold, Sin and his little brother ride still low in the sky.\nWell--w-well! If thou wilt be foolishly wroth we will wait your most\nreverent pleasure. Come now into the temple. It is time. By the battle\nof Bel and Ti\u00e2mat, thou wilt win in to Istar herself, with your golden\ncurls and pale eyes. Come on, little Greek! By all the gods, come on!\"\n\nOnce again Hodo took the lead; this time rather more crookedly than\nusual, and Charmides followed at his heels, through the roaring throng,\nup to the wide gates of the many-roomed house of the false Istar.\nTogether they ascended the platform steps, reached the threshold of the\ntemple itself, wavered there for an instant, like birds ready for\nflight, and then plunged together into the first torch-lit passage.\n\nFour hours later Charmides emerged alone. His cloak and his money-bag\nwere both gone. His tunic was rent in more than one place. His face was\nwhiter than Zor's milk; and his hair was in wild disorder. Heeding\nlittle how he went, he passed down the steps again into the square. It\nwas nearly empty now. Jugglers and magicians were gone. The fifty fires\nburned low, or were on the verge of extinction. The moon hung in the\nwest, and the sky was heavy with storm-clouds. The Greek staggered as\nthe cool darkness stole over him. In the house he had left the revelry\nwas at its maddest pitch. Hodo was lost in it, his companion knew not\nwhere. Charmides himself had learned the highest form of worship of the\nfalse goddess, for he had attained to the inmost shrine. He was young;\nthe flame of his fire had burned too fiercely while it burned at all;\nand now the reaction had set in. Exhausted, apathetic, half fainting\nfrom weariness, he longed for the liquor that he had refused earlier in\nthe night. But drink was impossible now. His money was gone. All that he\nhad with him he had flung into the open coffers of the great courtesan.\nNow--now there stretched before him the endlessly weary homeward way,\nthat must be traversed on foot. At the prospect he shivered with misery.\n\nPausing for a moment or two to gather a little warmth for his chilled\nbody from the dying embers of the nearest fire, preparatory to setting\nforth into the city, he saw, coming towards him out of the gloom of the\nopposite side of the square, two well-robed men, one of whom he\nrecognized as an under-priest in the temple of Sin. They were going in\nhis direction, and as they passed he moved after them, that he might\nkeep himself awake by listening to snatches of their conversation. Both\nof them were oblivious of his presence, wholly absorbed in themselves.\nThey did not talk at first; but a sensitive person would have realized\nthat they were indulging in that species of mental intercourse that\nexists only for those whose hearts are bare to each other. Charmides,\neven in his irresponsible condition, recognized the sympathy, but could\nnot, of course, partake of it. At the first spoken word, however, he\npricked up his ears and listened with all his mind. Oddly enough, he\nfound their topic one of peculiar interest to himself. It was the priest\nof Charmides' temple who spoke.\n\n\"From Siat\u00fb-Sin I heard all the tale--all that any one knows. It is\nincredible, thrice incredible, that she was cried 'mortal' by the\npeople.\"\n\n\"The people! The cattle, rather!\" rejoined his companion, scornfully.\n\n\"Howbeit--howbeit--there is something strange in the story. Divine, she\nknew that death was intended. _Human_, she feared it. That we know.\"\n\nKaiya shook his head impatiently. \"Since Babylon knew her again, neither\nAmraphel nor Beltishazzar has dared go to her.\"\n\n\"Amraphel, nor Daniel--nor any man. Her very priestesses, we are told,\ndo not see her face. The silver glory is gone from around her, they say.\nNow walks she veiled in black and gold from Babylonish looms. Veiled she\nsits in the mercy-seat. Veiled she receives her food. Veiled she ascends\nto the ziggurat, and there passes whole days alone in meditation.\"\n\n\"And it is said that one standing on the ziggurat, by the door of the\nsanctuary, may hear the sound of human weeping in that room.\"\n\n\"Istar weeping! Ho, Kaiya--thou laughest!\"\n\n\"No. I say what I am told,\" repeated the other, seriously.\n\n\"A goddess--does not weep.\"\n\nThere was a little pause. The conversation had reached a point whence it\ncould not proceed. Neither man would make the inference implied. It was\npreposterous--also unnecessary.\n\nPresently, however, when the reverence had been strained a little,\nBel-Dur, the priest of Sin, broke into a laugh. \"Love we the woman,\nKaiya?\" he asked, in amusement.\n\nKaiya was no laggard. He whipped off his religious mood like a garment,\nand went a step further than his companion. \"Let us love her!\" said he.\n\nBel-Dur turned his head to stare at his companion, and once more began\nto laugh. \"Why not? Is it forbidden? Let us carry comfort to the weeping\none. Let us banish her loneliness. Let us--\"\n\n\"Nay, be silent, Bel-Dur, and listen to me. If she be proved a woman,\nand hath thus deceived all in the Great City, let her--let her, for\npunishment or reward, be removed--from one temple of Istar into the\nother.\"\n\nKaiya looked swiftly over his companion's face, and then let his eyes\nmove farther afield. Charmides, behind the two men, listening intently,\nbut slow, from weariness, to understand, waited stupidly for the next\nspeech. Kaiya continued:\n\n\"Too long we have worshipped her as Istar to banish her now from Istar's\nplace. Let her be carried to the greater temple, and placed there in the\ninner shrine on the golden couch of the false goddess. Eh? Say you that\nI speak well?\"\n\nAt these ruthless words, spoken in jest though they were, Charmides\nhalted. The blood poured into his brain. He clenched his hands. There\nwas a moment of wild impulse to rush forward and throw himself bodily on\nthe Zicar\u00ee that spoke. But the two figures moved on through the\ndarkness, and he lost the next words. Much as the priests had shocked\nhim, Charmides felt the greatest anxiety to hear more of their talk. He\nstumbled forward again as fast as he could, and presently caught up with\nthem, realizing their nearness by the distinctness of their voices; for\nthe moon was now under a cloud, and the night was black and thick. When\nhe was again able to distinguish words, Bel-Dur was speaking; and the\ntopic had evidently shifted a long way from its previous point.\nCharmides was puzzled at the first sentences.\n\n\"I do not know. Amraphel only admits the Pat\u00eas\u00fb, Sang\u00fb, and En\u00fb\nto their councils; these, and, of course, the three Jewish leaders:\nDaniel and the sons of \u00cagibi. The men of Judea--captives, they call\nthemselves--will be a strong force in the uprising.\"\n\n\"Will this come in winter?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Nothing is commonly known. Yet, in the rainy season, the\narmy of the Elamite could not move northward without great difficulty.\nIt is whispered through the temple that there are to be two armies--one\nthat of Kurush himself; another that of Gobryas, the governor of Gutium.\nHave you heard it?\"\n\n\"Whispered, yes. But nothing is sure. If this uprising were to be a\nmatter of three months hence, surely more would be known of it than is\nknown now. Everything is rumored; nothing is definite--\"\n\n\"Save that Amraphel covets Nabonidus' high place--and will have it.\nBelshazzar, look you, will never sit upon the golden throne of his\nfathers.\"\n\n\"Istar being no woman--maybe Belshazzar will be proved no man.\"\n\n\"Then is he a demon. Nabonidus, indeed, may be a woman in man's garb, O\nKaiya. But thou wilt find Belshazzar no sluggard in war.\"\n\n\"Verily I believe it. Here is my house. Wilt come in to us, Bel-Dur?\"\n\n\"Nay, I keep my way to the temple. There is but a short time for\npurification before the auguries of dawn.\"\n\n\"Farewell. Amraphel be with you!\"\n\nBel-Dur laughed at the bold sacrilege and departed towards the temple of\nSin, while the Zicar\u00ee entered into the little house of which he was a\nmember. Charmides was left alone in the narrow street, too weary to go\nas far as the tenement, undecided as to where to turn his lagging steps\nfor a sorely needed shelter.\n\nEven while he stood, fagged and drooping with sleep, at the door of the\nmonastery, the dawn broke. Night melted and swam before his eyes in\nrivulets of misty gray. Shadowy buildings reared out of the dim light.\nFrom the far-away came the faint howls of waking dogs. There was the gay\ncrow of a cock from some distant field. Then the world was still again.\nThe sky grew eerily clear. Charmides saw the white stars and the fallen\nmoon sink away into the bright heavens. Still the morning was not one of\nsunlight. It was only a luminous fog that poured down from the sky in\nswirls. In the midst of it the Greek shuddered with cold, and longed for\nhis lost cloak. Somewhere--somewhere he must go, and quickly. Somewhere\nhe must find shelter from the coming rain. His head throbbed. He was\nwretchedly nauseated. The night that was past stretched behind him\nhideously, like the tail of a loathsome reptile. All things were\ndistorted in his mind. He cursed Hodo for making possible for him the\nnight that he had secretly desired. Finally, he put away every thought\nsave that of physical distress, and moved forward at a crawling pace\ndown the narrow street, till he came to the square of the true Istar,\nwhose temple loomed up before him like a cloud-shadow.\n\nThe temple gates were open. As Charmides entered the grateful refuge he\nfound more than one wanderer asleep in the silent twilight of the holy\nhouse, where sacrificial lights burned by day and by night. Here\nCharmides also should have laid him down; but, for some inexplicable\nreason, he was not satisfied with the place. His mind groped for\nsomething else. Istar was not here; and he wished to be near her, to\nfeel her presence closer than it was. Following his instinct, he hurried\nout of the temple and crossed the platform to the foot of the ziggurat,\non top of which, in her shrine, Istar had begun to pass her nights;\nthough of this fact the Greek, in his right mind, was quite unaware. He\nmade his way upward, round and round the thick tower, along the inclined\nplane, till he had reached the top. There was the door to the sanctuary.\nAcross it the leathern curtain was closely pulled. Charmides went to\nstand beside it, listening intently for the sound of weeping. Had not\nBel-Dur said that she wept? No sound came from within. Still, Charmides\nwas quite sure that his goddess was there. With a long, shivering sigh\nhe laid himself down protectively across the door-way, pillowed his bare\nhead upon the bricks, and then, all numb and drowsy with fatigue and\ncold, he sank into a heavy sleep.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nTHE ANGER OF BEL\n\n\nCharmides was roused by an exclamation. His eyes fell open, and he found\nhimself gazing up into a face that for months had baffled alike his\ndreams and his actual vision, and that now stood out clearly above him.\nHe sat hastily up, and immediately a pair of gentle hands were laid upon\nhis shoulders, and the most wonderful of voices said to him, sorrowfully\nand in amazement:\n\n\"Rhapsode! Rhapsode! How came you here? Rise quickly from that place!\"\n\nThe Greek obediently tried to scramble to his feet, but relinquishing\nthe attempt, he put his hands to his burning head and dizzily closed his\neyes.\n\n\"'Tis the cold!\" he gasped, wretchedly.\n\nIstar looked around her. Far below, in the square, many people moved.\nBut the things that took place on the ziggurat were invisible to them.\n\n\"Come thou within--into the shrine. Here wilt thou find warmth,\" she\nsaid, drawing him with her own strength to his feet, and pushing back\nthe curtain before the door.\n\nCharmides went with her blindly, and blindly obeyed her whispered\nbehests. He lay down upon her own couch, was covered over with the\ncostly rugs that she herself had used, and felt the human warmth of the\nlittle place with a sense of peace and comfort.\n\n\"Oh, goddess--forgive--this profanation--of--thy--high--pla--\" The\nmurmur ceased, and before the last word had been completed he had sunk\naway to sleep, this time in a manner to recuperate his strength.\n\nIstar of Babylon drew a stool to the side of the couch and seated\nherself thereon, almost without moving her look from the face of the\nyouth before her. Again and again her great eyes traversed his features,\nthe delicate, straight brows, the white eyelids, the long, golden-brown\nlashes, the short, straight nose, and that perfect mouth which, on a\nwoman, might well have caused another Trojan war. A face as beautiful as\never man possessed was this, and as she watched it a great sigh, that\nwas like a sob, broke from her lips.\n\n\"Thou, too--thou, too, perhaps, hast been immortal!\" she whispered over\nhim.\n\nCharmides did not hear her. He lay like a statue, his sleep made\ndreamless and perfect by the presence of her whom he worshipped. And the\nface of the Greek bore the marks of a peace and content that were not on\nhers. Istar the goddess, the superb, the omniscient, was no more.\nInstead--Ah! There was a question that lay eternally at Istar's heart,\nthat she could not answer, that burned her with its insistence. Now she\nbent closely and more close over her charge, seeking to forget herself\nin contemplation of his beauty. The eager suppression of herself was\npitiable, for the power of her self-control showed how great was its\nnecessity. It was while her lashes almost touched the cheek of the\nSicilian that from beyond the curtain came the voice of a ministering\neunuch, raised in his regular morning formula:\n\n\"Belit Istar, the sacrifice is made: the meats have known the fire. A\nsweet savor ascends from the consecrated flesh, inviting the goddess to\nher morning repast. Let Belit Istar command her slave.\"\n\n\"Bring to me goat's flesh, and milk, and cakes of sesame. Let these\nthings be placed outside my sanctuary door. Let no one enter my shrine\nthis day, on penalty of my wrath.\"\n\n\"Belit Istar is obeyed.\"\n\nIstar sat up, straight and stiff, for full five minutes after this\ndialogue had taken place. She was pale with the momentary danger, the\nremote possibility that the slave, contrary to custom, might have lifted\nthe curtain of the shrine, and, looking in, have beheld Charmides there.\nAnd now that the eunuch had safely gone, a trembling seized her, and she\nleaned forward, burying her face in her hands. The rumors that had\nspread through the city concerning her were in so much true, that she\nwas in a state of great suffering. The world had become her wilderness.\nIt enclosed her now as a prison from which she could not escape, yet in\nwhich her liberty was appalling. Her sense of omniscience, of\ncompanionship with the infinite, was quite gone. Nothing was left\nexcept--except what she feared as a woman, except what, as a goddess,\nshe cried aloud to the high God and his archetypes mercifully to spare\nher. Things to which she would give no definite place in her thoughts\ncrushed her by day and by night with their indeterminate weight. That\nthe worst had not come, that a great and terrifying cataclysm, which\nwould rend her spirit in twain, drew day by day nearer to her, she knew\ntoo well. And as these days, these miserable, pain-filled days, crawled\none by one away, she would fain have held them to her forever; for,\nwretched as they were, they were almost happy in comparison to that that\nmust finally come upon her. At this moment as she leaned again over the\nyoung rhapsode, Istar scanned his face carefully, minutely, to find a\ntrace of human unhappiness. And, finding none, a great envy of him and\nof the life that he had found in Babylon came over her. Was it possible\nthat so much of joy might belong to any of God's creatures? And was she,\nthen, utterly forgotten? She pulled herself up with a start. _This_ was\nhuman, this question of hers. For a moment or two she saw truly what she\nhad become, and a fresh wave of fear swept over her. It passed, however.\nThe supernatural perception was rarely with her now, and then only in\nquick, reminiscent flashes. She was indeed one of those whom she had so\nprofoundly pitied from her dim abode; for whom she had broken the law of\nher order; in whose name God had driven her forth from the realm of high\nindifference into the sentient world, the world of pain.\n\nThis vague and unhappy reverie was broken in upon by the return of the\neunuch with food, which he set down outside her door. The proceeding was\nunusual, and after the man's departure Istar was seized with a new fear.\nWhat would the slave think, that she had bidden him not enter the\nshrine? Would he suspect? Of all things now, she dreaded suspicion; she\ndreaded being watched; she dreaded beyond measure the exposure that must\ninevitably come--but not yet! Not yet for a little while! Stealthily now\nshe drew aside the curtain and looked out upon the narrow platform of\nthe ziggurat. No one was there. Upon the door-sill were two dishes of\nchased gold, the one filled with steaming goat's flesh and roasted\npigeons, the other heaped with barley cakes; and the two of them were\nflanked by a tall silver jar of warm goat's milk. These Istar lifted one\nby one, carried them into the shrine, and set them upon the table where\nher shew-bread was usually placed. Then, when the meal was safe within\nand ready, she went over to where Charmides still lay motionless, and\nlaid her hand gently upon his forehead.\n\n\"Rise thou, Charmides,\" she said.\n\n\"Ram\u00fba!\" muttered the Greek. He stirred slightly. His eyes opened. Then,\nsuddenly realizing where he was, he leaped to his feet, stared about him\nirresponsibly for an instant, and finally threw himself on his face\nbefore Istar.\n\n\"Forgive me, my goddess! I knew not what I did!\" he whispered,\nterror-stricken.\n\nIstar smiled mournfully. \"You ask forgiveness for that that I bade you\ndo. Rise, my Greek. Eat of the food that is here. I command it.\"\n\nCharmides looked quickly up. He could not deny that he was ravenously\nhungry. The smell of the meats caused his nostrils to quiver, and the\nsight of them did away with his reverent wish to refuse. Istar watched\nhim closely as he sat down to her morning meal. She herself could have\ntaken not one mouthful of food, but she had already had a draught of\nmilk; and now, urging the Greek to eat his fill, she turned aside and\nsat down near the door-way, waiting in silence till the young fellow,\nafter a final cup of the mild beverage, wiped his dagger on his tunic,\nmuttered a line of grace to the gods of Greece, and rose a little\nshamefacedly.\n\n\"Thou hast eaten and art filled, Charmides?\" Istar asked, turning to him\nquietly, with the shadow of a smile.\n\nFor answer the Greek bent his knee and bowed his head.\n\n\"And now thou goest forth again into the city?\"\n\nCharmides looked at her to read the answer that she wished him to make.\nBut the words on his lips were never spoken.\n\nIstar was standing before him a little to the left of the door-way, from\nwhich the curtain was half pulled aside. The daylight fell relentlessly\nover her face and her form. It was upon her face that the Greek's eyes\nrested: rested in wonder, in amazement, finally with something more than\neither of those things. Was this last expression one of horror? Istar\nsaw the look and read it; and before its piercing inquiry she quivered.\nInvoluntarily she began to shrink away from him, but escape him now she\ncould not. Knowledge was his. There was no concealment. Then, at length,\nshe accepted the situation, as it was necessary that she should.\n\n\"I am a woman,\" she said, with a gentleness and an unconscious dignity\nthat nonplussed him anew. \"Thou mayst not kneel to a woman, Greek. Rise\nup.\"\n\n\"I kneel to thee, O Istar!\" was his reply.\n\nThen, indeed, her lips quivered, but with a little effort she regained\nher self-control. \"Go then, Charmides. Thou knowest me--now.\"\n\nCharmides got to his feet, but he made no move towards departure.\nInstead, after an instant's hesitation, he went a little closer to her,\nand spoke as he might have spoken to Baba--Baba as she was now.\n\n\"Istar--art thou indeed the Istar whom first I beheld in Babylon?\"\n\n\"Yea, Charmides. I am that Istar; yet I am not the same. Then was I more\nthan human. Now--less.\"\n\n\"Who decreed it? Who defiled thee?\" he asked, as much of the air around\nhim as of her.\n\n\"That thou must not ask. It is what none shall ever know. Depart from me\nand go thy way. Tell whom thou wilt what I am become. Not long--Ah! It\nis not long when all the world must know me--as I am.\"\n\n\"Not from the words of my mouth, Belit,\" Charmides said, sadly. Then,\nfor a little, silence fell between them. He knew that she waited for him\nto go, and yet, before he went, he felt that he must warn her of the\ndanger that she ran--that danger that he had learned by night. Twist it\nas he might, the facts were too brutal to be made plain to her. He\nflushed as he connected, even in thought, the scene of the past night\nwith the grave and grandly beautiful creature before him. Woman she\nmight be, but the mark of her godhead was on her still, could never\nleave her; for no living woman, of his race or of any other, was\ncomparable to her. And while he thought these things she also stood\nregarding him, and finally, having read half his mind, opened her mouth\nand spake:\n\n\"Charmides, tell me thy thoughts. I will bear with them.\"\n\nHe grasped the opportunity eagerly: \"O Belit, I must warn thee--warn\nthee against all the priesthood, those of every temple and house in the\ncity. They threaten thee with untellable disaster. Watch them, lady, and\ntake heed to thyself. Beware whither thy steps lead thee, what things\nthou turnest thy hands unto. They watch thee with numberless and unholy\neyes. They mean great wrong.\"\n\n\"If they will bring me death, I welcome it gladly.\"\n\nHe shot a glance at her that caused her suddenly to drop her eyes. Then\nhe said, quietly: \"It is not death. Ah, Istar, do not ask its horror. I\nmyself would deal thee death with my right hand to save thee from it.\"\n\nIstar shuddered.\n\n\"Belit, know this. When comes the day of thy trial, if thou wouldst seek\nshelter from the pursuers, ask to be taken to the palace of Lord Rib\u00e2ta\nBit-Shumukin, on the canal of the New Year. There, at the gate, demand\nthe presence of the Lady Baba. Baba will conduct thee to the home I live\nin. It is very lowly, but in it thou shalt find safety. Thou wilt\nremember this?\"\n\n\"Truly, Charmides, thou deservest all happiness!\" she said, impulsively,\ncoming nearer to him.\n\nHe bowed his head. \"For thee I came to Babylon. Through thee my heart\nhas found its home. Therefore, when thou shalt ask it of me, my life it\nis thine.\"\n\nWith this, then, and a last puzzled look at her, he went forth to his\nmuch-belated temple duties.\n\nIstar, once more left alone, turned slowly back into her shrine. The\nlittle interlude that had broken in upon her loneliness made her shrink\nfrom the pall that waited to overwhelm her again. Thereafter the one\nhour of Charmides' presence remained like a little golden disk in the\nmemory of her solitary months. But now the momentary sense of\ncompanionship was too terribly contrasted with the melancholy of her\nsolitude. Hurriedly covering herself with a great, silver-woven,\nheavy-meshed veil, she left her retreat in the upper morning and left\nthe ziggurat for her dwelling-place behind the temple.\n\nShe did not see her sanctuary again for seven months. It was not that\nshe felt any reluctance about entering it. Simply, her apathy had become\nsuch that she was incapable of the physical effort necessary for the\nascent of the tower. Once a day she took her place in the mercy-seat in\nthe temple. All the remaining time she spent in the inmost court of her\nparticular suite of rooms, or in the miniature apartment where she was\naccustomed to sleep. She reclined generally at full length, doing no\nwork of any kind, her eyes shut, the heavy veil shrouding her figure but\nthrown back from her face, her body perfectly motionless, her very\nthoughts apparently at rest. Her attendants watched her, wondering at\nthe great change that was working upon that formerly magnificent\npersonality. And through these same temple-slaves, eunuchs, and\nhierodules, strange rumors concerning the once universally worshipped\ngoddess continued to fly abroad through the city. Certainly there\nappeared to be little enough of the divine about this weak, ill woman;\nthough why the change had come none of those connected with her had the\nfaintest idea.\n\nThese were the days of Istar's wandering in the wilderness. Pain, mental\nand physical, she learned in every stage, from slight discomfort to\nnerveless agony. Each morning she woke with the prayer in her heart that\nnight might bring the end of it all, yet knowing well that her end was\nfar away. Her old, archetypal world became gradually more and more\nindistinct to her memory, till she had all but forgotten it. Her one\nwish, that she dared not utter, was for annihilation. Yet this would\ninvolve a sin that she could not but recognize as unpardonable; for\nIstar of Babylon bore within her another life, a life that was, as yet,\npart of her, that by natural law was hers to cherish, that she could not\nlove, that she dared not hate. And it was the day when this new life\nshould take unto itself individuality that she lay dreading through all\nthose dreary months, from the death of summer to Air\u00fb, when the new\nspring came to Babylon.\n\nThe fall of Istar was accomplished. This, by day and by night, she cried\nto herself, in her agony of self-mortification. It seemed to her that\nthe wheel of the law was the most merciless of all ordained things. The\nformer dead-alive existence of her godhead seemed holy, now that she\ncould know it no more. The very present, indeed, unendurable as it was,\nwas infinitely better than what was to come. As a matter of fact, her\nextreme dread of the future was very near to turning her brain, for at\nevery hour she lived the moment of discovery, till, at times, she was\nlike to go mad with it, and to disclose it all, then and there, and so\nhave done with it.\n\nThere were two or three of her priestesses who realized, through many of\nher symptoms, her mortal state; and these were very tender to her in\nthis time of her trial. From their lips no word of her condition reached\nthe outside world. The underlings, only, talked; and it was from\nunderling to Zicar\u00ee, Zicar\u00ee to Pas\u00ees\u00fb, Pas\u00ees\u00fb to S\u00e2ng\u00ee, and so to the\nPat\u00easi at last, that distorted accounts of Istar's life and suffering\npassed rapidly in the late autumn. And these rumors quickly reached the\nears of the three people who had the strongest personal interest in\nIstar of Babylon. Two of them were her enemies, bitter, unscrupulous,\nand powerful. These two were also closely connected. But, while one knew\nperfectly the mind of the other, and each knew that the greatest desire\nof the other's political life was Istar's ruin, yet, while matters\nslowly ripened and daily grew more absorbing, the subject of the\napproaching disgrace of the whilom goddess was never once opened between\nthem. Amraphel of Bel, from his palace on the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb, and Daniel of\nJudea, from his humble house south of the canal of the Prophet, in the\nJews' quarter, watched, planned, listened, read each other's hearts, and\nbided their time, in the way peculiar to those that know well their\nworld. The time for action would come, and without any planning on the\npart of either of them. But when it did arrive there must be no bungling\nof the affair.\n\nOnly one little thing in the case, as these two considered it, failed to\nassume its proper proportion in the perspective of their reasoning. The\ncause of Istar's undoing was as much a mystery to them as it was to the\nlowliest kal\u00ee in Istar's temple. Both Amraphel and Daniel had long ago\nceased to reckon Belshazzar as a factor in this affair. The old\nsuspicion had been a mistake--an incomprehensible mistake. The prince\nroyal went no more to the temple of the goddess, never spoke of or to\nher, gave rather all his time to affairs of state; which at this moment\nsorely needed the firm will and the strong hand that he alone, of all\nhis house, possessed.\n\nIt was well enough that Amraphel could not read Belshazzar's heart.\nThere was indelibly written what would have startled that reverent man\nout of all his omniscient composure. For if Istar mourned unceasingly\nthe loss of her godhead, Belshazzar, of the house of the Sun, mourned\nthe loss of her to his life as he would hardly have mourned the fall of\nthat kingdom that was dearer to him than his life. After the strange\nreturn from Erech, he had gone daily for two months to Istar's temple,\nand had sought by entreaty, threat, prayer, and imprecation, to be\nadmitted to her. And again and again, and yet again, had he been\nrefused, till finally he turned his thoughts to the life of his city.\nBut by this means she was not taken from his heart. By night he dreamed\nof her, and by day, when she was as far from him as the sun, as near as\nhis children, as unapproachable as the silver sky, she was forever a\nsub-consciousness in his thoughts.\n\nThus passed, unhappily and uneventfully, the long winter months of the\nlast year of Nebuchadrezzar's Babylon. In the first week of Air\u00fb\n(April), Belshazzar determined finally to reach Istar's presence. The\nstories of her condition had of late become alarming, and in the depths\nof his heart he had begun to dread what had never occurred to him\nbefore--the possibility of her death. The mere thought left him\nagonized, and he felt himself unable to keep away from her longer.\n\nIt was late in the morning--a glowing morning in Babylon's fairest\nmonth--when he left the palace on foot, clad in a dark mantle that\ncompletely covered his head and his figure, rendering him unrecognizable\nto any but his closest companions. He chose this hour for going because\nhe knew that now Istar's vitality would be strongest, and he dared not\ngive her the shock of seeing him at a time when she would be especially\nweak. The matter of his admission to her dwelling had been arranged by\nRib\u00e2ta the week before, through hirelings whom he had kept in the temple\nprecincts for some months past. Unnoticed by any one, then, the prince\narrived at the bronze door of the building behind the temple. It was\ninstantly opened, wide enough to permit of his passing through; and\ninside stood a veiled woman, who, after a silent acknowledgment of his\nrank, led the way through the succession of courts and passages to a\nclosely curtained door-way.\n\n\"Belit Istar is within,\" she whispered. Then on the instant she turned\nand glided swiftly away.\n\nFor the moment Belshazzar stood trembling upon the threshold. His dread\nwas evenly matched with his fever. The throbbing of his heart sent the\nblood pounding through all his arteries. His hands grew cold and\nuseless. The effect on him of the mere thought of beholding this woman\nagain was something that he did not pretend to understand. Women,\nordinarily, were little enough to him. But _this_ woman--she who was\nhidden from him by the single fold of an embroidered curtain--this woman\nmade his earth and his heaven, his soul, his brain, his body, and his\nblood. Go to her it seemed he could not, for very desire. Once his hand\nmoved forth to lift the curtain, but it fell again to his side. His head\nwhirled. Long as it was since he had seen Istar, yet the picture of her\nas she had lain unconscious in his arms on the morning of the fall at\nErech, came again before him to the smallest detail--perfect, finished,\nimmutable. He felt her weight, he beheld the living pallor of her flesh,\nhe saw the heavy-fringed eyelids close over the eyes that lighted his\nworld. She would live so in his mind forever. Now--he was about to turn\naway, to leave her alone in peace.\n\nSo far there had been no sound in the room beyond. But just as he was\nabout to depart there came to his ears some words spoken in her\nvoice--her low, exquisite voice, now so weary and so much weaker than it\nhad been of old. The words reached him distinctly; and instantly they\ncaught his attention. The spell of his reluctance was broken, and all\nthe fire of his eagerness blazed up at the first syllable spoken by her.\nQuickly he lifted the curtain and stepped out of the sun-flooded court\nover the threshold of the dimly lighted room. Istar was on her knees\nbefore him, her back turned to the door, her head bowed, her long, black\nveil trailing on the floor around her. Her voice was lifted in prayer,\nthe first words of which had caught his attention, and held him\nspellbound by means of the sweet, forlorn monotony of her tone, the ring\nof yearning, of pathos, of utter hopelessness indescribably felt through\nall the rhythmical cadences, till Belshazzar bent his head in helpless\npity over her incomprehensible plight.\n\nThus, in the unmusical Babylonish syllables, ran her psalm:\n\n\"_God of all gods, of men and of ages, of time and of tears: Creator of\nrivers, Divider of seas, accept of the homage I proffer at noon._\n\n\"_The winds Thou hast hushed for my peace have obeyed Thee. The sun's\ngolden glory of mid-day is Thine._\n\n\"_Father of lowliness, High-priest of sorrow, mighty and powerful; Lover\nof children, in mercy merciless, piteous in justice; raise me from\nflesh, above wrong, to communion with spirits of heaven._\n\n\"_My body before Thee is bended. My face is uplifted in prayer that is\npure._\n\n\"_Love all unholy by night I admitted. Yea, I have loved love for Sin's\nsake, rejoicing in earth-begot passion. Godhead I lost; and desire for\ngoodness departed. Now in the hour of trial, homeward I come to my\nFather at noon; no more in fear to approach Him, believing His mercy\nomniscient. Home come I, washed in my tears._\n\n\"_Lord of the noon, my Begetter, absolve me!_\n\n\"_Lord of the sun, of the well-flowing river, receive me that offer Thee\npraise._\n\n\"_Lord of the world and of children and angels, bequeath me forgiveness\nof sin._\n\n\"_Lord of all lords, from Thy home grant me peace everlasting. O Aman\u00fb,\nThou on High._\"\n\n\"Aman\u00fb,\" came the soft echo of a masculine voice from behind her.\n\nWith a gasp that resembled a sob, Istar faced about, still on her knees.\nIn turning, she drew the heavy veil that had hung around her close over\nher face, so that, to any one but him who looked at her, she would have\nbeen unrecognizable. Belshazzar, indeed, confronted by the black mask,\nfelt his speech suddenly suppressed within him. His cloak had fallen to\nhis feet, and he stood revealed in all the splendor of his strength and\nroyal beauty. But before her he was powerless to act. He left the\nsituation helplessly to her.\n\nIstar herself, for the moment, was stunned. In that first minute that\nshe looked upon him again, the world around her grew gray and\nindistinct. Her cold body trembled. In her dry throat a sob struggled to\ncome forth. But in her heart--ah, who would have believed it!--was\nrising a great, overweening joy. God had heard her! God sent the answer\nto her prayer--such an answer as she had not dreamed of. Yet she knew\nthat the Comforter was come. In this thought Istar loosened the veil\nagain and took it from her head, so that her face, white, thin,\ngreat-eyed, mournful, and still divinely perfect, was revealed to him.\n\n\"Istar!\" he cried, half in sudden woe at her too apparent illness, half\nstill in passionate admiration. He had seen her before with the silver\naureole gone, but now her very face, in its shining purity, was of\nrefined silver. \"Istar!\" He spoke the word tenderly, and went a little\nnearer to her.\n\nShe had fixed her eyes upon his, and the painfully strained look in her\nface showed him that she strove to read his mind: his purpose in coming\nto her. As he approached nearer still she rose suddenly to her feet, for\none instant held the protecting veil close around her figure, and then,\nstill without taking her fear-stricken eyes from his face, let it drop,\nand stood there revealed before him, clothed from head to heel in a\nscant, straight tunic of white wool.\n\nFor an instant Belshazzar saw her stupidly. His eyes travelled over her\nand suddenly he saw, and his self-control broke down. With a great,\nhoarse cry of pity and of love, he rushed to her and caught her close in\nboth of his strong, protecting arms.\n\n\"Istar! Istar! Thou untrusting one! My beloved! Thou hast suffered alone\nand told me nothing! Where was thy faith? Hast thou for an hour doubted\nmy love? Know you not how, in my heart, I have mourned thee, have\nyearned for thee, day by day? Yea, the anger of Bel alone has kept us\napart one from the other. The very gods are jealous that I should have\nthee, thou lotus-flower of the world! Speak to me, O my beloved!\"\n\n\"Belshazzar! Belshazzar!\" she whispered, once, twice, thrice. Then,\nseeming to gain courage from the syllables of his name, she went on,\nhalf fearfully still: \"I have hardly loved thee until now. God hath\nheard me, I think. But, oh! the long, rainy months! The endless days!\nThe eternal nights! How have I prayed to die in them, prayed with my\nheart and with my lips to die.\"\n\nHe caught her the more convulsively in his arms. \"And now?\" he asked.\n\n\"Ah, now! Now is my strength restored within me! I have new courage. I\nshall bear my trial now. Thou needst not fear. Suffering will be sweet,\nfor I no longer dread the anger of Bel--of the one God.\"\n\n\"Istar, are we not now as God? Together shall we not defy all? The\neleven great gods, and--high Istar herself?\"\n\nIstar of Babylon looked dazedly into his eyes. \"Do you not believe on\nme?\" she asked, faintly.\n\n\"I believe in thy love. That is all my belief.\"\n\n\"But the divinity that was mine?\"\n\nHe caught her a little closer. \"Istar, art thou not a woman?\" he asked,\ngently, but inexorably.\n\nThere was a silence. Istar was making her last struggle against fate. At\nthe defeat her head fell heavily forward upon his breast. \"Yea, I am a\nwoman,\" she muttered, faintly.\n\nBelshazzar's lips were pressed upon her forehead. Then suddenly he\nlifted her in his arms and carried her over to the couch that stood at\none end of the room. On this he laid her, and covered her over with one\nof the heavy, silken shawls used for that purpose. Then he stood off and\ninspected her, to see that she was comfortable.\n\n\"Lie thou there,\" he said, \"till I return within the hour with a litter\nborne by my household slaves. In thy trial I will be beside thee; thou\nshalt be in my house, protected by my name, lodged as my princess. But\none hour more, and then, for all time, we shall be together!\"\n\nHe spoke with perfect confidence, and, having finished his explanation,\nwould have departed had not Istar risen quickly from her couch and moved\ntowards him again.\n\n\"Gratitude be to my lord!\" she said, with a faint smile. \"Yet I may not\nleave this temple till the hour comes. There will be a day when Bel\nshall cast me forth alone into the city. But, of myself, I may not leave\nthe house to which the All-Father intrusted me. Nor shall mine eyes\nagain behold thee here. Go forth in peace, Belshazzar. My great love is\nthine; and before many days I think that I must come to thee. But we\nmust patiently abide apart until the time. Now must thou leave me.\nFarewell!\"\n\n\"Istar! What is this folly that you speak! You are mine--mine to care\nfor, to cherish. Your suffering is also mine. I go now, but to return\nagain for you. Or shall I despatch one of your eunuchs to the palace\nwith my message? Yea, that will I do, and remain at your side till the\nlitter comes.\"\n\nThe impatient tone was such as he might have used to one of his wives,\nto Khamma, to any woman who by law belonged to him. Istar heard him, but\nfelt no anger at the words. Her manner showed only dispassionate\nself-possession.\n\n\"Belshazzar, I have spoken. Shall I say the words again? Go thou forth\nin peace. When my hour comes I will turn to thee. But we must wait that\nhour, for it is the will of the great Bel.\"\n\nThe prince royal was taken aback. This was not a woman's way, yet\nneither was it after the manner of men. He tried her again, this time\nmore gently, with reason, with persuasion, finally with undisguised\nentreaty. She did not change. The dependent Istar, Istar the\nsupplicator, the woman, was gone. In her place was come the oracle of\nthe mercy-seat. Belshazzar dared not be angered by her unchanging\nassurance. In the end he acknowledged himself defeated. He could only\nkneel and implore that the hour of her home-coming be soon. Then, having\nheld her for one moment more in his arms, he left her, wrapping the\nmantle closely about him as he stepped forth again into the hot sunshine\nof his new and mysterious world.\n\nAs for Istar, with the answering of her prayer she entered the land of\nheart's peace. God in high heaven had not forgotten her. Belshazzar, on\nearth below, waited her coming. She could feel that the day of her\nsuffering was close at hand, and she was fortifying herself to endure\nit. Thus ten days--ten days of the fair spring--passed by. Istar's\nblack-veiled form was seen morning and evening on the temple platform,\nand she sat in the temple regularly at the mercy-hour, but did not\nascend the ziggurat. During this time she knew but ten uneasy moments.\nThese were when, once each day, always, as it were, by chance, she\nencountered the lean and bent figure of Daniel the Jew, who lurked,\nmorning and evening, about this spot. His thin, vulture-like face, with\nits scrawny, gray-streaked beard, and his small, beady, piercing eyes,\nhaunted Istar's thoughts, and remained with her as an omen of evil; and\nshe shrank from him even less for herself than for some unreasonable ill\nthat he seemed to promise to Belshazzar, her earth-lover. Daniel never\naddressed her, never failed profoundly to salute her, never remained\nlonger than a bare second within her sight. And she strove to put him\nfrom her mind, and to give all of her days and nights to careful\npreparation for the approaching hours of her trial.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the morning of April 21st her attendants found her lying in a swoon\non her bed. She was quickly revived, and awoke to the world with a look\nof such happiness in her face that her women wondered silently, and went\nback to their duties rejoicing. Istar attended the morning sacrifice--a\nthing that she had not done for three months past. She drank a cupful of\nmilk, watched the goat's flesh roasted on the altar, heard the prayers\nfor the morning, and extended the mercy-hour far into the afternoon. The\nsun hung just above the horizon when she re-entered the court-yard of\nher dwelling and called for her evening meal. With unquestioning\nsurprise it was brought her, and she ate of it. Then, in the mellow\nevening, she said her farewell to the consecrated home where she had\ndwelt so long.\n\nAs Istar left her dwelling and walked slowly towards the foot of the\nziggurat, she saw that the whole city lay in a flood of gold. Her steps\nwere slow and fraught with pain. As she halted at the foot of the high\ntower to look upward, wondering how she should reach its top, a voice\nfrom another sphere spoke to her and bade her hasten her steps. It was\nalmost seven months ago that her feet had last touched this pavement.\nThen she had not been physically weak, but mentally--! She sighed as she\nremembered her terror of herself and of all her surroundings. At last,\nwith a deep breath, she began her ascent. Up, up, and up, step by step,\nwhile the glorified light of day's death swam before her vision and the\nevening wind fanned her cheeks, while the sweet scent of the flowers\nthat covered the desert was borne to her by the breeze, she went, a\nprayer in her heart, a resolute determination to endure bravely holding\nher thoughts. Up and up she mounted, till at last the empty summit of\nthe tower was gained, and she stood again at the door of the room that\nhad seen her incarnation.\n\nHere, on the height, Istar stopped to look out over Babylon. It\nstretched around and below her like a mirage, like the vision of a\nholier city, wrapped all in clouds of blinding fire. A little to the\neast, near enough so that the white designs on the shining turquoise\nground-work were fairly distinct, rose, from the tufty green of the\nsurrounding park, the new palace built by Nabonidus, in which Belshazzar\nlived. Along the east side of this building ran the bright Euphrates,\npassing here the most imposing point in all its mighty course. Opposite\nthe new palace, on the other bank, were the two huge structures once\ninhabited by Nabopollassar and his son, that greatest of Babylonish\nrulers. Across from Nebuchadrezzar's former home, connected with\nit by the great bridge, itself a triumph of engineering, was the\npalace-crowned mound of the great one's Median queen, called by\nsubsequent generations \"the hanging gardens.\" This alone of all the\nunused royal dwellings was kept in repair by the present ruler. And now,\nat the time of the day's highest glory, Istar's eyes eagerly sought its\nfresh verdure, the tier on tier of leafy foliage that hid such\nfragrances and such blossoms as she rarely saw. And while she gazed upon\nthe monument of a king's devotion, the lonely woman found it in her\nheart to wish that she might have been that queen whose sorrows and\nwhose earthly joys were now so comfortably ended, whose mortality had\ncome to dust, whose soul enjoyed its just rewards.\n\nIstar's eyes moved on down the river to the lower part of the city,\nwhich consisted of acre upon acre of low, brick buildings, hardly\nrelieved by a single tower or raised roof, stretching in gray monotony\noff to where Imgur-Bel suddenly reared its gigantic height skyward. Over\nthis wall and the top of its still loftier brother, Nimitti-Bel, Istar,\nhigh as she stood, could not see. Her brick-weary eyes yearned for some\nglimpse of the quiet palm-groves that lined the river-bank beyond\nBabylon. Indeed, their fragrant freshness was borne up to her by the\nevening wind. Closing her eyes, she saw them as, nine months before, she\nhad watched them from her barge on the way to Erech. And thus, while she\ncontemplated many things, the sunset light began to fade, the shadows\nmingled together over the gray roofs and bright towers of the city.\nTwilight deepened; and the moon was not yet risen. So at last Istar\nturned from the far-stretching scene and lifted up the curtain of her\nlong-unused shrine.\n\nShe was greeted by darkness. Evidently it was many weeks since any one\nhad entered the little room. A fine, white dust lay sifted over the\nrugs, the table, the golden chair, the couch where Charmides last had\nlain. Istar looked round with a sob in her heart--a sob of pitiable\nweakness and pain. It was impossible now for her to summon any\nattendant. Neither had she strength to descend the ziggurat again.\nLeaving the curtain pulled wide open, that she might feel some\ncommunication with the world beyond, she went to the couch, removed the\ntop rug with all its dust, then let fall her veil, and offered up one\nlast prayer for pity and for strength before she lay down resignedly in\nthe night.\n\nTwilight slowly passed across the earth and trailed away into the\nbeyond. Thereupon came terror of the dark, together with the first stabs\nof sharp pain. She had one swift, torturing moment, and a low cry at the\nstrangeness of it escaped her. Then calmness returned. She was prepared,\nshe thought, for the rest. One moment, two, three, passed, in strained\nexpectation. The darkness hung around her like a covering, but the\nsuffering did not return. Her lips moved continually, but her brain\nrefused to work. It seemed to her that the night must be passing. Soon,\nperhaps, she might sleep. Her eyes were closed; her mind was slipping\naway into freedom, when--she started up again. It was once more upon\nher, this dreaded thing; and now she knew that there was no escape. When\nit had passed this time she waited, stiff and strong, hands clenched,\nbreath coming and going rapidly, for the return.\n\nIt came once again, and yet again, more and more swiftly, more and more\nterribly. She made no sound now. Her eyes stared straight into the\nblackness with the gaze of one that does not see. Here was something\nthat, with all her months of preparation, she was not prepared for. No\nimagination could have painted this; and her loneliness but added to her\nterror. From the night a thousand malignant eyes seemed fixed upon her\nwith the look of Daniel the Jew. Yet presently she discovered that these\neyes were stars--fair, silver stars that shone, far away, through the\nopen door-way. A little later the night grew luminous, and the hideous\ndarkness was softened and smoothed away. Pale, yellow rays shot up the\nsky, dimming the stars' white radiance, banishing their gaze. It was the\nmoon, the blessed moon, Istar's father, who, entering the heavens, put\nher tormentors to flight. The woman's thoughts were growing incoherent.\nShe was a little delirious. Her body was racked and torn and bruised.\nThe agony, too great to be realized and endured, drove her into numb\nunconsciousness--an unconsciousness that was hideous with subconscious\nunderstanding. The one thought to which she clung through all the hours\nof anguish was of the morning--the merciless daylight, when the\nsearching sun, the discerning, prying sun, must come upon her here, must\nsee, must know--must disclose all to the wondering world.\n\nThe fair moonlight sickened her now. Her eyes swam and her head reeled\nwith its bluish light. She prayed for clouds--and rain. Rain! Water! The\nthought reached her suddenly, out of the aching void. If there were only\nsome one--one only creature, to put water to her dying lips! She burned,\nshe parched, she scorched with thirst. Ah, if some one were at hand! She\ntried to think of a name to call. And presently one recurred to her. She\ndid not stop to think over it. The syllables hung ready on her\nlips--were said in a voice so faint and weak that one standing in the\ndoor-way could not have heard them. It was a liquid word, one easy to\nhear, and the only one that her mind, in its strange plight, retained.\n\n\"Allaraine!\" she whispered.\n\nA breath of cool air poured into the little room, and borne upon it was\na rosy beam that gradually suffused the bed in a delicate radiance. With\nthe first shedding of this light, Istar's pain suddenly ceased. Her\nspirit was uplifted with the mighty relief. Her fast-shut eyes opened\nagain. Above and about her was open space. The roof of the shrine was\ngone, and its walls also. All around there floated a vast concourse of\ndimly outlined forms--millions of archetypes, borne on their outspread\nwings. A chord of distant music rang down the shaft of light, and Istar\nknew from whom it came. Gravely the goddess greeted her companions; yet\nnone returned the greeting, or seemed to recognize her presence. She\ntried to go to them, but the bed remained beneath her. She was still a\nprisoner. After some moments of waiting in the midst of this familiar\nscene, the rainbow path into her room palpitated with fresh, living\nlight. The bells rang louder in her ears. One form had separated itself\nfrom the confused mass, and became distinct to her eyes. Allaraine\ndropped out of the high space, and was presently standing at her\nbedside. The room closed in again. The pink light disappeared. Once more\nthe moonlight stole upon her. The night was sweet with the perfume of\nthe lotus, and Istar wept with delight. She was there alone with\nAllaraine, her brother of the skies.\n\nThrough the long hours he ministered to her, holding the cup of water to\nher lips, plaiting up the heavy masses of hair that swept the floor at\nher side. And when the last agony came upon her, his voice held her fast\nto the thread of her strange existence. Finally, at the night's end, it\nwas he who put into her arms the living one whom she had brought into\nthe world.\n\nBending over them both, the god blessed the child and kissed the\nmother's brows before he went his way out into space, leaving behind him\na trail of song that was sweeter than the perfume of the jasmine. There,\nfrom the spot into which he flew, the day broke, and the moon fainted on\nthe western horizon. Istar's heart throbbed with a great, new peace and\na human love. Life was no longer strange to her. The bringing of it\nforth brought her understanding of its richness. And, as the child on\nher breast lay sleeping, so at last her own eyes closed, until, while\nthe light brightened and the great city woke again, the soul of Istar\nwas at peace.\n\nAt sunrise a flood of yellow beams poured into the little room,\nilluminating everything in it, throwing a halo over the motionless\nfigures of the mother and child on their well-ordered couch. Suddenly\nthe smooth light was broken by a shadow that darkened the door-way. A\nman stood there on the threshold, peering into the room. His bright,\nblack eyes travelled swiftly over the scene, resting last on the bed. He\ngave then a sudden, swift start. Glancing quickly behind him to make\nsure that he was alone, he took a single noiseless step inside, and,\ninch by inch, moved to the couch, bending over it till the end of his\ngrizzled beard all but touched the cheek of Istar.\n\nAs if the glance of the intruder could be felt through the unconsciousness\nof sleep, Istar stirred restlessly. The infant on her breast\n gave forth a faint cry and opened its deep eyes upon the morning\nworld. Thereat the Jew, in timely fright, turned and scurried hastily\nfrom the room, escaping Istar's glance by no more than three seconds.\nAnd as Istar, deeply disturbed, looked out upon the world, she suddenly\ncaught her little one close to her in her protecting arms, murmuring\ngently:\n\n\"O God! O God! I give Thee praise! Spare me this inestimable gift! Leave\nme for my joy this little life of mine--and take all that Thou hast\ngiven else, great Father!\"\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nFROM THE HOUSE OF HEAVEN\n\n\nWhen Daniel was far beyond the range of Istar's vision he did not lessen\nthe rapidity of his gait. Rather, he increased it, till the last five\nyards of his descent of the ziggurat were done in a quick run; and the\nfew people already abroad in the square of Istar looked up in amazement\nto see the unkempt figure of the slinking Jew advancing at an eager trot\nacross the open space and into the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb.\n\nBeltishazzar, however, had at that time little thought for the opinions\nof the people whom he passed. The one thing that he desired above\nall others, the thing that had assumed a place paramount to his\ndisinterested historical desires--the downfall of Babylon and the\nfreeing of his race--had come to pass. Moreover, the accomplishment of\nit was, apparently, by the will of God alone. Surely no man earnestly\nwishful of attaining to a certain end ever arrived at it by simpler or\nmore thorough process. It was a miracle. It required no explanation, no\ntwisting of facts, no blustering denunciations. Who would ask stronger\nproof of the mortality of this impostor than the sight of her child, and\nher own weakness? Reverence for the mother-love, for its beauty, for\nheart's peace, did not occur to the prophet. He felt that Istar's great\nsin, her tremendous fraud, her immense daring, were things that a\nstatesman might secretly marvel at, possibly admire, in a way. But\nnaturally these feelings would never be expressed.\n\nIn such a course wound Daniel's triumphant thoughts as he hurried with\nthem down the wide street towards the palace of the high-priest of Bel.\nIt was unusually early in the day for an interview with Amraphel; and of\nthis the Jew had scarcely stopped to think when he halted before the\nouter gate of the ecclesiastical dwelling. The night-guards had not yet\nmade way for the more gorgeously attired eunuchs of the day; but the Jew\nwas too familiar a figure to all Amraphel's household to be denied\nadmittance by any of his servants. There was some little doubt expressed\nas to their lord's having risen. But the doubts were couched in reverent\nterms, and shortly the lean and ill-kempt Jew was ushered through the\nvast, empty courts and halls, to the little dining-room of the\nhigh-priest's private suite.\n\nOnly two slaves, servitors, were in this room when the visitor entered\nit; and these were busy preparing for the arrival of the master. The\nwrought ivory and ebony couch had already been drawn up before the table\non which various fruits were laid out. And shortly after Daniel made his\nappearance; a place was added to the table and an arm-chair drawn to it,\nevidently for him. He would have seated himself, when there came\na sound of steps in the passage-way, and Amraphel, white-robed and\nwhiter-bearded, came in, followed by two cringing slaves bearing the\nlong-handled feather fans in use even at this early season. Beltishazzar\nread the priestly mood at sight. It bore small relation to that benign\nand fatherly manner assumed for the morning sacrifice, and coming on\nnaturally of an evening, after the long day of adulation and worship.\nDaniel almost prostrated himself on the old man's entrance, and got in\nreturn a slight acknowledgment of his presence, and the words:\n\n\"Is your visit early, Jew, or the last of your night?\"\n\n\"The last.--May it please you, lord of Bel, to see me alone. My news is\nnot such as should grow cold. Over it, all Babylon will laugh for joy.\"\n\nAmraphel looked at this companion of many schemes a little sourly as he\nsank back on his couch, and took up an orange from its dish of gold.\n\"What is the nature of this laughing news that you should impart it by\nstealth?\"\n\nSuddenly Daniel lost his patience--a thing not usual with him. \"My lord\nreceives it thus\"--he snapped his fingers--\"and behold, I take it to\nVul-Ram\u00e2n of Bit-Yakin, who, hearing it, will not scoff.\" And the Jew\nactually made as if to get up from his chair.\n\n\"Stop!\" cried the high-priest, sharply. \"There is no cause for anger.\nSit you, and we will speak of it.\"\n\nDaniel shrugged his indifference, but slipped into his chair again,\nwithout, however, offering to touch food.\n\nMy lord looked round upon his slaves, indicating each of them with a\nlittle glance, and designating those that fanned him with a gesture.\n\"Depart and leave us,\" he said, shortly.\n\nHis command was obeyed with decided alacrity, and when the bare feet had\npatted their noiseless way far down the adjoining corridor, Daniel\nstraightened up in his chair with a little rustle and said, in a low\ntone: \"My news, Amraphel, is, shortly, this: Istar of Babylon, whom we\nhave feared, is a woman--a woman, weak, powerless, full of sin.\"\n\nDaniel paused, and Amraphel looked at him with a little curl of the lip.\n\"Is that all?\" he said, after a pause. \"Is that all? Art thou drunk,\nJew?\"\n\nDaniel did not lose his temper now. He smiled, contemplatively, and went\non: \"Nay, I am not drunk, lord high-priest, neither is that all my\nnews--yet, in a way, it is all told. If all Babylon knew too well that\nIstar were a woman--and weak--and sinful? _Hein?_ Would it not be\nenough?\"\n\n\"If the _people_ knew--the people--yea, it might be.\"\n\nThereupon Daniel told without more ado all that he had seen, and how\nIstar lay at this moment in her sanctuary with the infant in her arms.\n\nThen, indeed, Amraphel was touched to the quick. Verily, here was news!\nHere was such news as caused the most unemotional man in the Great City\nto start up from his couch and pace the floor with hurried and uneven\nsteps, his eyes alight, his pale face tinged with red excitement, his\nhands busily twisting his robe. It was some moments before he spoke,\nbut, once begun, Daniel sat silent and amazed.\n\n\"Ah, Beltishazzar, wisely mayst thou rejoice now. Babylon--Babylon, the\ncity of Nabopolassar, my father, shall at last stand free before me!\nListen, listen, all ye people! Istar of Babylon is fallen. She is fallen\nwho reigned as a goddess--over me. Mark me, Jew, time was when Istar of\nBabylon was divine. The glory of the unknown God flowed around her. Her\nlips spoke truth. In her heart was hidden all knowledge. The life that\nshe lived was unapproachable by mortal man. And while she remained thus,\nI dared not try my full power in the city.\n\n\"But now--now! Ah, Beltishazzar, now the fear is gone! The goddess has\ntasted the bitterness of human love and is become mortal. Her sin has\nfound her out. To-day, even to-day, she shall be driven from that temple\nthat her presence defiles. Her downfall shall be cried aloud to them\nthat have worshipped her. Her disgrace shall be proclaimed throughout\nthe kingdom. Let her invoke what aid she may, human or divine! I defy\nher now to deny me omnipotence in Babylon.\n\n\"And thou, Daniel--thou that broughtest this word--have no fear that thy\npeople shall lack favor in my sight, and in the sight of the mighty lord\nof Elam. Let us henceforth work together for that end which, in the name\nof our gods and of the God of Judah, shall be accomplished within the\nyear!\"\n\nHe paused in his speech and in his walk, and his head fell upon\nhis breast. He descended quickly, did Amraphel, from heroics to\npracticality; and this, perhaps, was one reason of his great success in\nlife. Daniel eyed him in silence till the echoes of the tirade had died\naway and there had been time for thought. Then he said, shortly:\n\n\"You will drive her from the temple, Amraphel? How?\"\n\n\"By Nebo, with an ox-goad, that is used for cattle!\"\n\nDaniel shrugged incredulously. \"And whither drive you her?\"\n\n\"She may go, if she will, to her proper abode--the temple of false\nIstar, near the gate of the setting sun.\"\n\nDaniel drew a sharp breath. \"Father Abraham!\" he muttered, himself\namazed at Amraphel's pitiless joy in triumph. Then, a moment later, he\nadded: \"It is a just ending. Well, my lord, I take my departure now.\"\n\n\"Thy departure! By Marduk, thou shalt come with me to the temple! Thou\nmust be at my side when I enter her shrine.\"\n\nDaniel cringed quickly, and proffered a swift excuse. Keen he might be;\nbold in his way; master of diplomacy, of deceit, and cunning; but\ndiscreet, cautious, nay, cowardly, when it came to his personal safety,\nhe was always. It was true that Istar was no more and no less than a\nweak and unfortunate woman; but enough of divinity still clung to the\nthought of her to keep the Jew far from any desire to stand before the\npeople as her accuser. Amraphel might be angry, might persuade or\ncommand. In the present matter Beltishazzar was immovable. Amraphel\nrecognized it presently, and saw that nothing was to be done but to\nsummon Vul-Ram\u00e2n, with all possible speed, from the neighboring temple,\nand to command a chariot to be prepared at once and brought into the\nouter court of the palace.\n\nThese things were quickly done; and Daniel had been gone for many\nminutes by the time Vul-Ram\u00e2n answered the peremptory summons and stood\nbefore his superior. The priest of Nebo was in a temper, and greeted\nAmraphel in an undisguisedly irritable tone.\n\n\"My lord, it is the hour for sacrifice. My place was at the altar. By\nyour message hath Nebo lost his morning savor, and the temple the flesh\nof three goats. What is needed of me here?\"\n\n\"And has the freeing of Babylon cost the price of three goats, O\nBit-Yakin? Pray thou for strength to endure the loss!\"\n\nVul-Ram\u00e2n looked at him in displeasure. \"Are thy words oracles?\" he\nsaid, sourly.\n\n\"Within the hour their light will illume thy understanding. Now thou art\nto drive with me up to the temple of Istar. They bring my cloak.\"\n\nVul-Ram\u00e2n looked on with sudden interest as two slaves entered the room\nwhere he stood. One of them carried a long, woollen garment of Tyrian\nweave, heavily embroidered in golden threads in a pattern containing the\nvarious symbols of the different gods. It was a mantle worn only upon\nthe greatest occasions. This being fastened upon Amraphel's shoulders\nwith well-wrought pins of gold, the second slave crowned the high-priest\nwith his golden-feathered tiara, sandalled him with sandals embroidered\nin the same rich metal, and finally put into his hand something that\ncaused Vul-Ram\u00e2n to exclaim:\n\n\"What, in the name of Nergal's holiness, do you with the bullock's goad,\nAmraphel!\"\n\n\"Come you with me, Vul-Ram\u00e2n. Our way lies to the north, to the temple\nof Istar. From it I shall drive forth the false woman that dwells there\nreceiving worship. For--\"\n\n\"Amraphel!\" Vul-Ram\u00e2n stopped short. \"Art thou raving? What canst thou\ndo against Istar? Because by her mercy we are spared punishment for our\nlast sin against her, darest thou again attempt her downfall? Attempt it\nby such means as this? If thy mind has not left thy body, then thine\narrogance leads thee to death!\"\n\nThe high-priest waited till the other had finished his protest. Then he\nsaid, calmly: \"Istar of Babylon is a woman with child. Her divinity is\ngone. I go to drive her from the heavenly house.\"\n\nIn silence the two men proceeded to the court-yard, where, surrounded by\na group of slaves, stood the golden chariot with its white horses and\nflashing harness. The driver stood holding the reins in his hands. On\nthe arrival of the two priests there was a general obeisance. Amraphel\nentered the vehicle first. Vul-Ram\u00e2n, not without a perceptible\nhesitation, followed him. The master raised his hand, the driver shouted\nto his steeds, and the powerful animals, with one spring, shot forward,\ndrawing the whirring chariot after them through the bronze gate way, out\ninto the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb.\n\n\"The temple of Istar!\" said Amraphel.\n\nThe flashing wheels turned to the north, and in brave silence they\nproceeded towards the square at the end of the broad street. Not a word\nwas spoken during the drive. The two priests, one on either side of the\ndriver, stood like statues--Vul-Ram\u00e2n with a face as white as a summer\ncloud, Amraphel in immovable calm. The right hand of the high-priest\nrested on the rim of the chariot in front of him. His left, the one with\nwhich he clasped the short, black goad, with its two cruel leathern\nthongs, hung at his side. As they went along, the people in the street\nstopped to stare in curiosity as to the wherefore of Amraphel's state\nmagnificence, and Vul-Ram\u00e2n's appearance so far from his temple at the\nhour of morning sacrifice. When finally they entered the square of\nIstar, it was wholly deserted; for service was going on in the temple,\nand a respectable throng was assembled to witness the weekly slaughter\nof doves and the broiling of their flesh over the cone-fire on the\naltar.\n\n\"Istar will be there at the sacrifice, doubtless,\" whispered Vul-Ram\u00e2n,\nhurriedly, as they alighted together at the steps of the platform.\n\n\"Let us seek her,\" was all the reply he got. Amraphel exhibited not a\ntrace of uneasiness, and yet, to a certain extent, the fear of the\npriest of Nebo had its effect on him. Mentally he cursed the prudent\ncowardice of Daniel, who, having arranged this situation, had left him\nto run the chance of disgrace and defeat alone.\n\nAs they came to the door of the temple the two priests found themselves\nconfronting the throng of men and women who were just emerging into\ndaylight. The sacrifice was over. But as Amraphel, in all his\nmagnificence halted before them in the door-way, the people also came to\na stand-still, lowered their heads, and waited silently to learn if\nthere was a reason for his coming. For some seconds, however, Amraphel\nstood passive. He perceived the officiating priestess coming towards him\nfrom the altar, and he waited for her to reach his side. Then she, and\nBit-Yakin, and finally the high-priest, performed the ceremonious\ngreetings of the religious code; and only after these were over did\nAmraphel say:\n\n\"We seek the lady--Istar of Babylon. Is she in the temple, O servant of\nthe great goddess?\"\n\n\"The spirit of the goddess hath attended on the sacrifice. So spake the\nomens, most high lord,\" was the disturbed reply.\n\n\"Belit Istar, then, is not here?\"\n\n\"Nay, Lord Amraphel. She is in her shrine at the top of the ziggurat, to\nwhich she retired at sunset yesterday.\"\n\n\"We will ascend into her presence.\"\n\nThe priestess started. \"Nay--nay! Let my lord remain here below. The\ngoddess is alone with her brothers. She commands that none shall ascend\nto her to-day.\"\n\n\"Begone, woman!\" shouted Amraphel, suddenly breaking out into a very\nwell-arranged burst of anger. \"Begone, thou deceived and deceiving\nservant of a false goddess! Hear ye, ye people!\" And he turned to the\nastonished multitude. \"Hear ye who, for many months--nay, years--have\nworshipped at an altar of evil! Istar of Babylon, whom, unknowing, ye\nhave called Belit, spouse of the great Bel, is no goddess. As the great\ngods have revealed to me by night, she is but a woman, sacrilegiously\ndwelling in the house of heaven, accepting the homage of the multitude,\ndelivering oracles from the mercy-seat, receiving offerings and the\nsacrifice day by day throughout the months, deceiving you and them that\ndwell with you. Now I come to expose her and to deliver her up to you to\ndo with as ye will. Come ye forth and assemble about the foot of the\nziggurat while I ascend, that ye may behold her when she comes forth\nfrom the holy shrine of the outraged goddess that dwells afar from us in\nthe silver sky.\"\n\nAmraphel made this speech with such an air of mingled sorrow and\noutraged dignity that Vul-Ram\u00e2n, for all his amazement, could not but\napplaud it. The crowd showed less indignation than bewilderment and\ncuriosity. But as the old man turned from them to cross the platform,\nthe people followed him like sheep, leaving only the wailing hierodules\nbehind them in the temple.\n\nBit-Yakin and the high-priest arrived at the foot of the ziggurat side\nby side, with the foremost of the company ten feet behind. Here, once\nmore, Amraphel turned to them, raising his right hand majestically as he\nspoke: \"Wait here for her whom I shall drive unto you; but see that, on\npenalty of the wrath of the gods, ye ascend not to the shrine.\"\n\nThen, hearing the low murmur that told the acquiescence of the obedient\nflock, Amraphel and his shadow began their ascent. From below, the\npeople watched them in growing wonder, in growing uneasiness. They had\nseen the ox-goad in the high-priest's hand, and they were thrilled with\nstrange terrors as they considered what its use might be. Istar--their\nIstar--Istar, the great goddess--flogged! Impossible! Yet--yet--the\ncuriosity was upon them, and they waited to see.\n\nAnd now the two priests stood at the door-way of the shrine. The\nleathern curtain was closed before them. Nothing could be seen. There\nwas a little pause, and, for the shadow of an instant, Amraphel wavered.\nVul-Ram\u00e2n, closely watching him, felt his heart sink.\n\n\"Shall I lift the curtain?\" he whispered, devoutly hoping for a negative\nreply.\n\nBut Amraphel had gone too far now to falter. He nodded.\n\nThe heart of the priest of Nebo gave a throb of fear. He made no move to\nobey the command. Amraphel glanced at him sharply, took one step\nforward, and dragged the curtain from the door.\n\nThere was a low, frightened cry, supplemented by a weak wail from a\nfaint and tender voice. The high-priest shaded his eyes with his hand\ntill he could see into the interior of the room; and then, indeed, his\nheart beat high.\n\nIn that room, sitting now upon the great golden chair, was Istar of\nBabylon. She was clothed in the long, white, woollen tunic, that was\nscarcely so pale as her face. She was unveiled, and her silken hair,\nunbound and tangled, fell over her whole form and down to the floor on\neither side. Upon her knees, wrapped in a square of sacrificial muslin,\nits little form bathed in a dim, effulgent light that radiated from its\nbody, lay the babe--her child.\n\nUpon the entrance of the two priests, after the one startled cry, Istar\nsat perfectly quiet, her drawn face no whiter than before, her great,\ndark eyes staring wonderingly at the intruders, her breath coming and\ngoing rapidly between her parted lips.\n\nAmraphel, whose self-composure had returned to him doubled in strength\nnow that he was sure of his position, stood surveying her leisurely,\nwith undisguised triumph. Vul-Ram\u00e2n, on the other side, had also lost\nhis fear. His delight at the turn of affairs was hardly less than his\namazement; for, since the morning at Erech, Istar had had, in all\nBabylonia, no firmer believer in her divinity than Vul-Ram\u00e2n of\nBit-Yakin. Yet now, human, mortal, weak, she certainly was. Fitting,\nindeed, was it that she should leave the temple of the great goddess.\nAnd as he thought upon the manner of her expulsion, his lips curled in\nan involuntary smile.\n\nAt that moment Istar's eyes were resting on his face. She saw his\nexpression, and she read all the cruelty of it; for suddenly, raising\nthe infant in her arms, she rose to her feet.\n\n\"Why have you come hither?\" she whispered, hoarsely, her eyes moving\nfrom one to the other.\n\n\"Thou deceiver! Thou blasphemer! Thou thing of evil, of unholiness! We\nare come in the name of her whose abode thou hast so long profaned, to\ndrive thee forth from \u00ca-\u00c2na to thy true dwelling--the temple of the\nfalse Istar!\"\n\nIstar's nostrils quivered with scorn. She lifted her head in a final\nproud defiance of the words of the high-priest. At the same instant\nAmraphel's left hand was raised. The goad whirred through the air, and\nthe thongs came stinging across the face of the woman.\n\nA sharp scream, that could be heard by the multitude below, rang out\nfrom the shrine on the ziggurat. The woman caught her baby close to her\nbreast, shielding it as well as she could with both arms. The cut of the\nwhip had left a bright crimson weal across both cheeks and just over her\nmouth. The goad was lifted over her again, and this time she shrank\nbackward from it.\n\n\"Get you forth, false creature, from the heavenly house!\" cried\nVul-Ram\u00e2n, in raucous tones.\n\nAmraphel moved out of her path, and Istar, blind and dumb with terror\nand amazement, started towards the door. As she went the whip fell\nagain, this time on her shoulders, and again the scream followed it.\nHugging the babe yet closer to her breast, she ran out upon the ziggurat\nplatform in the blaze of the sunlight, and, with Amraphel and Vul-Ram\u00e2n\nclose at her heels, began an ever-hastening descent, round and round the\ntower, towards the square below. Up to her ears, from that square, came\na long-drawn, minor groan. The people below were waiting for her,\nwaiting for her as vultures wait. Behind her, driving her on to them,\nwere their priests. She herself, helpless, bewildered, numb with the\npain of exertion, beside herself with a desperate, fierce sense of\nmother-protection, knew scarcely what she did, was unmindful of what\nmust come to her.\n\nSince the priests had left them, the numbers of the crowd were\nconsiderably swelled. Istar's temple-servants, eunuchs and women both,\nhad come pouring from the temple and the dwelling to witness the issue\nof this undreamed-of struggle. Also every one that entered the square of\nIstar, whether on foot or in chariot, had either been directly summoned\nby the mob or had joined it voluntarily from curiosity. These people, by\nnow two hundred strong, were awaiting the development of the affair in\nan undecisive humor. More of them believed in the divinity of Istar than\nin the word of Amraphel, powerful as he was. But now, suddenly, there\nwas to be seen, circling towards them from above, a woman's figure,\nutterly dishevelled, with long hair flying about her and straight\nwoollen tunic impeding her progress, clasping in both arms a tiny\nbundle, and fleeing, in very evident terror, from those that followed\nher, one of whom held the goad uplifted in his hand. And as her\nweakness, her mortality, her too evident confusion, became apparent, the\npeople felt all the old, inherent savagery of their race rise over the\nlately acquired civilization, and they watched with delight the approach\nof their helpless prey.\n\nIstar, as she came nearer the ground, could see the crowd there close up\nits ranks and draw nearer the foot of the tower. She realized its\nattitude instantly, and her heart palpitated fast with excitement. Go\nback she could not. Keep on she must. And soon she reached the last few\nfeet of the inclined plane, and felt the very breath, hot and hostile,\nof her one-time worshippers rise about her. She stopped, faltering. Her\nshoulders quivered in expectation of a blow; for Amraphel was close upon\nher. The blow was struck--fiercely--and it cut through her garment like\na knife, blackening the white skin beneath it. At the same time\nAmraphel's voice thundered out to all the crowd:\n\n\"I bring ye the false witch out of the holy temple of Istar. Do with her\nas ye think fitting and meet, in reverence to the outraged goddess.\"\n\nThere was a deep, universal cry, a cry of hatred, of triumph, of the\npurest brutality, from the throng. Istar, looking down upon the massed\nfaces before her, reeled slightly. Then, for her child's sake, with a\nmighty effort she straightened up again. Knowing not what else to do,\nshe stepped forward to the crowd. A great hand was quickly thrust into\nher face. Another struck her on the shoulder--but not so cruelly as the\nwhip could strike. A dozen men seized her about the body. Then she lost\nevery feeling save only one, that was more an instinct than a definite\nidea. She must protect her child. She must save it, while she lived,\nfrom the hands of her assailants. She was in the very midst of the mob.\nHeads, arms, hands, all struggled around and towards her, striking,\nbumping, pushing her. Her hair and her tunic were torn. No one as yet\nhad threatened her with a weapon; but this, she felt, was only a matter\nof time; and then vaguely she commended herself to the God whose will\nhad been hers also.\n\nAll at once, however, she felt more room around her. She was in the\nmiddle of a small, empty space, about which her own eunuchs stood in a\ncircle, their backs to her, fighting with the men of the mob that sought\nto reach her. With a gleam of hope, she saw that all were not hostile.\nHer head swam and the world grew misty around her, yet still she clung\nto her shred of consciousness, that she might keep the baby safe. And,\nwhile she still controlled herself, some one appeared out of the tangle\nof struggling forms. Some one came close to her side, saying to her, in\na once familiar voice:\n\n\"Belit Istar, keep to my side, and I will make a way for you through\nthese men.\"\n\nIstar turned her half-blinded eyes upon the defender, and smiled at\nhim--the golden-haired, the silver-voiced, whom long ago she had\nsheltered in her shrine.\n\n\"I will keep to thy side--Char-mides. Or--I die here. Yet I fear not\ndeath. Life--only--is--terrible,\" she muttered, faintly.\n\nThe Greek did not answer her. Seeing an opening in the throng, he threw\none arm around her, and, holding his right hand out in front of them\nboth, hurried quickly forward. Istar never remembered how it happened.\nShe saw her eunuchs all around her. She knew little of the angry people\nbeyond. Presently she and her rescuer stood together beyond the mob on\nthe edge of the platform steps.\n\n\"Thy eunuchs, I think, will keep the crowd from pursuit. They have been\nbravely true to thee. Now, canst reach my dwelling, lady? The way is\nfar.\"\n\n\"To thy dwelling I cannot go. May the Almighty God make thee forever\nhappy! Leave me now. I follow my path alone.\"\n\nCharmides regarded her as slightly crazy. As she started quickly forward\nhe kept close at her side. \"Come with me--a little to the right,\" he\nsuggested, gently.\n\nShe shook her head. \"Nay, Charmides, I know the way. It is to the house\nof my lord that I go. Haste! Haste! They follow me!\"\n\nShe started forward as she spoke, running in terror down the steps into\nthe square, and turning unhesitatingly into the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. Charmides\nkept to her and supported her as she went, knowing not what else to do,\nnot daring to take the child, to which she clung with such a\nmother-clasp that none could have presumed to ask her to relinquish it.\nAnd in this wise they proceeded together up the great road, finally\nturning into the street of Palaces leading towards the river. As they\npassed, no man or woman failed to turn and stare at the couple, for\nsurely such a sight as this had never before been seen in Babylon. How\nlong the walk lasted, minutes, hours, or days, or how it was that Istar\nkept from losing consciousness after the terrible hour she had been\nthrough, Charmides never knew. Some of the agony, mental and physical,\nthat the woman was enduring he could read in her face. The greater part\nof it no mortal could have known or borne, for it was the death of her\nimmortal existence and the beginning of her real earth-life, her life as\na human being, a woman without power, without strength, without\nknowledge of what was to come.\n\nNoon glared over the city as the two of them reached the border of the\nhunting-park that surrounded Nabu-Nahid's palace. A little farther along\nwas the palace gate-way, with its group of guards in their magnificent\nliveries. Charmides looked at them in despair, for surely the poor woman\nat his side would meet with no courtesy here. Such fears did not trouble\nIstar. Advancing to the first soldier, she said at once:\n\n\"Admit me, now, to\"--she faltered over the name--\"to my Lord\nBelshazzar.\"\n\nFor a moment the man stared into her haggard and colorless face, crossed\nwith the red weal of the whip, looked into the wild eyes, saw the burden\nthat she bore, and laughed.\n\nIstar heard him, saw him, was still and silent for a moment, and then\nturned dully to Charmides. The Greek's eyes brimmed with tears--tears of\nrage at his helplessness and unutterable pity for Istar.\n\n\"Belit, come away with me. I will keep you till my lord receives you\nhere,\" he whispered to her imploringly.\n\nIstar shook her head and turned hurriedly to the second man. \"I will be\ntaken to my Lord Belshazzar! Admit me to him!\" she cried, querulously.\n\n\"There is he, then, if you would speak to him,\" was the jeering answer,\nas the man, with a grin, swept his thumb in the direction of the first\ncourt, just inside the gate.\n\nIstar darted forward to look.\n\n\"Thou fool! Now she will scream!\" said the first soldier to his comrade.\n\nTruly enough, Belshazzar was in the court, walking slowly towards the\ngate of his wing of the palace. Istar's eyes fell on him instantly. She\nsmiled a little. Then--she called:\n\n\"Belshazzar! Belshazzar--my lord!\"\n\nAt the first syllable Belshazzar stopped, lifted his bowed head, and\nlistened. At the repetition of the cry he turned towards the gate and\ncame running--running as never before, towards it. The guards, watching\nhim in something like consternation, opened the gate at his approach.\n\n\"Istar! Istar! Thou--here!\" came in a great cry of love, of anger, of\nineffable pity, from the lips of the prince royal.\n\nIstar tremulously smiled, and held out her infant to her husband.\n\"I--have--come,\" she whispered, vaguely. Then, as Belshazzar took the\nchild from her, she gave a gasping sob, and fell forward upon the hot\nbricks at his feet.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n\u00caGIBI & SONS\n\n\nBy noon that day Babylon was ringing with the story of Istar's fall and\nher miraculous escape from the hands of the mob of priests and the\npeople. The tale, from the first appearance of Amraphel and Vul-Ram\u00e2n in\ntheir chariot on the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb at so early an hour, down to the\narrival of Charmides and Istar at the edge of the royal park on the\nstreet of Palaces, was in the mouth of every man. But, strangely enough,\nthe beginning and the end of it all, Beltishazzar the Jew and Belshazzar\nthe prince, were never once mentioned by any one. Amraphel in the temple\nand Daniel in the street listened, each with his own ears, in his own\nway, to learn how much was known; and possibly both were relieved that\nthe beginning was unguessed; but certainly both were annoyed to find\nthat they could learn no more of the close of the drama than any one.\nIstar had simply disappeared. Her Greek guide was known, had even been\nseen in the afternoon walking from the temple of Sin towards the canal\nof the New Year. But no move was made towards his apprehension, for he\nwas highly valued by the priesthood of his temple, and no amount of\nquestioning on the part of any one drew from him a single satisfactory\nreply as to the final disposal of Istar and her child.\n\nNevertheless, Charmides' mind and heart were full. Not until the\nafternoon had he an opportunity, or, indeed, the wish, to review the\ngreat event in which he had played so important a part that morning. All\nthe circumstances had been shoved into the background and forced to lie\nstill in his subconsciousness throughout the morning, while he performed\nhis regular duties at the temple. And only now was he free to let them\ncome once more to the surface and quietly consider them in his homeward\nwalk. First, there was the errand that had taken him to the temple of\nIstar at that hour of the morning--a message concerning two oracles that\nmust be identical, to be delivered at the same hour at two temples.\nCharmides had been more likely than any of the priests to win Istar's\nconsent to the arrangement and to the deceit that it involved. And it\nwas thus that he arrived at the temple of the goddess at the hour of the\nclose of sacrifice, to find an unusual and excited throng assembled\nround the foot of the ziggurat, upon which, Charmides learned, Istar had\nslept on the previous night. Entirely ignorant of the portent of this\nmob, the Greek had joined them--hearing only that Istar was still above.\nFrom there, in such wise, he watched her expulsion from the sanctuary;\nsaw her struck by the whip of the high-priest; perceived the burden that\nshe bore; and, finally, knew that she was swallowed up in the mob that\nhad been threatening her life. Then, at last, a furious desire for\naction came over the Greek. He looked around eagerly. On his right hand\nstood a company of men that were taking no part in the turmoil,\nregarding it rather with an expression of anxiety in their faces. These\nwere the eunuchs of Istar's household, wearing her livery: servitors\nthat had been willing slaves. Charmides saw that in them lay his\ngoddess' only chance. He rallied them and brought them together by means\nof a few sharp words of encouragement and explanation; and with them\nclose-pressed around him, he made an onslaught on the disordered throng.\n\nIt was thus that Istar's rescue had been effected. There was little in\nit that was remarkable; but Istar's endurance in the long walk that\nfollowed was certainly little less than miraculous. It was, however, the\nscene at the end of this walk that had affected Charmides most\npowerfully. In Belshazzar's reception of her, Charmides had not failed\nto read something of the history that had made that reception possible.\nLove for her, this wonderfully fallen woman, helpless, weary, and\npersecuted as she was, the prince unquestionably bore. She had come to\nhim in her hour of sorest need, and he had not failed her. Could she\nthen, always, in her former glory, have rejected him? It seemed\nimpossible. And at this thought Charmides grew troubled. He could not\nbear that Istar should be tainted by contact with any mortal. Yet now,\nalas! he knew that she must be so tainted. With this thought the world\ngrew human again, and Charmides turned his mind to Ram\u00fba, his wife, her\nwho had first made Babylon beautiful to him. In another two or three\nminutes now he would be with her, for he had nearly finished his\nhomeward walk. Directly opposite him were the palace and gardens of Lord\nRib\u00e2ta, behind whose walls dwelt Baba, that other being whose life had\nfor a moment touched his, and had then flown off again at a tangent that\ncould not but separate them more and more as time went on. For Baba,\nCharmides felt a lurking tenderness, that had developed since he won his\nhappiness through her; and as he rounded the corner of the tenement of\nUt and hastened his pace towards his own door-way, he was not sorry to\nfind three women watching for him in that space--Ram\u00fba, Beltani, and,\nlastly, Baba herself.\n\nIt was evident that news of the great happening of the morning had\nalready reached this remote corner of the city; for the instant that he\nwas within speaking distance of his family, the Greek was assailed with\nsuch a volley of questions as only women could have marshalled under a\nsingle breath. It must be confessed that Charmides heard them with\nsomething like despair. Yet he knew also that he would do best to submit\nto the inevitable without protest. Therefore, seating himself upon a new\nstool in the living-room, he proceeded to utilize the moments unoccupied\nby women's voices in explaining as lucidly as possible the morning's\nadventure. Baba alone was silent during his recital. She stood perfectly\nstill, her hands folded in front of her, her large eyes fixed solemnly\non his face, listening, with an eagerness that he could not but\nperceive, to his every syllable. Immediately upon the end she turned,\nwith a rustle of silk and a jingle of golden chains, towards the door.\nThen, beckoning Charmides to come with her, she led him along for a few\nyards, and, fixing her gaze upon him, said, seriously:\n\n\"Charmides, you must know that you have incurred danger by this act. The\neyes of all the priesthood, of Amraphel, of Vul-Ram\u00e2n, of Beltishazzar\nthe Jew, will from this time forth be upon you. Take care that, though\nyou have won the love of every woman in Babylon by your act, you do not\nalso receive some mortal injury from these others. I warn you as one\nthat loves you. Remember it.\"\n\nAnd with these words, and a nod to her sister behind, Baba let Charmides\ngo, and went on alone towards her pleasant prison-house.\n\nThere was no reluctance in Baba's gait as she approached the palace of\nRib\u00e2ta; for the unhappiness of the first months of her new life was\ngone. In its place had come a contentment that was as near akin to\nhappiness as anything she had ever known. By her own tact and wisdom she\nhad made for herself an enviable place in Lord Rib\u00e2ta's household. Every\none in it, from the first wife to the newest dancing-girl and the\nhumblest slave, liked her. She had never been known to do one of them an\nunkindness; and none of them had ever borne a complaint of her to their\nlord. For this, if for nothing else, Bit-Shumukin would have regarded\nher as a paragon. But my lord had other cause for keeping a close\ncompanionship with her after her novelty had worn off. Baba was no fool;\nand, young as she was, began, under Rib\u00e2ta's experimental tuition, to\ndevelop no mean abilities in the way of politics and political\ndiplomacy. She had begun by having explained to her the unimportant\nthings--dark secrets known to everybody in the state world, and to\nanybody else that cared to go into them. Finding from these that she\npossessed that unheard-of thing in woman, a bridled tongue, Rib\u00e2ta\ntrusted her further, began to make some little use of her in a\nstatesman's way, and found that she had unusual talent in that unusual\nline. Finally, she had ended by becoming an unfailing necessity to him\nin his broad outer life. Baba went to houses, knew people, heard things\nrepeated, received confidences that no other woman in Babylon dreamed\nof. In many cases she was able to save her lord's dignity in a pleasant\nway. She formed friendships with certain people whom he suggested to\nher, and obtained from them a world of amusement for herself, and an\nunfathomable fund of information for her master. She found Babylon to be\na seething mass of plots and counterplots, little and great, honorable,\nignoble, loyal and traitorous. The government was fighting its enemies\nwith their own weapons, and intrigued vigorously, sometimes in the light\nof knowledge, far more often in hopeless darkness. Rib\u00e2ta, as\nBelshazzar's closest friend, dwelt in the very midst of this world of\ncraft, and how valuable to him and to his prince so versatile and so\ntruthful an agent as Baba was, none but Rib\u00e2ta himself knew. But it was\nin this way that life had grown interesting again to the little\ncreature; and it was in this way that she gained a satisfaction in her\nexistence, knowing that she was worthy, that she was serving a great\ncause well. Indeed, from her heart, in the light of all her knowledge,\nBaba was body and soul loyal to the king and to the prince-governor of\nthe city. Autocratic as they were and wished to be, it took little\nunderstanding to perceive how infinitely more selfish, how infinitely\nmore tyrannical would be the other side, that great opposing element of\nwhich Amraphel was the recognized head, and Daniel the Jew the\nunrecognized but not less important right hand.\n\nKnowing this religious body as she did, Baba's warning to Charmides had\nbeen no idle one; and on her way home she was occupied in reviewing the\nposition of the man whom she revered as well as loved. It caused her no\nlittle anxiety, this plight of his; for, though no definite result of\nhis generous action could be foretold, that there would be some result\nthe little diplomatist was very sure. It was her intention, on reaching\nthe palace, to demand audience of Rib\u00e2ta at once. But when she came to\nthe outer gate of the zenana she found a eunuch watching for her coming,\nand he hurried forward to her with the command that she repair instantly\nto the presence of her lord.\n\nRib\u00e2ta was alone at table when Baba came to him. He greeted her arrival\nwith extreme satisfaction, and, before dismissing the slaves, had a\nplace made for her beside him, and food and wine brought for her\nrefreshment. Baba watched the arrangements placidly. She was accustomed\nto such consideration, though no other woman of Rib\u00e2ta's household had\never been treated in this way. And when the two of them were finally\nleft alone, she began quietly to eat, asking no questions, forbearing to\nintroduce the topic near her own heart, waiting, without the least\nappearance of curiosity, for Rib\u00e2ta to begin the conversation.\n\nOn the instant of their being left alone, Rib\u00e2ta's face lost its\nexpression of cheerful nonchalance and took on the look of one that\nlabors wearily in a hopeless cause. He ceased to eat and drink, and lay\nback on his couch with a deep sigh. It was many minutes before he spoke,\nand during that time Baba played steadily at eating, never once noticing\nhis languor or commenting on his mood; for she knew her lord, and she\ntook the only possible method of pleasing him.\n\n\"Baba,\" he said at last, \"we have lost what should be reckoned as an\narmy this day.\"\n\nBaba slowly lifted her eyes to his. \"Istar?\" she said, quietly.\n\nRib\u00e2ta nodded. There was a little pause, and then he asked again: \"You\nknow, do you not, the man that saved her from the mob?\"\n\n\"Why--thou knowest, my lord, he is--\"\n\n\"Charmides, thy Greek. Say it, Baba.\"\n\n\"He is the husband of my sister.\"\n\n\"But once beloved of thee?\"\n\nBaba looked at him.\n\n\"Warn thy Greek, then, that Amraphel and the Jew will not again let any\nact of his pass unnoticed. His life is endangered, I think.\"\n\nStill Baba was silent. At Rib\u00e2ta's words she merely bowed her head.\n\n\"And now, my Baba, now hear the rest of the day's happenings. The Great\nCity is coming into the evening of her day. That thing that was\nNabu-Nahid's greatest safeguard, because it alone was feared by the\npriesthood, is taken from us. In the days when Istar of Babylon shone\nlike Shamash in her temple, Amraphel himself laid his face in the dust\nbefore her. But now, for many months, yea, since that journey to Erech,\nher glory has departed from her. I have looked on her long and\ndespairingly of late weeks. This is the end that from the first I have\nfeared. She is become no more than any woman; and with her going our\npower fails. Yet, Baba, this Istar is wonderfully beloved. This day, in\nthe palace of the king, she was united in marriage with Belshazzar by\nword of the priest of Sin, who thereby, to all Babylonia, proclaimed her\na woman.\"\n\n\"Wife of Belshazzar!\" gasped Baba.\n\n\"Yes, verily. And I have not marvelled less than thou. Yet Belshazzar\nloves her with a love that is beyond approach: holding her dearer than\nhalf the kingdom--nay, then, than the whole, I think. I spake out before\nhim of the danger of her fall to our cause, and his answer frightened\nme; and after that, through the whole day, he spoke to me no more.\n\n\"But by the blood of my father that flows in my veins, neither for Istar\nnor for any other shall Belshazzar lose his kingdom to Amraphel,\nBeltishazzar, and Kurush the Elamite, till my spirit is fled to\nNinkigal, and my blood waters the streets of the city. And till the time\nwhen the madness of the prince my brother shall be ended, I alone will\nuphold the state against her enemies.\"\n\nHe came to an abrupt and thoughtful pause, which Baba softly filled.\n\n\"My lord knows that his will is also mine.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta drew a quick sigh and then smiled at her words. Afterwards he\nrose from his couch and seated himself on the great pile of rugs and\ncushions in a corner, at the same time motioning Baba to join him. She\nwent, obediently, and seated herself at his feet, her eyes resting\ninquiringly on his face, her chin on her hands. Before he began to\nspeak, he placed one hand caressingly on her hair, much as one would\nhave patted the head of a little child, for, in spite of her precocious\ndiscretion and level-headedness, Baba always impressed one first with\nher childlike personality.\n\n\"Now, Baba, there is something for thee to do, whereby we may gain much\nfor our king. Thou knowest the woman Bunanit\u00fb, and the great house of\n\u00cagibi, of which she is mistress?\"\n\nBaba smiled. \"Hast thou not many times bidden me go to her? And hath she\nnot come here to visit me? Ugh! My lord knows that I do not love her and\nher race.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta smiled. \"My Baba, the king's treasury has never in its richest\ntime held half the wealth of the house of \u00cagibi. With them is that power\nof gold without which Amraphel himself would soon be helpless. There,\nBaba, in that house of Jews, is where more than half the secret meetings\nof the traitors are held. It is from there, and from the house of\nZicar\u00fb, near the temple of Marduk, that Babylon may look for its doom to\ncome forth. Listen, then, to me. If any meeting ever hath been held by\nour enemies--and, by thy goat, there have been a hundred of them!--there\nwill be one to-morrow, either in the monastery or in this house of\n\u00cagibi: and I think 'twill be in the last. Their best time is noon, after\nsacrifice and before mercy, when business ceases and the city dines.\nNow, there will be a eunuch temple servant that is in my pay in the\nhouse of Zicar\u00fb, waiting, at the same hour that I would have you go to\nthe house of \u00cagibi. You must enter it, Baba, as a female visitor to\nBunanit\u00fb, veiled and on foot, carrying embroidery, or a lute, or\nsomething that womankind fancies, creating no suspicion that you come\nfrom me or my house. Only greet Bunanit\u00fb, and tell her you are come to\npay a visit and to gossip with her for an hour. Then, being in that\nhouse, keep thou watch. Tell me the men that are to be seen about the\nplace, or, if there is none to see, look for any chance event that may\nbefall to give a clew to the traitors' workings. If you be shut away\nfrom the men's rooms, cry out for faintness or with heat, and so run out\ninto the shop where moneys are changed. Or make you any excuse to look\nand learn--I care not what it may be, or what you do. But, my Baba, for\nevery fact you bring me, there shall be a golden hairpin for your hair\non your return.\"\n\nBaba looked up at him quickly. \"My lord will learn in time that I love\nnot gold. I do my lord's bidding for love of his work. Let him not pay\nme like a servant.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta smiled and took up her two hands. \"Baba is good, and also wise.\nLet her bear always in mind that the Ach\u00e6menian threatens the Great\nCity; and that before him, if there works treachery inside the walls, I\nand thou, Belshazzar and the king, Istar of Babylon and thy pale-eyed\nGreek, must surely fall. I shall not see thee again ere thou go; but the\nhousehold is at thy command, to do with as thou wilt in preparation for\nthy adventure.\"\n\nThen Rib\u00e2ta tapped her forehead in token of dismissal, and watched her\nas she jumped to her feet, made her reverence, and went away with her\nhands folded on her breast.\n\nThough the evening was young, Baba retired straightway, but without any\nintention of sleeping. Once in her bed she was not liable to\ninterruptions of women or children, who clamored lustily round her in\nher waking hours. Now she was eager to think out her plans for the\nmorrow, and how best to accomplish the most important mission ever\nintrusted to her. It was full three hours, and the whole zenana had\ngrown sleepy-still, before at last she turned upon her side and closed\nher eyes in the satisfaction of knowing that, of all the plans she could\nthink of, the one she had finally decided on held out the greatest\nchance of success.\n\nNext morning, the twenty-second of the fair month, found the city still\nwrought up over the strange happenings of the day before. Istar's fall\nwas not a matter of rejoicing to Babylon in general. Many a woman had\nwept, and many a workman turned silent and solemn on hearing of her\nexpulsion from the temple. In one quarter of the city only was there a\nuniversal sense of delight. This was in the extreme southwest, south of\nthe canal of the Prophet, and accessible from the outside only by the\ngate of the Maskim. This little spot was a settlement of an alien race,\nand its inhabitants enjoyed a mode of life peculiarly their own. It was\nthe quarter that had been assigned, fifty years before, to the Jewish\npeople, when Nebuchadrezzar had brought them, ten thousand strong, from\ntheir far, barren country, to be a menace and a curse unto his\ndescendant.\n\nSo entirely distinctive a life did these captives live, that their\nquarter was not greatly frequented by Babylonians. But there was one\nhouse, standing near the traders' square, covering a large plot of\nground, and much more richly tiled than any of its neighbors, that had\nbeen and was frequented by the greatest men in Babylon--prince and\npriest, judge and minister--and the business of which was on a greater\nscale than that of any similar native house, and which was in the end\ndestined to become famous in the annals of Babylonish history. This was\nthe great banking-firm of \u00cagibi & Sons; and it was managed at the\npresent time by three generations of the family: Bunanit\u00fb, a remarkable\nold woman of more than sixty years of age; Kalnea, her son, a man\nsomething over forty; and Kabtiya, her grandson, a youth in his\ntwentieth year and still unmarried. The establishment that was run by\nthese three to tremendous advantage to themselves, and not a little to\nthat of some others, had become, through the influence of Daniel, the\nrendezvous for the priestly traitors of the city. Both Kalnea and his\nson were dangerously implicated in the schemes of Amraphel; and, though\nBunanit\u00fb had always shrunk a little from the councils held within her\nwalls, her racial prejudices against the reigning family were too strong\nfor her not to be wholly in sympathy with their enemies.\n\nAn hour after its accomplishment the news of the fall of Istar had\nreached this household, through a message from Amraphel himself, who\ncommanded them to prepare for a meeting at noon on the following\nday--the very obvious consequence that Rib\u00e2ta had foreseen. The message\nmade no difference in the usual business of the morning; and at noon, as\na matter of course, trade was relaxed for the dinner-hour. Few people\nwere in the streets, and no customers haunted the various small shops in\nthe quarter. The house of \u00cagibi, however, was more fortunate than its\nneighbors. Between twelve and half-past no fewer than seven men passed\nin the door of the bank; and, more unusual still, when the last one of\nthem went in, the first had not yet come out. A little peculiar,\ncertainly; but to the single person who witnessed the arrivals from a\nsafe retreat behind a great pile of porous water-jars displayed for sale\nin the street near by, the event appeared to have less of the strange\nthan of the satisfactory in it. This watcher was a small, half-robed\nletter-carrier, who had loitered about the neighborhood for half an\nhour, unseen by a single soul. He waited for five or ten minutes after\nthe entrance of the last of the seven, made his way round the corner\nbehind the house, and was presently to be seen dashing round it at\nbreak-neck speed, up to the open door of the establishment.\n\nBunanit\u00fb was alone in the large room, and she came to the door, looking\nout with some anxiety at the small, black creature that stood panting\nbefore her.\n\n\"Thy business, boy?\" she demanded, sharply.\n\nThe boy peered up at her, giving her eye for eye suspiciously. \"Who are\nyou?\" he croaked.\n\n\"Bunanit\u00fbm Bit-\u00cagibi.\"\n\n\"Mother of Kalnea?\"\n\n\"Yea.\"\n\n\"Oho! Then I give thee this, to be\"--the boy put a mysterious finger to\none side of his nose and whispered so softly that the woman bent over to\ncatch his words--\"to be delivered to Amraphel, my lord, in council--if\nthou knowest the place.\" And he held up a neat little brick, covered\nwith exquisitely minute writing and elaborately sealed.\n\nBunanit\u00fbm, growing rather large over the affair, took the epistle with a\nnod. \"I know,\" she whispered, in return, and the boy, with an answering\nlook, turned as if to go away.\n\nThe woman, hasty with her new importance, did not stay to watch his\ndeparture. She turned about and started for the back part of the house,\nleaving the outer room quite empty for the space of three minutes. And\nduring that three minutes Baba brought her plan to a successful issue.\n\nNo one saw the little letter-carrier enter the shop. Still less did any\none know when he darted out of it and back into the maze of corridors\nand rooms behind. Here, in a well-chosen corner, very dimly lighted,\nBaba huddled herself up, to await the return of Bunanit\u00fb to her post of\nduty, which would leave the whole rear of the house open to inspection.\nShortly the Jewess could be seen passing quickly along an adjoining\nhall-way, on her way back to the shop, whither she had been hastily sent\nby her son. And when she was gone, Baba, with a long breath, left her\nhiding-place. The most uncertain and perhaps the most dangerous part of\nher work was over; but the important half of it remained still to be\ndone. She was confident of the efficacy of her disguise; and she was\nfree to move rapidly in her scant tunic with her black-stained, bare\nlimbs, and her flowing hair crammed under a woolly, black wig.\nNevertheless her heart beat violently as she left her corner and began\nto search for the room where the secret council would sit, or for some\nhiding-place where the sound of voices would come to her ears. She had\nproceeded nearly to the back wall of the house, and was beginning to\nfear that the council-room was too well concealed for discovery, when a\nfaint murmur of talking reached her ears. It came, apparently, from\nsomewhere below, and, with the first murmurous sound, Baba stopped short\nto look about.\n\nThe room where she stood was large, almost dark, and scantily furnished.\nIts walls, however, were hung with elaborate draperies, and its floors\ncovered with costly rugs. Save for two or three inlaid chairs, with\nembroidered cushions and carven feet, the room was empty of furniture.\nBut from somewhere, and somewhere below, came that unceasing murmur of\nconversation. The intruder examined her surroundings from floor to\nceiling. Then she looked all round the walls, and finally back again to\nthe floor. Here, on a certain spot, her eyes stopped. It was where the\ncorner of a great crimson rug was turned up, as if it had been hastily\nlaid. And by this upturned corner was a black spot that was not shadow.\nIn the dim light Baba could distinguish nothing very clearly; but she\nmoved noiselessly across to this place, and found when she came to it\nthat the voices had become definite, and she could hear what was being\nsaid. There was a square opening in the floor, all but four or five\ninches of which was quite concealed by the rug.\n\nWithout any hesitation Baba threw herself flat down, and then, realizing\nto the full the risk that she ran, pushed the rug yet farther away from\nthe opening, put her face close to it, and looked down.\n\nBelow was a good-sized vault, made, probably, in the brick platform on\nwhich the house stood. It was well lighted with torches and lamps, hung\nwith richly embroidered tapestry, and ceiled with glazed bricks of\nbright colors. Its furniture consisted of piles of rugs and cushions on\nwhich, seated in an orderly circle, sat, not nine, but fourteen men, all\nbut four of whom wore the goat-skin. Baba did not know them all, even by\nsight; but half were familiar figures, and the other half--well, Rib\u00e2ta\nshould tell her their names to-night, after her description. Those that\nshe knew were Amraphel, Vul-Ram\u00e2n of Nebo and Nergal, Larissib-Sin of\nMarduk, Zir-Iddin of Shamash at Sippar, Siat\u00fb-Sin, Itti-Bel, and\nG\u00fbla-Zir, together with Beltishazzar the Jew and his fellows Kalnea and\nyoung Kabtiya of the house of \u00cagibi; and the rest were one more\nhawk-eyed fellow of the tribe of Judah, and five priests, none of them\nabove the rank of elder.\n\nIn her first downward glance Baba perceived that Amraphel had in his\nhand the brick letter that she herself had sent him; and evidently its\ncontents had been surprising enough to displace the former topic of\ndiscussion and to raise a storm of talk. Amraphel and Beltishazzar were\nsilent, waiting, with more or less patience, for a chance of being\nheard. After a little time this opportunity came, for the majority of\nthose present were too ignorant of their subject to be particularly\ninstructive; and at last they quieted, one by one, and turned to the\nplace where their leaders sat.\n\nAmraphel spoke the first words that Baba was able to catch definitely,\nand from that time on there was nothing that she did not hear and\nremember.\n\n\"Now that ye take council with silence, men of emptiness, learn of me\nthat there is little enough danger in the fact, even if it be true, that\nBelshazzar has taken the woman of Babylon to wife. Answer me severally\none by one, if there has been in any of your temples a rumor of such a\nmarriage made by any of its priests. Siat\u00fb-Sin--dost thou remember?\"\n\n\"Nay, Lord Amraphel.\"\n\nThis answer was repeated by every priest present. Then, in the little\npause that followed before Amraphel went on, Daniel, with a faint smile,\nobserved:\n\n\"Yesterday, at four hours after noon, Kasmani, second sacrificial priest\nof the temple of Sin, entered the gates of Nabu-Nahid's palace, and\ndrove away again in an hour in the golden chariot of Prince Belshazzar.\"\n\nEvery one looked to Amraphel for his idea of this information. The\nhigh-priest only smiled, in slow indifference, and continued: \"The woman\nof Babylon desires, then, to be queen in the Great City. A queen is not\na goddess; and yet I say unto you that she shall never be queen. She\nwhom I drove forth yesterday from the temple is fallen ill under her\ndisgrace. This morning at dawn came to me Nergal-Yukin, rab-mag of the\nking's household, for a charm to ward off a fever from a divine lady.\"\n\nHere Amraphel hesitated for the fraction of a second, while a thin smile\nspread over Daniel's keen face. \"That charm--\" he urged.\n\n\"That charm,\" said Amraphel, carefully, \"was what the great Elamite\nwould have desired.\"\n\n\"The sword?\" demanded Vul-Ram\u00e2n, bluntly.\n\n\"Ten drops of the liquor from an adder's fang, to be rubbed upon a prick\nin the left wrist at sunset to-day.\"\n\nBaba gasped; but from the men assembled below there was only a quick\nround of applause.\n\n\"By dawn to-morrow there will be no more of 'Istar of Babylon,'\"\nobserved Daniel, satisfaction oiling his tone.\n\n\"And the Great City is open to its savior,\" concluded Siat\u00fb-Sin.\n\nNow Baba was in a sudden agony to escape, for she felt that the life of\nIstar rested in her hands. Yet sunset was still many hours away, and the\ntalk that was beginning gave signs of proving exactly what Rib\u00e2ta had\ntold her to hear. Therefore from minute to minute she lingered on in her\nplace, while the story of treachery and blood-guiltiness was made clear\nto her, and it seemed as if, with the evidence in her hands, it must\nsoon be possible to have these men put to death without imprisonment and\nwith a mere form of trial. And had it been two centuries earlier this\nmight perhaps have been arranged. But Babylon was not Nineveh, and the\npower of Nabonidus was not that of the old monarchs of Chaldea; neither\nwas the king by nature a tyrant, or even a strict ruler. And possibly\nbecause of these things, and only because of them, these councils were\nventured at all.\n\n\"What is the last word from Kurush?\" demanded Salathiel the Jew, of\nAmraphel.\n\nThere was a general little murmur of interest, and a settling down upon\nthe cushions as if for a lengthy talk.\n\n\"Kurush,\" said Amraphel, with all the authority of Cyrus himself, \"is\nnow in the marsh country south of Teredou, and from there he despatches\na letter to us. Ye shall hear it.\"\n\nAmraphel drew from the pocket of his broad girdle a clay tablet,\nslightly larger than those in general use for letters, and covered with\nneatly pressed cuneiform characters. This, with the aid of a small,\nround magnifying-glass, always used in correspondence, he read aloud to\nthose assembled--and to Baba above:\n\n\"'Unto Amraphel, high servant of the ancient gods of Babylon, and to\nthose that are with him, thus saith Kurush the Ach\u00e6menian: With me it is\nwell. With thee and thy houses may it be exceeding well. Now I, the\nking, lie secretly in the country to the south of the city of Teredou,\nnot far from the gulf of the setting sun. And here, from the east and\nfrom the north, the army will assemble about me. The people in the land\nare poor and ill-content. Little grain have they to eat, and short\nmeasure of milk to drink. The king their lord knows them not. To me they\nturn, in their extremity. Soon shall ye learn of revolts among the\ndwellers in the lowlands: know, then, that it will be by my hand. After\nthis we will march northward, towards the gates of the Great City.\n\n\"'Gobryas, my general, the governor of Gutium, is in the north. Before\nhim, in the month of Duzu (June), Sippar and its works shall fall.\n\n\"'Look to it only that ye hold Babylon estranged from its king. She whom\nwe have feared--doth she bear herself yet divinely? The captive Jews\nthat are in the city, greet them well for me. Tell them that, after my\ncoming, those that open to me the Great City shall know again the land\nof their fathers and their fathers' fathers. And those of the\nBabylonians that shall acclaim me master, to each of these shall be\ngiven out of the public moneys thirty shekels of silver; but to the\ngreat that bow before shall be given high offices, honor, and much\nwealth. And in the month of Ab, Queen of the Bow, shall Babylon know\nme.'\"\n\nThe seal of Cyrus was affixed to the end of the epistle; and the brick\nwas passed round the circle, that each man present might be sure that it\nwas genuine.\n\nNow began a discussion that proved tedious and scarcely comprehensible\nto Baba. It was about numbers and divisions of men, and was accompanied\nby the reading of endless lists of names, and the checking of each as\ntrue or untrue to the cause of rebellion. And after listening to this\ntalk until she found that it would be utterly hopeless for her to\nattempt to remember anything valuable in it, Baba rose, pulled the rug\ncarefully back to its original place, listened for a moment to make sure\nthat she was undiscovered, and then, with the utmost caution, made her\nway to the rear door of the house, which she unfastened, and through\nwhich she safely passed. Once outside, in the glare of day, her heart\nafire with anxiety for Istar, she started away, in a light-running pace,\nup through the city that she knew so well. Through the Traders' square,\nacross the canal of the Prophet, along the river-bank for an endless\ndistance she ran, till she came to the great bridge, across which loomed\nthe high, blue walls of the new palace.\n\nThe sun was swinging down towards the horizon now, and the life of Istar\nswung with it in its balance, when the dishevelled figure of Rib\u00e2ta's\nslave halted at the palace gates and demanded the admission that her\ndisguise gained for her.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE RAB-MAG\n\n\nThrough the whole of the day following her expulsion from the temple,\nIstar, wife of Belshazzar the prince royal, lay in her newly assigned\nbedroom in the far wing of the palace, in a profound stupor. She was\nunconscious, apparently, of everything around her--of Belshazzar,\nsitting at her bedside; of the child that lay wailing on her arm; of the\npeace and the orderly quiet of this new home. The spell of her mighty\nshame and woe was over her. She had broken under it like the reed in the\nstorm. Everything that had passed since she was driven by the blows of\nthe ox-goad out into the day-glare on top of the ziggurat, had been but\na dim vision to her. Physically, she was very ill. This was not\nwonderful. But Belshazzar, mad with rage at the whole of the priesthood,\nand overwhelmed with pity for the woman he loved as only he would have\ndared to love, was beside himself with anxiety. All night the rab-mag of\nhis father's household, the most renowned charm-doctor in Babylonia, had\nwatched beside him in her room; had repeated prayers and formul\u00e6\nwithout number; and had burned beans, leeks, barley, cakes, butter,\nfrankincense, and liquor, till the room smelled indescribably, and\nBelshazzar himself, resorting to common-sense, ordered a dozen slaves to\nclear the atmosphere with fans and with pungent strong-waters. In the\nnew air Istar seemed to breathe more easily, and had even moved her\nlips, though no sound issued from them. Then Belshazzar commanded the\nrab-mag to depart until daylight, when he should return with new wisdom.\n\nThereupon Nergal-Yukin, half angry, half ashamed, wholly chagrined, went\nforth through the silent streets to the house of Amraphel. Here he was\nmade to undergo a change of feeling. The priest recognized an\nopportunity in the first three sentences that the doctor spoke, and\ninstantly took advantage of it. He set to work to play upon the\nalchemist's feelings, and such was his success that presently, by means\nof sympathy for the insults he had endured and promises of dazzling\nwealth, coupled with righteous denunciations of Istar as the queen of\ndarkness, of wickedness, of all the vices, the learned man found his\nprice, bent the knee before his preceptor, and hied him back to his den\nof charms, where, kept in a convenient cage, was an adder, dwelling\neffectively among the other insignia of this awe-inspiring profession.\n\nNergal-Yukin did not re-enter Belshazzar's presence that morning; but he\nsent a slave to say that he was preparing a new and infallible charm,\nthat could not, to be most efficacious, be applied before the hour of\nsunset. Belshazzar was pleased with the message; perhaps not less\npleased because it gave him the chance of being alone at Istar's side\nall through the day. Not for one moment did he leave or even turn his\nthoughts from her. Councillors and courtiers, officials and judges,\ntax-collectors, officers of his regiment, treasurer and usurers, were\nkept from his presence by peremptory command. He refused food for\nhimself; but he made an effort to force something between Istar's pallid\nlips--and in the attempt succeeded in rousing her for a moment from her\nstupor. As he knelt by her side, supporting her head upon his arm, his\nhand, unsteady with an emotion that none would have believed possible to\nhim, holding the cup of warm milk to her mouth, Istar's great eyes\nopened and she looked at him. There was a fulness in Belshazzar's throat\nthat presently broke into a sob. Blindly he groped in the realm of\nprayer for some words into which he could put his heart. And his will\nrose up in him, till he would have pitted himself against all the powers\nof hell for the sake of saving the life of this woman who was lawfully\nand spiritually his own.\n\n\"You shall not die--you shall not die--not die!\" he muttered, over and\nover again.\n\nThen Istar sank back upon her many pillows. The heavy lids once more\nshut off her wonderful eyes from his sight. Her face was colorless and\ndrawn. He could trace with ease the course of each tiny blue vein in her\nfair temples. He looked at her hands--so white, so transparent, so\nfrailly beautiful; and over them he bent his head, touching them with\nhis lips. As he kissed them there came a wail from the baby.\nInstinctively, half conscious as she was, Istar gathered the child to\nher side, while he, the man, looked on, wondering and helpless.\n\nNoon, with its breathless, stifling heat, came and went again. An hour\nafter it a slave tiptoed into the room and whispered a name to\nBelshazzar. The prince's expression brightened a little. \"Let him come\nin to me,\" he said, softly.\n\nA moment or two afterwards Rib\u00e2ta noiselessly entered the room.\n\nBelshazzar held out both hands, greeting his friend with such an air of\nweary helplessness that Rib\u00e2ta stared at him uncomfortably.\n\n\"Name of the great Marduk, Belshazzar, what is come to thee?\" he asked,\nholding his friend at arm's-length and looking into his face with a\nmixture of sympathy and perplexity.\n\n\"Hush! Curb thy voice! She will be disturbed.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta looked about him with intense curiosity. \"Belshazzar, art thou\ngone mad? What is this thing that absents thee from thy duties? Thou art\nneeded to-day--in council--at the review--\"\n\n\"Nay--let others look to these things; let my father look to his own,\"\nwhispered Belshazzar, in reply, drawing his friend down on the cushions\nbeside him.\n\nRib\u00e2ta found no answer to the words. Here was a Belshazzar whom he did\nnot know. He ventured no further remarks, but remained sitting quietly\nbeside his friend--waiting. By degrees, as the silence continued without\nmuch prospect of abating, Bit-Shumukin's eyes began to study the passive\nface of Istar. The nobleman had never before been so near her; and never\nbefore, even in the old days when he had seen her, towering in a cloud\nof silver above the multitude in her triumphal car, had he been so\nimpressed with her divine purity. There was that in her face, marked and\nmortalized by suffering as it was, that put mortal things far away from\nher. His wonder at Belshazzar's boldness grew greater. The spirit which\ncould have moved any man to look upon that face with a feeling of\nequality, daring the hope of making her his own, was enough, in Rib\u00e2ta's\neyes, to raise that man above the level of humanity. He turned to look\nupon the prince. Belshazzar lay back on the divan, lost in some\nunfathomable reverie. Rib\u00e2ta hesitated to bring him back into the\npresent, yet felt a kind of discomfort in the presence of these two\nstrange beings. Unable to contain himself, he suddenly started up, with\nthe idea of leaving the apartment. Belshazzar, however, was instantly\nroused by his move.\n\n\"Rib\u00e2ta,\" he said, quietly, \"do not go from us.\"\n\nThe friend turned to him, answering: \"My lord knows there is much to be\ndone. I go to thy work.\"\n\nBelshazzar rose and laid both hands tenderly on the shoulders of his\nfriend. \"My brother,\" he said, \"for my father, and for the sake of the\ncrown that will one day be mine, I have labored long; and for them I\nwill labor again, even unto the end. But now, for a little while, I\ntarry here, beside the bed of my beloved, for whose coming I have waited\nmany weary months. Then wilt thou not watch here with me through one\nlittle hour? I ask it for the love I bear thee, Bit-Shumukin; and be\nsure that there is no other in Babylon, nay, or in all the world, that\ncould hold thy place in my heart.\"\n\nA wave of emotion that was half wonder swept over Rib\u00e2ta. Never before\nhad Belshazzar spoken like this to him--never before like it to any man\nor to any woman. Bit-Shumukin made no reply in words, but he yielded\ninstantly to the gentle pressure of the prince's hand and sank back\nagain on the cushions. Once more he turned his gaze upon the white,\npassive features of Istar, and, without looking away from her, he asked:\n\n\"Dost thou leave her like this, with neither medicines nor prayers?\nWhere is the rab-mag, that he attends not on her sickness?\"\n\n\"All through the night he has worked over her with charms and\nincantations. At sunset to-day he will come again, bringing with him a\nnew charm more powerful than any ever used before. The hour of sunset is\nnot far away. Then if she--\"\n\nThe speech was interrupted by the appearance of a eunuch, who, making\nhis prostration in the door-way, stood silently waiting permission to\nspeak.\n\n\"What is thy business? Say it softly,\" whispered the prince, with a\nfrown.\n\n\"May the ears of my lord incline themselves kindly! There is at the gate\na letter-carrier that bears a message for the Lady Istar. He bade me\nseek thee, saying: 'For divine Istar my word bears life. If she heed me\nnot, death seizes her in his arms.'\"\n\n\"Bring the fellow here, guarded by two eunuchs and bound about the arms\nthat he may make no dangerous move.\"\n\nThe slave bowed and disappeared. When he was gone, Rib\u00e2ta observed,\nthoughtfully: \"It is well that he be bound. Day by day thy life is\ngrowing more precious to Babylon, more desired by the priesthood. By day\nand night, if thou wert mine to care for, I would have thee guarded.\"\n\nBelshazzar smiled a little, shaking his head; and they spoke no more\ntill Baba, fast bound and also gagged, was thrust into the room by two\nsoldiers that moved behind her. The little creature was dizzy with the\nheat, covered from head to foot with dust, and half fainting from\nweariness. At sight of Rib\u00e2ta she gave a gurgling, choked cry behind her\ngag, and, twisting herself suddenly from the soldiers' grasp, fell in a\nlittle heap at the feet of her lord.\n\n\"Baba!\" he cried, gazing in bewilderment at the unrecognizable figure,\nbut knowing her posture and her smothered voice.\n\n\"Thou knowest this fellow, Rib\u00e2ta?\" queried Belshazzar, curiously.\n\n\"'Tis a woman, lord prince, though her name is a man's. I will answer\nwith my life for her fidelity to thee and to the Lady Istar. Let thy\nsoldiers depart--then she will speak,\" he said, imperatively, beginning\nto unloose the rope that bound her arms.\n\nBelshazzar, as always, accepted his friend's word, dismissed the\nguardsmen with a nod, and turned to examine, with some interest, the\npanting heap of humanity at Rib\u00e2ta's feet. Bit-Shumukin had removed the\ngag, and was still struggling with the stiff knots in the cactus-rope.\nBelshazzar finally cut them with his knife and set Baba free. She rose\nuncertainly to her feet, stretching her arms above her head. Then,\nsuddenly, she grasped her hair, gave a great tug, and pulled the wig\nfrom her head, leaving her own long, black locks to float freely around\nher shoulders.\n\n\"Where didst thou get the stain for thy skin? Thou'rt black as a\nNubian,\" said her lord, smiling at her uncouth appearance. Then he\nadded, hastily: \"Nay, child, let us not play. What hast thou learned in\nthe house of \u00cagibi; and what is thy matter of life or death with the\ndivine Istar?\"\n\nBefore she had uttered the first word of her answer, Baba's eyes fell on\nthe form that lay stretched out on the bed. She gave a little cry of\nastonishment and reverent admiration. Then she cast herself on her knees\nbefore Belshazzar.\n\n\"May it please the prince my lord to heed my words, for I speak those\nthat fell an hour agone from the lips of Amraphel of Bel. At sunset of\nthis day will come Nergal-Yukin, rab-mag of the great king, to the side\nof the Lady Istar. He will bring with him a new charm that shall purport\nto be for Istar to make her well, and that will bring her to her death.\nAmraphel hath promised the man honor and riches when he shall make a cut\nupon the Lady Istar's wrist, rubbing into it ten drops of the poison\ndrawn from an adder's fangs.\"\n\n\"By all the gods--!\" Belshazzar leaped to his feet. \"Nergal-Yukin dies\nthis day!\"\n\n\"Where hast thou heard this story, Baba?\"\n\n\"At the council of priests, in the house of \u00cagibi.\"\n\n\"Say on--all thou hast heard!\" commanded Belshazzar, sharply.\n\nThereupon Baba, seating herself on the floor, recounted to the two men\nher adventure of the afternoon. The whole council, as she had overheard\nit, the names or the faces of the men that took part in it, and the\nletter from Cyrus the Elamite, word for word, she unravelled from the\nwarp and woof of her memory. Her auditors listened in silence, staring\ninto each other's faces, neither of them wholly amazed, yet both\nstrongly moved by this confirmation of their worst suspicions--the\nsuspicions that Nabonidus would not entertain. Baba gave the story in\ndetail, and took some time over it. She had barely finished, and there\nhad been no time for question or comment, when the attendant eunuch\nreappeared at the door, saying:\n\n\"It is the hour of sunset. Nergal-Yukin craves admittance to my lord and\nto the divine Lady Istar.\"\n\n\"Come thou hither,\" said Belshazzar, beckoning the eunuch to his side.\n\"Let Nergal-Yukin come hither to this room,\" he said, softly, \"and as\nsoon as he shall be within, summon thou six soldiers of the guard and\ncommand them to wait my call outside in the hall. Let them bring ropes\nof stout cactus and a gag of wood, and cause them to keep silence there\nwithout until I shall summon them. Now, behold, I have spoken. Go thy\nway and obey my word.\"\n\nThe eunuch departed obediently, and a moment later Nergal-Yukin entered\nthe bedchamber of the lady of Babylon. He was a tall fellow, this\nrab-mag of the king; lean and withered in body, black-robed, and wearing\nthe peaked hat that belonged to the livery of the royal household.\nAround his waist was a golden cord, at the end of which dangled a\nnarrow-bladed knife of Indian steel, its handle inlaid with lapis-lazuli\nand gold. In his hand he bore a golden phial of rare workmanship. His\nsalute to the prince was markedly obsequious, but he regarded the two\nothers in the room with great disfavor.\n\n\"Let the prince my lord command every one to be dismissed from his\npresence. Otherwise my spell must lose its potency.\"\n\n\"These are my friends. Let them remain here,\" returned Belshazzar,\nshortly.\n\n\"Then let my lord give me leave to depart out of his presence. The work\nwill be useless,\" said the old man, with something like a sneer,\nbeginning to back towards the door.\n\nBut Belshazzar was master of himself and of the situation. He lifted his\nhand, and the physician halted. \"Nergal-Yukin, on pain of death, get\nthee to thy work. Pronounce the spell; and may the gods take heed of\nit.\"\n\nThe words were spoken quietly enough; and yet there could be no\ndisobeying that tone. Nergal-Yukin's face darkened; but, however\nunwillingly, he advanced to Istar's side. Lifting over her both his\nlong, withered hands, he began to pray in the Accadian tongue to Nergal,\nthe god of health. Belshazzar, Rib\u00e2ta, and Baba stood listening\nstolidly, while the high-pitched voice went on and on, from prayers to\nexorcisms, and finally into mystic exclamations and phrases. Here the\nman's manner changed, and he gave symptoms of a working into religious\nfrenzy. His auditors, however, remained painfully unresponsive, and the\nfinal \"Aman\u00fb\" was succeeded by a biting silence. It was then, with a\nresentful satisfaction, that the rab-mag began the consummation of his\nwork. He commanded a basin of water and a fine towel. These provided, he\nlifted Istar's right hand from the coverlet, and proceeded to wash and\ndry it during the repetition of further prayers. Then he turned to\nBelshazzar.\n\n\"May it please the prince my lord to learn that this remedy which I am\nabout to apply to the lady of Babylon is the most powerful and the most\ndangerous of any known to mankind, or to the gods above. To them that\nare pure in heart it cannot fail to restore perfect health. By it,\nindeed, the very dead may sometimes be lifted up from Ninkigal and given\nonce more to the light of Shamash. But if the person to whom the magic\nliquid be applied is guilty of great sin, then is it true that death may\nperhaps come upon that one. Now wills the prince my lord that I finish\nthe spell?\"\n\n\"How shall it be finished?\" inquired Belshazzar, phlegmatically.\n\nNergal-Yukin grinned with displeasure and disappointment at having\nfailed to arouse any feeling by his words. \"O high and powerful one,\nwith this knife that hangs at my girdle I cut the flesh of the right\nwrist till a drop of red blood flows therefrom. Then into the wound I\npour the dazzling stream from this precious phial; and when they have\nmingled well with the blood of the lady, you shall behold her rise up\nand call thee to her arms.\" He concluded this explanatory speech with an\nobeisance, and had already turned to the couch again when Belshazzar\ngave a low call.\n\nInstantly there was an influx of armed men into the apartment.\nNergal-Yukin turned in time to see the entrance of the last one. The\nnext instant he was violently seized by two stalwart men. His cries of\namazement were stifled with a gag; he was bound about from head to foot\nwith the unbreakable cactus-rope, and then, at a nod from Belshazzar,\nborne out of the unconscious presence of Istar into the hall beyond.\nThither Belshazzar and Rib\u00e2ta followed him; but Baba, at a sign from her\nlord, remained where she was.\n\nBelshazzar's face was a thing to fear as he bade the guardsmen stand the\nrab-mag up before him. Nergal-Yukin could speak only with his eyes, but\nthese were eloquent indeed. Terror and agonized pleading were the\ndominant expressions on the face of the wretched creature. Belshazzar\nheeded neither one. In three words he commanded his men to free the\nright arm of the magician. Then, while Rib\u00e2ta and the soldiers were\nclustered round, watching the scene in silent fascination, and a scream\nof terror was about to break through the gag, Belshazzar took the\ndoctor's right hand in his own, holding it in an iron grasp; and with\nthe other he seized the knife that still hung at Nergal-Yukin's side.\nThe eyes of the doomed man were starting from their sockets. Rib\u00e2ta came\nforward a little, that he might obtain a better view of the affair. The\nsoldiers crowded close around. Belshazzar lifted the knife and made a\nlong, delicate slit in the back of the physician's wrist. Then, when the\nblood had begun to flow thinly forth, Rib\u00e2ta handed his master the\ngolden bottle that had been left on the foot of Istar's couch.\nBelshazzar nodded his thanks, and, without a second's hesitation, opened\nit. The liquid that rolled out was thick and rather brown in color. The\nprince did his work deftly. With one finger he rubbed the stuff all\nabout and around the wound, mixing it with the fresh blood, and allowing\nnone of it to drip off the wrist. With the other hand he helped two of\nhis soldiers to hold the rab-mag still; for the fellow was now\nstruggling so violently that this was not a task for a single arm. There\nwas no escape, however. When the poison had been made to enter the wound\nthoroughly, Belshazzar tore a strip of embroidered linen from the bottom\nof his tunic and bound it round the arm, fastening it with a pin from\nRib\u00e2ta's apparel. Then he stood back from his victim.\n\n\"Take this man away, and bring me only the message of his death.\"\n\nObediently the soldiers lifted their burden, now rigid and stiff with\nterror, and bore him like a log of wood out of the presence of the\nprince and across the court-yard, back into some little-known rooms used\nonly for the most obscure servants of the palace.\n\nBelshazzar drew a long breath of relief. His rage had passed. Only, as\nhe turned to smile at Rib\u00e2ta, he was slightly pale. Rib\u00e2ta nodded at him\nin approval.\n\n\"That was well done,\" he said. \"Those that live like dogs, like dogs let\nthem die.\"\n\n\"And now, Rib\u00e2ta--\"\n\n\"Now, O prince, I return with Baba to my house. Thou hast heard all that\nmy slave learned of the treachery lurking in the Great City. It is to\nyou that Babylon looks for her defence. Her people are yours. Do with us\nall as you will. We are in your hands.\" Rib\u00e2ta made the lowest\nobeisance, something not due from his rank to any one except a god; and\nBelshazzar hastily raised him up.\n\n\"It is to thy loyalty, O faithful one, that Babylon will owe her\nfreedom. Baba likewise shall receive her reward. She hath saved Istar's\nlife--that is more to me than Babylon, than myself, than all the earth.\nCommand a litter for her now, and take thou my chariot for thy return.\nThe council of lords sits to-morrow after sacrifice. Then we will speak\nof the invader. Till then--Bel keep you safely!\"\n\nSmiling, Rib\u00e2ta turned back into the other apartment. He found Baba on\nher knees, beside Istar's couch, gazing in ecstasy into Istar's open\neyes. On the other side the baby, haloed round with a soft and luminous\nlight, slept quietly. Rib\u00e2ta was reluctant to draw Baba from the scene;\nbut the child was faint with fatigue, and so, leading her gently away,\nhe lifted her, when they were outside the door, in both his arms, and\ncarried her, all black and dishevelled as she was, out to the gate,\nwhere, in the face of a dozen astonished men, he placed her in a litter,\nhimself mounted Belshazzar's chariot, and drove away in it in the\ndirection of the canal of the Four Seasons.\n\nIf Baba's day of labor had just ended, that of Belshazzar only now\nbegan. The affair of the rab-mag had left him intensely uneasy, and\nthis, coupled with his great anxiety over the sedition in the city,\npromised a sleepless night. Still, till further news of Nergal-Yukin's\nstate should be brought him, he was powerless to act, and therefore he\nreturned to Istar's room and seated himself there, with his head resting\non his hands. The minutes passed unheeded, for his mind was full. He\nknew that his wife lay near him, and, though her eyes had been open when\nhe entered the room, he believed her still incapable of sight or\nhearing. Presently, when his head had sunk lower still, he felt the\nlightest touch on his arm, and he started to his feet, to cry out in\namazement as he beheld Istar, tall and white, swaying beside him.\n\n\"_Thou!_\" he said, gasping.\n\n\"The heart of Belshazzar is troubled. From far away come I to bring thee\nconsolation in thine hours of woe,\" she said, quietly, as one speaking\nfrom a great distance. \"Be comforted, O my lord! That that is ordained\nfor the Great City must come to pass. Neither thou nor any other can\nprevent it. But be not troubled in thy heart, my prince. In the end this\nworld shall grow dim before thine eyes, for there will be opened before\nthem another kingdom where there shall be no time, neither any\nevil-doing. Until the coming of that day, my lord, be comforted--take\nheart--and be comforted!\"\n\nIn that one moment Istar shone forth in all her radiant glory, like some\nspirit from a divine sunset. And the prince fell down before her on his\nknees, worshipping silently. But after she ceased to speak the radiance\nwent, and she fainted before him in her weakness of the flesh. So he\ncaught her in his arms and brought her once more to her couch. When she\nwoke again, only Belshazzar remembered the words that she had spoken to\nhim. Yet he knew that the message had come from out of the silver sky,\nand with this knowledge peace came to him, and he went and lay down upon\nthe divan in the room.\n\nHe had lain there for some minutes, his mind filled less with foreboding\nthan with wonder, when, for the third time, the eunuch appeared at the\ndoor, this time wearing on his carefully trained face an untoward\nexpression of interest.\n\n\"Speak, \u00c2pla,\" whispered Belshazzar, anxiously.\n\n\"May it please my lord--Nergal-Yukin is dead.\"\n\n\"How? How?\"\n\n\"In great anguish. Being ungagged, he cried mightily, and screamed aloud\nto the gods and demons, uttering curses on Amraphel the priest of Bel,\nand upon Belshazzar my lord, and upon the king Nabu-Nahid. Thus is\nNergal-Yukin dead.\"\n\n\"It is well that all dogs should die. Listen, then, \u00c2pla, and do my\nbidding. Let forty of my runners, attired in their liveries, go forth\ninto the city with trumpets and cymbals, and let them cry aloud through\nall Babylon the story of the rab-mag's treachery and his end. The name\nof Amraphel must not be spoken; but the criers shall so word their story\nthat no man can be ignorant of the fact that Amraphel himself prompted\nthis deed out of hatred to me. Listen, then, while I tell thee the story\nof the sin of the rab-mag, and thou must repeat it as I say it to you,\nto all my criers.\"\n\nThen Belshazzar proceeded to recount, tersely and truthfully, the tale\nof the attempted assassination of Istar. When he had finished, and \u00c2pla,\nbig-eyed and eager, had repeated the words after him, he dismissed the\neunuch to assemble the runners, and then the prince, his work beginning\nto assume definite proportions in his mind, summoned two women to watch\nover the goddess, and, leaving them with her, went his way to the\napartments of the king his father.\n\nNabonidus sat in his coolest room, comfortably partaking of his supper.\nA dancing-girl had just finished her postures before him, and he had\ndismissed her, while his favorite poet was summoned to take her place.\nNabonidus' gentle, sheep-like face wore an air of benign content as his\nhand moved regularly from mouth to plate, and his head swayed to the\nrhythm of the tune that had been played. The poet was just mounting his\nda\u00efs and unrolling his strip of Egyptian papyrus when the prince reached\nthe door of his father's apartment. It was really pitiable that all this\npleasant twilight delight should be so roughly disturbed. But disturbed\nit was, as a lake's calm by the east wind, as soon as Belshazzar entered\nhis father's presence and made his obeisance. Nabonidus' expression was\nmore that of resignation than of displeasure as he said, courteously:\n\n\"Let there be a couch brought in for thee, Bel-shar-utsur, and partake\nwith me of this flesh of the whirring-bird, and barley, while Kib\u00e2\nrecites to us the tale of Izdubar and \u00caa-bani full of wisdom.\" Nabonidus\nmade his suggestion with an air of hopefulness that belied his real\nfeeling; and he was not surprised, however much disappointed, when\nBelshazzar replied:\n\n\"May it please the king my lord to grant me a private audience. There\nare matters of great import to be laid before him. I beg that my lord be\nmoved to grant this wish.\"\n\nThese words, couched as they were in the form of supplication, were\nspoken in such a tone of command as Nabu-Nahid dared not refuse. But in\njustice to the son be it said that this manner only ever gained for any\none, save poets and architects, a moment's consideration with the king.\nBy this method, however, Belshazzar succeeded; and presently he and his\nfather were alone.\n\nNabu-Nahid had ceased to eat, and sat regarding his son with an air of\npetulant displeasure. \"Now speak to me quickly,\" he said, in his mildly\ninjured fashion. \"The season is too late for lion-hunting; your command\nover the treasury equals mine; I have at present not one dancer that\nwould please you; and for the matter of soldiers--go to N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb at\nSippar. I am not the commanding general. What, then, seeing these\nthings, canst thou ask of me?\"\n\nBelshazzar snapped his fingers and frowned mightily. The fears in his\nmind might be vague and ill-defined as yet; but when he did consider, in\nsome presentient fashion, the scenes of terror that were soon to be\nenacted in the Great City, and when he imagined his father, weak,\ngentle, yielding as he was, swept into that furious vortex of blood and\nof death, what could there be but pity for the old man and dread for his\ninevitable end? Now, for a moment, indeed, Belshazzar wondered how it\nwas that his father had held his throne even one little twelvemonth,\nafter the strife that had preceded his coronation. Yet for seventeen\nprosperous years this one ruler had held city and state together\npeaceably; and there were few Chaldean kings that had done as much.\n\n\"My father,\" said Bit-Shamash at last, \"it is for no matter of pleasure\nor mine own affluence that I seek thee to-night. It is for thee, for thy\nthrone, for the sake of thy kingdom, of ancient Babylonia, that I would\ntake council with thee here.\"\n\nHearing these words, Nabu-Nahid's face assumed an expression that was\nunexpectedly complex--a little inscrutable, indeed. \"Since what time, O\nmy son, have thy thoughts turned towards the welfare of the throne?\nSince when hath thy mind been more engaged with affairs of the state\nthan with wines and with feasting, dancing-girls and hunters--thou and\nthy companion, Rib\u00e2ta of Shumukin?\"\n\nBelshazzar flushed slightly. \"My father hath judged me,\" was his only\nanswer.\n\nNabu-Nahid merely nodded his head a trifle, and then sat looking at his\nson with a stupid expression, waiting for him to depart, as at this\nstage he usually did. In point of fact, Belshazzar had a strong impulse\nto turn on the instant and leave his father to his supper and his\npoetry. But for once his anxiety was stronger than his pride, and he\nfought back the angry taunt that had risen to his lips, and asked,\nbluntly:\n\n\"Know you, O king, that letters of invitation pass from our city to\nKurush, king of Elam, to come and take his place on the throne of\nBabylon?\"\n\n\"Letters from the hands of Amraphel of Bel and Beltishazzar the Jew? Ay,\nBit-Shamash. Think you I do not know my city?\"\n\nBelshazzar was first astonished, then inexpressibly relieved. Was it\npossible that he had so long misjudged his father? Was it possible that\nthis shambling and vacant manner concealed a sound mind and a great\nunderstanding? Had he for so long kept his own best self from the king\nto find out his grave mistake when it was almost too late? He bent his\nhead more humbly than he had ever bent it before to any man. \"I crave\npardon of my lord,\" he said. \"Behold, I go my way.\"\n\nBut Belshazzar had not all the magnanimity of the family. Nabu-Nahid\nsuddenly straightened up, and commanded a couch to be moved to the\ntable. Wines of Lebanon and Helbon were brought from the cellars, and\nBelshazzar was waved into his place with a gesture that admitted of no\nrefusal. The prince obeyed the invitation rather reluctantly. He dreaded\nthe return of the poet, and had no desire now to discuss affairs of\nstate with his father. However, Nabonidus opened such a discussion in a\nvery tactful way.\n\n\"Tell me, Belshazzar, how many days is it since this conspiracy of the\npriests hath been known to you?\"\n\n\"For more than three months I have suspected it. It is but to-day that\nit hath become a certainty.\"\n\n\"And the matter frightens thee?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly, my father. When I came to thee to-night my heart was sick\nwith the thought of Babylon's great danger. But since thou, the king,\nknowest all and fearest naught, my fears are also laid at rest. The king\nmy father is very great. May he live forever!\" and Belshazzar smiled\nfilially into his father's eyes.\n\n\"You do me honor to trust in me, Belshazzar,\" said the king, gently.\n\"Yet do you well, also; for to whom save their king can a people look\nfor their safety? I will tell you how the Great City is to be protected\nagainst the plots of her enemies. Priest and lord alike may prove false,\nand men and soldiers turn against me. I have put my strength and my\ntrust in those that are above princes. Hark you, Belshazzar. When, a\nmonth past, I learned from certain watchers whom I employ, of the great\nplot against the crown, I bethought me long and earnestly of my course.\nFinally I sent out secret messengers to every temple-city in Babylonia,\nand from every heavenly house that my hand hath restored from ancient\ndecay I caused to be sent hither to me the oldest and holiest god-image.\nThese, to the number of twenty-one, are now in a little temple by the\nriver-bank, where I daily visit them and perform sacrifice before them\ntill the time when they shall move in procession through the city, and\ngo each to his special shrine. And that day approaches; for the city\ngrows uneasy under the seditions of the priests and their oracles. But\nwhen my new gods are set up in their golden houses to be worshipped by\nthe multitude in the city, think you not that the first care of these\nheavenly ones will be the safety and preservation of me and of my line?\"\n\nBelshazzar said nothing for some time. It seemed impossible for him to\nspeak. This sudden revelation of his father's incomprehensible\nchildishness, following, as it did, the equally unexpected evidence of\nhis understanding of the situation of the state, had completely overcome\nhim. It was well that the dim, bluish lamp-light made all faces look\npale; for at this moment the prince's skin was destitute of color. All\nhis first fears came back to him, added to a new one, that increased the\nhorror of the first a thousandfold. With what frightful disaster was\nBabylon not threatened? And what hope had she of fighting against\ndevastation under the leadership of a half-crazy old man that had placed\nan unalterable and inhuman faith in the power of certain blocks of gray\nand crumbling stone, shaped into images that a child would hardly\nbelieve in? Faugh! Belshazzar turned sick with disgust.\n\n\"Speak, Belshazzar! What think you of this hope of mine?\"\n\n\"The king is great. May he live forever!\" was the response, given in a\ntone of soothing calmness. With the words the prince royal also rose\nfrom his couch. \"Now, father, I go. I must depart from thee,\" he said,\nhurriedly. \"There is a matter to be attended to. Give me leave to quit\nthy presence.\"\n\n\"As you entered it of your own will, so depart,\" returned his father, in\na subdued and disappointed manner.\n\nBut Belshazzar, whose feeling was more of grief and pity than anything\nelse, went to his father, took his hand, and laid it upon his brow in\ntoken of devotion and obedience.\n\n\"Thy head is hot,\" observed the king.\n\nBelshazzar smiled faintly. \"Grant me leave to depart,\" he urged again.\n\n\"Yea, in peace depart!\"\n\nSomewhat relieved at the old man's tone, a little quieted by the silence\nand the dim light around him, the prince moved to the door and was all\nbut gone when the king turned and spoke to him again in a way that\nrevealed another phase of his curious character. \"Belshazzar,\" he said,\n\"look well to this Jew, Daniel. He was a member of the court of the\nmighty Nebuchadrezzar, thy grandfather. A traitor and a dangerous man is\nhe; but he is a prophet also; and gold will buy him. If, after my death,\nthe city should be threatened with destruction, look to him, if it is\npossible, for help.\"\n\nBelshazzar, dully amazed again, yet too weary of the changes of his\nfather's moods to pay very much attention to him, answered this advice\nwith an obeisance only, and then went his way towards his own rooms.\nBut, even as he went, his father's last words rang again through his\nears. \"A traitor and a dangerous man, but a prophet also; and gold will\nbuy him--gold will buy him!\" Thus Belshazzar pondered still.\n\nIn his private room the prince found his evening meal laid out and\nwaiting his coming. Food, however, was not his desire; and, letting it\nremain where it stood, he began slowly to pace his room, up and down, up\nand down the cool, tiled floor. His fan-slaves watched him curiously.\nThey had never seen quite such an expression on their lord's face. In\ntruth, Belshazzar's brain throbbed when he thought of what a way lay\nbefore him to be traversed. Babylon tottered before his weary mental\nvision; and finally, inexpressibly heavy-hearted with it all, he sat\ndown to eat his chilled supper, at the same time despatching a slave for\nKhamma.\n\nThe dancing-girl, with her gauze draperies and tinkling ankle-bells,\ncame in to him, followed by her fellow-slaves with drum and lute. The\nmaid had lost neither her grace of movement nor her love for her Lord,\nand therefore Belshazzar, successfully diverted for the moment, finished\nhis meal more pleasantly than he had begun it. When finally he rose from\nhis couch it was late. The moon hung in the heavens, and the court-yard\nwas flooded with silver light. A group of guardsmen, clustering round a\nfire, sat chanting charms in chorus. Belshazzar heard their voices with\na vague longing for shouts of men, for the shrill neighs of horses, for\nthe rattle of chariot wheels, the clash of arms, the thunderous murmur\nof battle as he had known it in his youth. If only war, open and\nhonorable, lay between him and Kurush of Elam--well enough. In that he\nstood his fair chance of winning; and if he lost, it was death at his\nown hands. The game that he feared and that he hated was the one of\nunderhandedness, of lies, of treachery, of bribery. When a man could be\nbought for gold there was none to trust, none to feel sure of. And upon\nthese things the prince wearily pondered as he gazed out into the night,\nwondering, half consciously, whether to go to Rib\u00e2ta or to seek rest\nfrom his mental burden in sleep.\n\nWhile he debated this point with himself there came a commotion at the\npalace gate, the arrival of a fast chariot, a peremptory call for\nadmittance, and his own name spoken in a familiar voice. An instant\nlater a slave ran to him with the word:\n\n\"May it be pleasing to the prince my lord, Lord Amraphel, the\nhigh-priest of Bel, asks conduct to the presence of the Prince\nBelshazzar.\"\n\n\"Bring him here to my side,\" was the quick reply.\n\nThe slave left him obediently, and Belshazzar prepared to receive his\nvisitor. Retreating a little towards the centre of his dining-room, he\nstood with the torch-light at his back and the glow of the lamp too far\nin front to shine upon his face. Here he awaited the coming of his\nfather's enemy.\n\nAmraphel entered the presence of the prince royal with his usual\nunruffled dignity. He was followed by two slaves, who stood behind him\nduring the performance of the elaborate salutations. Then they were\ndismissed, and bidden to await the return of their master to his\nchariot.\n\nBelshazzar was unattended. Thus the departure of these slaves left the\ntwo men quite alone, out of the sight and out of the hearing of the rest\nof the world. However much the prince was on his guard, his manner\nbetrayed nothing but cold courtesy. This sudden incident had come as a\nrelief to him. Action of any sort was welcome. He was perfectly at his\nease, barely polite, little respectful of the age and station of the\npriest.\n\nWith Amraphel it was different. The instant that his attendants departed\nhis air of unbending dignity dropped off him like a cloak, and into his\nface there came so marked an expression of hatred and of suppressed fury\nthat Belshazzar's eyes, meeting by chance those of his adversary, forgot\ntheir course, and remained fascinated and fixed on that other gaze.\nSimultaneously both stepped forward.\n\n\"My lord Amraphel honors me unexpectedly,\" said the prince, giving the\nother a free opening.\n\n\"It is not to thy honor, but rather on account of thy infamy, that I\ncome,\" was the reply.\n\nBelshazzar's lips straightened themselves out haughtily. \"Let me summon\na seer to interpret thy words,\" he said.\n\n\"My words shall interpret themselves to you. What answer make you to the\ncharge of murdering Nergal-Yukin?\"\n\nFor a moment Belshazzar was silent. Then he laughed--a clear, ringing\nlaugh.\n\nInstantly Amraphel lost his self-control. Reaching Belshazzar's side in\ntwo strides, he lifted his right hand in the face of the prince. Before\nthe blow fell Belshazzar had seized the priest's arm fast in his grip,\nand with all his giant strength thrust from him the figure of the old\nman.\n\n\"Beware, Amraphel,\" he said, so softly that the priest just caught the\nwords.\n\n\"Hark you, son of the sheep-king, hark you! If within the hour your\nslaves, the criers of Nergal-Yukin's death, be not recalled from the\ncity streets, not one of them shall be left alive by morning.\"\n\n\"If that is thy thought, Amraphel of Bel, at daybreak to-morrow not a\npriest in the city shall dare openly to wear the goat-skin and still\nlive.\"\n\n\"You defy the gods?\"\n\n\"I defy their ministers.\"\n\n\"Then, by all that is holy in heaven and earth, be thou and thine foully\ncursed forevermore!\"\n\nBelshazzar's lips curled again; and again, desecrating all the\ntraditions of his race, he laughed--loud, and long, but not mirthfully.\n\nAmraphel, as he gathered his scarlet robe close about his meagre frame,\ngrew white--very white. His head was held high, and his eyes flashed\nwith a fire that age could not quell, as he spoke his final word: \"Be\n_thou_ ware, Belshazzar of Babylon, lest the curse of the gods be given\nfor fulfilment into the hands of men!\"\n\nAs he turned on his heel Belshazzar's answer came, and by it the priest\nlearned how surely the governor of the city was of his mother's loins,\nand not of his father's blood. \"Thy hand and that of Daniel the Jew,\nyea, and of him ye call the Ach\u00e6menian, will find space enough on my\nbody whereon to strike and strike again, O Amraphel. But see that ye\nfight as men, and not as dogs. Else, by my faith, as dogs ye shall\nsurely die!\"\n\nBelshazzar hurled the last word after the priest into the court-yard,\nfor Amraphel was now well on his way back to his chariot. The echo of\nthe prince's voice rolled off into silence; and after a little time\nBelshazzar found himself still standing beside the table, his head bent,\nhis eyes moving vacantly over the floor, while his thoughts were as\nempty as he felt his words to have been. A little after the interview he\nsought his rest. And when morning dawned again and he called his slaves\nto his side, the criers of Nergal-Yukin's death had not been slain;\nthough perhaps in the end that consummation had been better for the\nroyal house of Babylon.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nSTRANGE GODS[10]\n\n\nNergal-Yukin's death, the circumstances of it, and the blatant\nproclamation of these things by Belshazzar's slaves, facts skilfully\nmanipulated by Amraphel and his order, threw all Babylon into an uproar.\nNaturally, the city was divided into factions. The priests and their\nsatellites formed a sufficiently attractive nucleus to draw around it a\ngreat body of the common people whose lives at best were only a round of\nprayers and exorcisms; while all the army, that feared and followed\nBelshazzar as it feared and followed no god, drew to itself the other\nfaction of citizens loyal to the crown. From the first, however, the\npriests, who counted also the Jews to a man in their party, were\nstronger than their opponents. And Amraphel, moved as he was by the two\ngreat forces of hate and overweening ambition, worked early and late to\nincrease his majority. He seized every slightest advantage, manipulated\nit dauntlessly, and expanded it incredibly. His final interview with the\nprince was regarded by both sides as a declaration of open hostility;\nand while the royal party was now apparently quiescent, the things that\nAmraphel would not do to win over to his side a single man, were scarce\nworth considering.\n\nWhile Cyrus and Gobryas with their invading armies were still far away\nin the south and in the north of the country, nothing that would\nprecipitate matters could be done in Babylon. Indeed, a premature\nrebellion was the one thing that could save the Great City to her lawful\nrulers; and no one in the city knew this better than its high-priest. It\nwas for this reason only that Amraphel had failed to carry out his\nthreat with regard to Belshazzar's criers. And it was also for this\nreason that Belshazzar had so openly and so recklessly defied his enemy\nat their last meeting. Could Amraphel have been irritated past his\nself-control and so forced into some rash act that would precipitate the\nrebellion before Cyrus was at hand, the contest would at least be an\nequal one. But with Beltishazzar at his elbow, and the funds of the\nhouse of \u00cagibi at Daniel's command and Daniel's command only, there was\nno chance of matters coming to a crisis before their appointed time. For\nDaniel's whole soul and mind were in this plot; and, whatever doubt\nthere might be about the soul, it was quite certain that his mind was no\nordinary one.\n\nAmraphel's most telling means of influencing the common people was by\ntemple harangues. Every day, after the early sacrifice, a priest would\ncome before the throng of assembled people and talk to them, not of\ntheir duty towards the gods and the priests of the gods, but of the\nfalseness and the iniquity of the royal house. These preachments began\nalmost immediately after the death of the rab-mag, the tale of which,\nwith its accompanying moral, was worn threadbare in order that\nBelshazzar's brutal instincts might be made sufficiently plain to the\ndense minds of the listening commoners. The fact that Belshazzar held\npriestly office and a priestly title was of no consequence. Indeed, it\nbecame a subject for further revilings. Certainly it could not be denied\nthat the heir-apparent was extremely lax in his religious duties.\nScarcely one day out of ten did he appear in the precincts of the\ntemple, much less officiate at sacrifice. Without doubt, the gods were\nangry with him. How could it be otherwise?\n\nIt was not long before Belshazzar began to feel the breath of\nunpopularity. When he drove forth into the city few people took notice\nof him, none did him reverence, a few eyed him askance, and once or\ntwice he was assailed by some opprobrious phrase. He felt rather keenly\nthe disfavor of the people, but made no attempt to remedy the matter. He\nknew very well the direction that affairs were taking; but he could do\nnothing but bide his time, and at night keep his eyes from the future,\nsince sleeplessness brings back to no man his wealth. One thing,\nhowever, the prince, as governor of the city, could do, under the\ngeneral directorship of N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb at Sippar. He could keep the guards\nof the city in form, and this he did well. There were at this time about\nten thousand of the regular army in Babylon, and of these the finest\nwere Belshazzar's own regiment, under command of Sh\u00e2pik-Zeri, all of\nthem men of Gutium--the province of which Gobryas had once been\ngovernor. These, the best-trained soldiers in Babylonia, were loyal to\ntheir last drop of blood to their lord. Belshazzar was a fine soldier,\niron-clad in his rules, and known to be himself fearless on the field.\nHis men worshipped his physique, feared his strength, and delighted in\npaying him the honor and obedience that he would otherwise have exacted\nby force of arms. Thus Belshazzar was seen no longer in the goat-skin,\nbut he made up for the deficiency by appearing at every hour of the day\nin helmet and shield, on his way either to or from the great\nparade-ground where the daily reviews of the various regiments were\nheld.\n\nIt was about this time, the middle of the month of May, that Charmides\nthe Greek experienced a sudden disgust for his position in the temple\nand left it, pleading that the illness of his wife demanded his\ncontinued presence at her side. Unworldly, improvident, sentimental as\nhis move was, he nevertheless experienced a great relief when he turned\nhis back for an indefinite period on the great House of Lies. For things\nhad been done there that the young Greek could not think of without\nfurious gusts of anger and rebellion. Besides this, Ram\u00fba was ill,\nwretchedly ill, as the result of a fall that had caused a series of\ncomplications over which both Charmides and Beltani were exceedingly\nanxious. Still, she was in no real danger, and in spite of his\nstatement, Charmides did not spend all of his hours at her side.\n\nAbout ten days after his leaving the temple, Charmides had cause of\nrather a curious nature for regretting that he was no longer in a\nsituation to know the inner aspects of certain things. A proclamation\nhad gone through the city striking astonishment to every heart, and to\nnone more than those of the priesthood. It was to the effect that, on\nthe first day of the month of Duzu, twenty new gods would take up their\nresidence in the Great City.\n\nPoor Nabu-Nahid, reading aright the threatening signs of his own and his\nson's unpopularity, believed that the time had come for his great act.\nAs a priest of the highest order he was empowered to command the\nhigh-priest of every temple, with the exception of Amraphel alone, that\nhe, together with two En\u00fb, two Asip\u00fb, and two Bar\u00fb, should form part of\nthe great procession of strange gods when these entered the city.\nMoreover, each temple was to be especially purified and prepared for the\nreception of a new statue, and henceforth double services must take\nplace in each temple, that both the old god and the new one might be\nproperly honored. The date for the procession was set for the last of\nSiv\u00e2n. A document explanatory of the whole matter, and signed and sealed\nby the house of Shamash, was sent to each of the priests, and to every\nmonastery of Zicar\u00fb; and these were also read aloud in the temples by\neunuchs, till all Babylon was informed of the king's act, and all\nBabylon prepared for the holy day.\n\nThat morning dawned like every other morning of the season, in a flush\nof fierce crimson, gradually melting into the living gold that flooded\nthe sky with a furnace heat and poured a shower of burning light upon\nthe river with its clinging city, and over the yellow desert far beyond.\nHoliday had been proclaimed, and at an early hour every street leading\nto a temple was packed on either side with gayly dressed men and women\nand their children. Charmides went alone. Ram\u00fba could not walk, and\nBeltani had preferred remaining with her to standing for hours in the\nglare of the sun, waiting for the procession. Both women, however, had\nbegged Charmides to go and see it, that he might describe it to them on\nhis return. Therefore the Greek took up his position on the edge of the\nsquare of Istar, into the deserted temple of which the old and sacred\nstatue of the goddess of Erech was to be carried first of all.\n\nThe crowd here was especially thick. Only by vigorous pushing and\nsqueezing, and some very rapid talking, could Charmides find a place for\nhimself. Having reached a vantage-point, however, he proceeded to fall\ninto a reverie--a reverie of a year ago, when he had stood waiting for a\npageant, an utter stranger to the city, hungry, friendless, and\nhomesick. He could recall every trivial incident of the day with ease,\nfrom Baba and the goat's milk she gave him, to the long afternoon with\nRam\u00fba, now for nine months his wife. He had got to a philosophical stage\nin his dreams when a light hand was laid on his arm, and he looked up to\nfind Baba at his elbow. He was glad to see her, glad of a companion to\ntalk to; and so they two watched the procession together, bent to the\ndust before the little black images dotting the line in twenty places,\nand borne each on its golden platform on the shoulders of six eunuchs.\n\nNabu-Nahid, in white, drove first of all. Behind him, frowning and\nstiff, and in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, was Vul-Ram\u00e2n in\nhis car. Belshazzar came farther along the line, standing unconcernedly\nin his place, his white muslin robe falling to his feet, the goat-skin\nfastened over his left shoulder. Everywhere he was greeted with murmurs\nof disapproval; but though he could hardly have failed to hear some of\nthem, his face gave no sign of it. Quiet, immovable, slightly scornful\nin his expression, he endured the mental and physical discomforts of the\nday with a nonchalance that would have deceived Amraphel himself.\n\nThe procession left the little temple by the river-bank at ten o'clock\nin the morning and broke ranks in the square of the temple of Marduk\njust at sunset, with the last ceremony concluded--Nabonidus' last card\nplayed. Twenty new gods would watch over the city that night, and twenty\nextra sacrifices would take place in their honor on the morrow. Perhaps\nit was as well that Nabonidus, in his pathetic faith, should not have\nheard the comments of the tired temple-servants as they worked through\nthe night, preparing for the next day's services. Twenty new gods asleep\nin Babylon--twice twenty demons at work in the minds of men. Could the\noutcome of the fast-approaching struggle still look doubtful to any\nreasonable thinker whose heart was on neither side?\n\nBelshazzar and his father drove home together from the square of Marduk.\nWeary as he was, Nabu-Nahid was in a joyous frame of mind. He talked\nincessantly about the success of his great experiment. Secure in the\nfavor of Heaven, he could easily cast aside all fears of earthly\ndisfavor, and his whole person so radiated delight that Belshazzar's\nmood passed unnoticed, his expression of unhappiness was transfigured by\nthe sunset glare into one as rapt and as joyous as his father's own.\n\nWhen at last they two dismounted together before the palace gates,\nBelshazzar's heart gave a great throb of relief. He had that day felt\nagainst him all the hostility of that Great City, and though they were\nhis own, and he should be called upon some day perhaps to die for them,\nyet he felt a sensation akin to hatred for all the people whose\nsuperstitious and pitifully cringing hearts could be moved by the\npriesthood to moods and beliefs inimical in every particular to the\nhopes and plans of their temporal lords.\n\nBelshazzar made his way straight to his private apartments and there\ndoffed his priest's dress, commanding it to be carried out of his sight,\nand vowing that never again would he put it on. Then he donned a tunic\nof gray cotton cloth and took his way to the seraglio, into the presence\nof Istar. He found her sitting on the broad pile of rugs and cushions\nthat filled half her living-room, holding the child in her arms,\ncrooning over it as only a mother can. She welcomed her husband with\neagerness, however, showing by the light in her face her delight in his\ncoming.\n\n\"And do these new gods hold not their high places in Babylon, my lord?\"\nshe asked, when, having called for food and wine, he threw himself down\nbeside her.\n\nBelshazzar's answer was a bitter little smile.\n\n\"And they were received in silence? Tell me of the image that was put up\ninto the shrine of Istar. Did the people honor it--did they praise it\nand bow down before it?\"\n\n\"More than any other they showed it honor. Ah, my beloved, for my sake\nthe people hate thee! Knowest thou how they hate me? My name is taught\nto be reviled in every temple. I am an enemy of the priests, therefore\nam I mocked in the high places. Istar--Istar--I sometimes dream that not\nmuch longer shall I and my father dwell in our Great City.\" He spoke the\nwords lingeringly, with his eyes fixed on her face.\n\nIstar answered the look well. Not a suggestion of fear, not a hint of\ndread was to be found in her smile. And while her hand caressed the tiny\npalm of the sleeping child, she said, quietly: \"Whither thou goest, dear\nlord, there I will go. Unto the ends of the earth--and beyond--I will\nfollow thee.\"\n\n\"Istar! Thou art happy in me?\" he cried, impulsively, leaning over and\nputting his hand to her lips.\n\nThe smile still lingered as she kissed the hand; and then, taking it\ngently away, she answered and said: \"Happy--Yea, Belshazzar, so happy\nthat I, too, believe that our earth-time nears its end. I believe that I\nhave found what I sought. It is the love for his fellows lying in the\nheart of every man that binds him to the greater love of the All-Father.\nThe love of one for another sanctifies every life. Thee and this--my\nlittle child--I love.\"\n\nBelshazzar looked wistfully upon his wife. There were times when she was\ntoo far above him for his own content. Yet in her words there was always\nsomething that, vaguely understood, stirred his brain to a painful\neffort to follow her to her height. Now, as if he would hold her back\nwith him, he took both her hands, leaving the child to lie in her lap\nunheeded, and asked, with a change of tone: \"Hast thou been alone\nthrough all the weary day, beloved?\"\n\n\"Nay, Baba of Rib\u00e2ta's house and Charmides the Greek came here together\nto me, after noon. Thou knowest the Greek--him whose lyre once you broke\nbefore me.\"\n\n\"Ay. He is a temple-servant.\"\n\n\"He serves no longer in the temple. Out of loyalty to us--to thee and to\nme--he works no more in the statue of oracles, nor does he play at\nsacrifice.\"\n\n\"Loyalty to me!\" Belshazzar laughed slightly.\n\nIstar gave him a quiet look, and her half-open lips closed again.\n\n\"Art thou angered with me, O my beloved, for being forever jealous?\nIstar! Couldst thou but know half of my love! If thou couldst read the\nterror in my heart--the terror of losing thee and thy love--\"\n\nHe broke off quickly as the eunuchs brought in a table covered with meat\nand wine. It was placed before the prince, and Belshazzar, faint with\nhis long fast, applied himself to the food and drink, and the intimate\nlittle passage with his wife was finished.\n\nThe following twelve days passed quietly in the palace. Belshazzar\nwithdrew himself absolutely from city affairs, and, beyond going daily\nto the reviews and drills of his regiment of Guti and the city guards,\nhe never passed the palace gates. Nabu-Nahid, on the other hand, worked\nfeverishly. The state of public affairs was beginning to trouble him.\nFive days after the procession of his gods he was obliged to acknowledge\nto himself that his great hopes for their intercession were not to be\nfulfilled. Just how far Nabonidus' blind faith went, no one, not even\nhimself, really knew. That which was artistic in his nature--and he was\nno mean artist at heart--had led him into the pursuit of architecture\nfor the love of it. A passion for things of antiquity had caused him to\nexplore the deserted ruins of many a crumbling temple, with results that\nmade the soul of the seeker after knowledge tremble with delight. Many a\nlong-buried library had been brought by his efforts into the light of\nday; and the religion of Accad of old, with its heroic tales, its\nprayer-poems, its chronicles of war and the chase, had been opened to\nhis eyes and to those of the scholars that worked with him. The gods of\nother days had been brought forth from their ruinous shrines and placed\nin newer, brighter homes. And after these things, it somehow seemed to\nhim that a reward should be forthcoming from his country.\n\nBut when Nabonidus came to know that, at the instigation of Amraphel,\nthe new gods were left unworshipped in their shrines, that sacrifices\nwere no longer offered up in the temples, that people were turned away\nout of the holy places with the word that the great gods were angered by\nthe intrusion of these others, that none of them would heed prayers and\nburnt-offerings till the strangers were removed from the Sun-built\nHouse, then the heart of the king grew sick within him, and suddenly he\ncame to a realizing sense of the power of the priesthood. Councils were\nheld in the palace. Lords, chancellors, judges, and officers from every\ndepartment, together with deputies from the provinces, met in the palace\nand were presided over by the king. Plans were brought up, discussed,\nand discarded. There was only one thing, apparently, to be done; yet the\ndoing of it would involve such political cataclysms that, dangerous as\nwas the position of the crown, Nabu-Nahid still hesitated to force\nAmraphel from his place.\n\nAt this time, when Adar's month was a third gone, came news of a great\nbattle fought in the south country around Larsam, between the troops of\nCyrus and the defending army, resulting in the victory of the invader\nand the utter rout and defeat of the Chaldees. Before the news of this\ncould have reached the north country, another army--the Persian, in\ncommand of the traitor-governor Gobryas of Gutium, Cyrus' ablest\ngeneral--had gathered about Hit to begin a rapid southward march towards\nSippar, by way of Agade. The meaning of this movement was only too\nplain. Cyrus and Gobryas, between them sweeping Babylonia from south to\nnorth, would come together for their final siege before the walls of the\nGreat City.\n\nThis plan unfolded itself slowly before the eyes of the king and his\ncouncil, and Gobryas was within two days' march of Sippar before\nNabonidus was fully aware of the danger. Well might Amraphel and Daniel\nthe Jew laugh together and rejoice at the success of their allies. At a\ntime like this, what reproof for neglect of the gods could be given them\nby a king threatened with such certain disaster? A month now, at the\noutside, and Cyrus would be at the gates of Babylon. By then the long\nlabor of plotting and of treachery would be over. There remained only\nthe final stroke, now preparing, and then the swift, clean end.\n\nDuring this time, while Nabu-Nahid seemed to be aging a year a day under\nthe pressure of difficulties that he was too weak to avert or to\novercome, Belshazzar was living a life of careless idleness with Istar\nand his child. The two of them knew that the time of their joy of love\nwas nearly over. Both were unwilling that anything should come between\nthem before the inevitable end. How it was that Belshazzar could put\naway all trouble, all apprehension of the future from his mind, he\nhimself did not know. Perhaps he had been under the spell of\napprehension for so long that now, when the dread of it had reached his\nfather, he was empowered to straighten up and put down his load, till he\nmust pick it up again increased in weight a thousandfold. But during the\ndays that followed he could remember his first two weeks of summer as a\nforetaste of the peace eternal of the silver sky. From dawn to dawn,\nbarring those two noon hours when Istar slept and he rode out to the\nparade, Belshazzar was at his wife's side. Their thoughts, their dreams,\ntheir desires, were alike. There was no need to talk one to the other.\nThe mind of each was to the other as a written tablet; and they read in\nsilence, clasped each in the other's arms. Istar had become very tender,\nvery clinging, very feminine now. Those periods of divinity when her\npersonality became elusive and her mind attained to unfathomable heights\nwere gone. She was of earth, human in her beauty and in her frailty of\nphysique, radiant only with an earthly love. It was Belshazzar that was\nbecoming transfigured--transfigured through his love for her; for his\npassion had broadened into a power of renunciation; and he showed the\nwoman a glorified reverence, which, beyond her to conceive, had been\nbeyond her to command.\n\nIt was in this wise that their twelve days passed; and on the night of\nthe twelfth of June Nabu-Nahid entered unannounced into the presence of\nhis son, with the decree that ended Belshazzar's dream lying written in\nhis face.\n\nIstar, dressed in robes of deep crimson silk, girdled and sandalled with\ngold, lay back upon her divan, softly singing to a lute that she played\nherself. The light from a hanging-lamp fell over her figure and left the\nrest of the room in shadow. In this shadow, seated upon an ivory chair,\nwas the prince, holding the murmuring child fast in his gentle arms.\nThey had been thus for an hour when the interruption came and Nabu-Nahid\nentered, bringing with him the atmosphere in which he had been living of\ndoubts and fears, hates and quarrels, intrigues and treacheries, and\ndispelling instantly the love-dreams of youth.\n\nNabonidus was not yet an old man in years; but few would have been able\nto make out whether it had taken fourscore years, or five, to produce\nhis peculiar appearance. He was a vision of white. Hair, skin, hands,\nrobes, sandals, all were white; and which the whitest one could not have\ntold. His face was bloodless, and resembled a piece of bleached papyrus\nwhich, having lain in a damp place, had curled up into a thousand minute\nwrinkles, from the midst of which a pair of dark, dull eyes looked\nwearily forth. These eyes were the only feature that one much regarded.\nThe others sloped insignificantly into the pallid plain of the cheeks.\nAnd Nabonidus' whole mood was apparent in his walk. So dragging, so\nweary, so despondent was every step, that, as he entered Istar's room,\nBelshazzar shrank back from his presence in involuntary despair.\n\nJust inside the door-way the king stopped and looked about him. Istar\nlaid down her lute and rose, regarding the intruder with quiet\napprehension. Seeing her, Belshazzar, too, came forward out of the\ngloom, holding the child still in his arms. And his voice first broke\nthe silence.\n\n\"Enter thou, my father, and sit down with us!\"\n\nIstar supplemented the words with a little gesture.\n\nNabu-Nahid listened, looked closely at his son and the burden in his\narms, and then turned slowly to the woman, gazing at her for a long time\nbefore he spoke. \"And thou art she--whom we worshipped,\" he murmured,\nmusingly.\n\nIstar drew back a little, and Belshazzar took two rapid strides forward.\n\"Dost thou desire speech with me, my father? Let us then retire to my\napartments. There we will talk.\"\n\n\"Twelve days hast thou been sought in thy apartment; twelve days hath\nthis been thy abode. Let it then be mine for an hour. After that I will\ngo forth again--alone.\" There was a kind of strength in this last word\nthat sounded strange from the lips of the king, and to which neither\nBelshazzar nor Istar could find any reply.\n\nIstar went to her husband and took the child from him, saying, softly:\n\"I will leave thee here and go into another room. Cause thy father to\nsit and talk with thee. And--if there is need of thee, I pray that my\nlord will come to bid me farewell before he goes.\" Her voice trembled\nslightly, and as she lifted her eyes to Belshazzar's he found them\nshining with tears.\n\nHer husband gave her the child and would have let her go; but Nabonidus\nraised his hand.\n\n\"Let her take the child, Belshazzar, for it is not meet that thou\nshouldst sit as a nurse of infants. But as Istar is thy wife and beloved\nof thee, let her remain here, that ye may both hear my last words\nconcerning Babylon.\"\n\n\"_Thy last words!_\" cried the prince, quickly.\n\n\"Yea, for I am come to bid ye both farewell. To-morrow I go up to\nSippar, which is threatened with destruction.\"\n\n\"Gobryas is there?\"\n\n\"To-night he lies six kasbi[11] north of the city.\"\n\n\"But N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb and all the army are there. There will be a siege. We\nwill send reinforcements from Babylon. Sippar cannot fall.\"\n\nFor the first time in many years Nabonidus regarded his son with\nsomething akin to scorn. \"In the twelve days that thou hast lain hidden\nhere many things have come to pass. Sippar is in revolt. The priests of\nthe sun-college have incited the people to rebel against my rule; and\nthey threaten to open the gates to Gobryas. N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb sends me\nmessengers to say that half his army will fail him when it comes to the\nbattle. It is for this reason that I go to Sippar.\"\n\nBelshazzar rose, his face alight with eagerness. \"Not thou, O king, not\nthou, but I, will go up to-morrow into the city of the north. My\nregiment of Gutium shall follow me. There, with those men alone, I will\nhold Sippar against Gobryas--ay, and Kurush, too, if--\"\n\n\"Many things I have known thee do, Bel-shar-utsur; yet boaster wert thou\nnever before. If thou know it not, my son, then I tell thee now, for it\nis well that thou shouldst learn it from my lips, Babylonia hates\nthee--for thy arrogance, for thy strength, for thy will, for sacrilege\ncommitted often against the gods; above all, for thy tyranny over the\npriests. If thou shouldst set forth to Sippar, thy life would not endure\na single day. And the regiment of Gutium must stay in Babylon. It is in\nthem that the Great City puts her trust. Thou, also, as governor of the\ncity, must be here to lead them. I came not to thy presence to be\ntaught, but rather to talk with thee upon thy position here.\"\n\nBelshazzar stood silent, flushed with chagrin, yet in his heart\nacknowledging the truth of his father's words. Moreover, there was in\nhis father's manner something that had not been there before. Beset as\nhe was on every side, Nabu-Nahid had suddenly become a king. Istar\nperceived it and marvelled; and, though she did not speak, the old man\nfound sympathy in her presence. Belshazzar forced himself at last to\nask, in a subdued tone:\n\n\"Where wilt thou go in Sippar, O my father? Into the household of N\u00e2n\u00e2,\nor to the river-palace?\"\n\n\"Neither of these places. I shall go to the priests' college. It was\nthere that my youth was spent. Five years ago I dwelt there through the\nsummer. When Nitocris died, I went there after the month of wailing. It\nhath long been a refuge to me. I will seek it again. If I have yet any\npower in the world, it is there that I shall find it.\"\n\nBelshazzar nodded thoughtfully. He recognized the truth of his father's\nwords; yet he was only beginning to realize the danger of this desperate\njourney. It came over him again, in a vast wave, how great were the\nstraits in which his city lay. There seemed to be nothing for him to\nsay, so completely was his father master of the situation. And presently\nNabonidus, with a faint sigh, lifted up his voice again:\n\n\"Belshazzar, thou seest surely the danger that all are in. Of my own\nfree will I go forth to Sippar; yet I have little thought that I shall\nreturn thence again. All things are in the hands of the great gods. If\nit is decreed that I perish at the hands of my enemies, I pray only that\n\u00c2n\u00fb will hold for me a place in the silver sky. Through seventeen years\nI have ruled over the Great City, and in that time I have never\nwillingly wronged any man. Why it should be that men wrong me, I know\nnot; and I ask not.\n\n\"Thou, my son, art trained to the thought of ruling over the mighty\nkingdom of the Chaldees. I charge thee only that if word of my death\nreach thine ears, rule over thy people and mine as a brave king and not\na cruel one. In the years to come let thy people look to thee\nconfidently and in love. Be just with all; and let none know thee in\nhate.\n\n\"Thou, Istar of the skies, who hast dwelt as a goddess in the holy\ntemple of \u00ca-\u00c2na, and art now become a princess of the king's house, if\nin time thou art made queen of Babylon, let not thy heart beat with\npride. Love thy king. Bear his children and rear them in temperance and\npeace. Open thy lips to no words of folly. Unveil thy face before no\nman. Be the faithful servant and companion of him who holds thee dearer\nthan all others. And, having heard my bidding, hold also my memory in\nreverence.\n\n\"Behold, I have said my say, and I go forth. On the morrow, Belshazzar,\nthou wilt be master in the palace. Take up thy duties, and leave the\nchild to its mother's arms. Now \u00c2n\u00fb, Ea, and Bel, the three lords of the\ngods, keep our fortunes, our lives, and our hearts in safety evermore!\"\n\nNabu-Nahid held out a thin, white hand to each of them, Belshazzar and\nIstar, his children, and each of them pressed it reverently to brow and\nbreast. Then the old man threw the corner of his white mantle once more\nover his shoulder, and, with a stateliness born of his newly royal\nspirit, departed from the room.\n\nIstar and Belshazzar saw him go in silence. Their own days of happiness\nwere at an end; but he who had ended them had given them both the desire\nto meet the veiled future in a manner worthy of their God and of the\nking that went before.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nSIPPAR\n\n\nSippar, the northernmost city of Babylonia, lay a day's journey from the\ncapital. Although five Sippars could have been placed within the\ntowering circuit of Nimitti-Bel, and room have been left for Ur besides,\nstill, thirty thousand people, besides Shamash the sun-god, made it\ntheir home. Nebuchadrezzar, the great king, had thought it a town of no\nlittle importance; for he had expended upon it as much money as the\ntreasury held and his conquered nations would give for tribute, in\nmaking those vast reservoirs and the machinery by means of which the\ncourse of the river Euphrates could be turned out of its channel and\ninto Sippar, and thence sent forth into a thousand cross-country canals,\nleaving the river-bed, for the rest of its southward course, as dry as a\nbrick. On account of these vast works of primitive engineers, the little\nplace had for the past fifty years been famous from Agade to Terredou,\nfrom Kutha to the desert; till, from being a dilapidated mud-village,\nits pilgrim visitors had turned it, with their yearly wealth, into a\nwell-built and well-kept city clustered round three celebrated\nbuildings--the astronomical ziggurat, the temple of the sun, and the\ncollege of the Chaldees.\n\nThese last could be grouped under one head, since all three of them were\nruled by one master--not Shamash, but the high-priest of Shamash, the\nfirst astronomer of the kingdom and the president of this college of\nsciences, and these combined dignities caused him to be known as the\nfirst priest in the kingdom. As a matter of fact, the religious house\nand its attachments were as old as--a little older than--the city of\nSippar. Sun-worship had been instituted here as long ago as tradition\nknew; just as moon-worship began in Ur, according to Berossus, about\nthirty thousand years before the day of the Mighty Hunter! The house\nattached to the temple for the purpose of training its priests had\ngradually, through three or four centuries, come to be the great school\nof education for the priests of all Babylonia. It was the home of\ntradition and of sedition; the breeder of anti-monarchical ideas, the\nadvocate of a hierarchical government. Nabonidus' father, a member of\nthis college and high-priest of a Babylonian temple, having married the\ndaughter of Nebuchadrezzar, made double claim to the throne of Chaldea;\nand, though he never came into the place of his mighty father-in-law,\nyet his son, the young Nabu-Nahid, educated in his father's college and\nearly admitted to the priesthood, was brought up in the full belief that\nhe was king by right of Heaven. Five years on the throne had changed him\nin many respects. Amraphel had come down from Sippar to administer to\nBel-Marduk, and to keep watch over the general priesthood and the ruler\nof the Great City; and Nabu-Nahid had grown more accustomed to the crown\nthan to the goat-skin. Moreover, the education of the prince royal was\ncontinued along very unpriestly lines. Therefore, though the king had\nnever entirely severed his connection with the great institution where\nhe had spent his youth, his attitude towards it was indeterminate, and\nits feeling for him one of well-disguised but none the less bitter\nhostility.\n\nAt this time of the middle of June in the seventeenth year of the king's\nreign, Sippar was in a frenzy of excitement. The town was filled to\noverflowing with troops assembled a month ago from every city and\nvillage within a radius of sixty miles. N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, commander-in-chief\nof the army, was lodged with Sharrukin, governor of the city; and these\ntwo men were loyal, heart and soul, to the king. As a consequence, they\nwere also bitterly inimical to the priesthood. The college, on the\ncontrary, bristling as it was with full-fledged priests and half-fledged\nstudents, waited to give Cyrus himself, or Gobryas by proxy, a royal\nwelcome. The men of the army were divided into factions. As for the rest\nof the city, it was a little Babylon in its general uneasiness and\ndisturbance.\n\nThree weeks after the home army occupied Sippar, came word of the rapid\nadvancement of Gobryas from the northeast; and the town was hurriedly\nprepared for a siege. Finally, on the night of the thirteenth, the\narrival of two despatches, one from the north, the other from the south,\nbrought consternation to the far-seeing mind of N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, and a\ndramatic sense of triumph to the members of the college. As the news\nbecame known in the city, the town quickly took on an air of festivity.\nThe night was lighted by bonfires. The streets were alive with people. A\ngreat clamor of singing, of shouting, of drinking, and general riot rang\nthrough the twisting streets. And men, women, and children, soldiers and\ncitizens, were still up and dressed in holiday garments, when, at dawn\non the morning of the fourteenth of the month, Nabu-Nahid drove in at\nthe southern gate of the city.\n\nSharrukin the governor, N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, and Ludar Bit-Shamash, the\nsun-priest, each in his state chariot, each the acme of stiff courtesy,\ncame together at the gate to greet the king their lord. The governor and\nthe general regarded the arrival of the high-priest with no little\nsurprise and some resentment. Sharrukin's palace had been carefully\nprepared for the reception of the royal master; and his chagrin at the\nidea of Nabonidus' going to lodge at the college of the Chaldees,\novercame his appreciation of the policy and the daring of that act.\n\nNabonidus came attended by a very small suite. He had travelled from\nBabylon with no more pretension than any petty nobleman. A charioteer\ndrove him, but he himself held his umbrella over his head. He was\ndressed in the same simple white robes in which he had bidden his son\nfarewell. His retinue consisted of two chariots, containing his\nsecretaries and his favorite slave, while a group of six horsemen\nfollowed. His manner, on arriving, was as simple as his dress. Seeing\nSharrukin and N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, his mild eyes lighted with pleasure; but it\nwas to Ludar that he gave his first greeting. The little party proceeded\nslowly through the principal streets of Sippar on its way to the\ncollege, Nabonidus and Ludar first, side by side in their chariots, the\ngovernor and general just behind. Nabonidus' manner was unemotional,\nrather matter-of-fact. Ludar himself never dreamed how closely the king\nwas watching the effect of his coming on the people, and the nature of\nhis reception by them. Certainly his path was thronged--and by townsmen\nonly. The soldiers had been ordered to their barracks and were not to\nappear till the afternoon's review. As they proceeded, however, N\u00e2n\u00e2\nbegan bitterly to regret that at least one loyal regiment had not been\nscattered among the people with the command to force their neighbors\ninto giving the customary loyal greeting to the king. Silence, utter,\nunbreakable, significant, reigned over the crowd. A thousand black eyes\nwere every moment fixed unwinkingly on Nabonidus, but not a mouth was\nopened to speak a welcome to him. Here and there, indeed, was the\nsuggestion of a muttered threat that came quickly to the ears of Ludar.\nBut whether the king heard, or, hearing, understood these expressions,\nno one could tell.\n\nShamash was scarcely an hour up the sky when the four chariots and the\nlittle guard drew rein before the gate of the great college, and\nNabonidus entered the institution between two long lines of white-robed\npriests, who gave the salute to Pat\u00easi when he passed.\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2 and the governor left their lord at the gate, with the understanding\nthat they should return to escort him to the review of troops\nearly in the afternoon. Ludar alone accompanied the king to the\nroom assigned to him--the room in which he had passed his youth--a\nsmall, oblong, white-tiled place, with a high image of Shamash at one\nend of it, and two tiny, square windows high in the opposite wall. A\nnarrow bed, two stools, an ivory chair, and an immovable table,\nfurnished the little place; and the king, seeing it again after some\nyears, looked about him with a faint smile of pleasure.\n\n\"Is it pleasing to the king that he should be thus humbly lodged?\"\ninquired Ludar, behind him. \"Or will he choose to occupy the royal\napartments that are at his command?\"\n\n\"The king, Ludar, is no less a king because he lives humbly. Let this\npleasant place be my abode while I am here.\"\n\nLudar wondered for a moment whether the king had intended the double\nmeaning in his words; and, not knowing, he yet resented the possibility.\nHis voice, however, was no less smooth and quiet when he said again: \"It\nis near the hour of sacrifice in the great temple, father king. Will you\nattend it, or is it fitting that you sleep after the journey?\"\n\nNabonidus sighed inaudibly, but his eyes never strayed to the couch. \"I\ncome to the sacrifice, Ludar. Yet first bid them bring me milk from the\ngoat to be offered for sacrifice, for I need refreshment after the weary\nnight. Then let my slave bring to me two jars of water, that I may make\nmy ablutions, removing from my body the dust of the way and the sand\nblown up from the desert. Then I will come to the sacrifice.\"\n\nLudar, unsuccessful in his scheme of petty torment, left the room,\nsmarting under the indignity of being asked to carry orders to a\nslave--orders that, for reasons of policy, he could not disobey. His\nonly method of revenge was to prolong the sacrifice for two weary hours,\nwhile Nabonidus, faint for food and dropping with weariness, was obliged\nto stand over the sacrificial altar, chanting Sumerian prayers and\nfeeding the flames with oil, while the savory goat's flesh slowly\nbroiled before him.\n\nAt ten o'clock, however, he was able to make a dignified retreat from\nhis religious duties; and then, reaching his own room, and putting his\nfaithful eunuch on guard at the door, he left an order that he should be\nawakened only on the arrival of N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, when that dignitary came to\nescort him to the review of troops. This would be about two hours after\nmidday; and until that time Nabonidus threw himself down upon his couch.\nThe tired eyelids closed over the tired eyes. For a little time\nearth-troubles faded from him, while in his dreams the beloved dead were\nrestored to him again.\n\nWhen he awoke, N\u00e2n\u00e2 was at his side, looking down at him solemnly, his\narms folded across his breast. The king started up, annoyed at having\nbeen left undisturbed for so long. The room was wrapped in twilight, and\nthe face of the visitor was in shadow. Something in his general's\nmanner, or perhaps in his attitude, caught Nabonidus' attention, and\npresently, having risen from his couch, he said, tentatively:\n\n\"You are late--very late, N\u00e2n\u00e2. Evening is upon us. Surely the review--\"\n\n\"There was no review, Nabu-Nahid, my lord. I bade thy servant not\ndisturb thy rest. There was no need. I came to quiet thy fears--if,\nindeed, there is fear in thee. Yet Chaldea knows thy race for a brave\none.\"\n\n\"Speak, N\u00e2n\u00e2--speak! These words of thine come strangely to me. Or do I\ndream?\"\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2 smiled grimly. \"There is no dream in this, O king, that Gobryas and\nhis army of Medes and Persians are encamped before the city, and that\nhalf my troops refuse to obey my commands.\"\n\nNabonidus went back to his couch and seated himself on the edge of it.\n\"At what hour did the enemy come?\" he asked, quietly.\n\n\"At four hours after sunrise, about the time for the close of the\nsacrifice, they were observed by the men in the north watch-towers. They\nmarched around the city, out of the reach of arrows, and are now\nencamped before the south gate.\"\n\n\"And there has been no move to draw them into battle? There has been no\nsortie? The old form of war--\"\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb bent his head upon his breast, and all of a sudden Nabonidus\ncame to himself and realized their situation. Before the slow, orderly\nprocession of thoughts that passed through his mind he did not lower his\nhead nor take his eyes from the form of his general. After a little\nwhile he rose again, without any appearance of agitation, crossed the\nroom, pushed aside the curtain of the door, and gave certain orders to\nthe statue-like eunuch who waited before it. Then, returning, he sat\ndown in the ivory chair to wait, while, in obedience to a gesture, N\u00e2n\u00e2\ntook one of the tabourets at a little distance from the bed. Then the\ntwo men sat together, waiting silently. Presently a slave entered the\nroom bearing two lighted lamps, which he hung upon their accustomed\nhooks in the wall. In the new light the king turned to his officer.\n\n\"When have you eaten?\" he said, kindly.\n\n\"A little before dawn to-day, lord,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Bring thou food and wine for both, then,\" commanded the king; and the\neunuch, bowing, left the room.\n\nWhen they were alone N\u00e2n\u00e2's figure drooped back into its place; but the\nking, with a sudden nervous spasm, got up and began jerkily to pace the\nroom. The general's eyes followed his movements questioningly, but for\nsome moments Nabonidus did not speak. Then, very suddenly, so that his\ncompanion started, he burst out:\n\n\"Thou, too, N\u00e2n\u00e2! Thou, too, N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb! Dost thou also betray me?\"\n\n\"My lord!\" The commander sprang to his feet. \"My lord!\" he said again.\n\n\"Tell me truly, tell me plainly,\" went on the king, tumultuously, \"is\nthere left in my kingdom one man that I dare trust? Is there still one\nthat I know to be true?\"\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb looked at his king straightforwardly, grimly, honestly. \"My\nlife belongs to the kingdom, to thy house,\" he said. \"And in my ranks of\nmen there are many to be trusted. But there are also those that have\ntaken the bribes of Ludar and the college. Therefore the true from the\nfalse among my own I cannot tell. How many there are of the one, how\nmany of the other, I do not know. When it is necessary we will strive\nwith our lives to defend the city; but how it will go with us, only the\ngreat gods know.\"\n\nNabonidus heard him and sighed. He could not but believe this man, this\nfriend, this faithful servant of his; and his moment of passion was\nover. As he came back to his chair three slaves entered the room,\nbringing with them trays of food and a jar of wine. These were placed on\nthe fixed table, and a light couch was brought in and set before it for\nthe king. N\u00e2n\u00e2 was supposed to sit in his lord's presence. When at\nlength the slaves had been dismissed, Nabonidus lay down at table with\nan air of mild pleasure at which N\u00e2n\u00e2 stared a little. Nabonidus had,\nindeed, a reputation for courage principally because of the apathetic\nmanner that invariably came to him in times of real stress. And yet\nNabonidus realized to the full the gravity of his position.\n\n\"N\u00e2n\u00e2,\" and there was the shadow of a smile in the king's face--\"N\u00e2n\u00e2,\nif it comes that the city should fall, how wilt thou defend me from the\nblood-thirsty Gobryas?\"\n\n\"O King, I would have spoken with thee on this matter, for thou, like\nall those in Babylonia, art in great danger. If Gobryas knows that thou\nart in Sippar the city will surely be assaulted, and will as surely\nfall. Therefore it is Sharrukin's wish, and mine, that, for thine own\nsake, thou shouldst leave Sippar secretly as soon as possible--to-night,\nif thou wilt. A disguise may be sent here to thee. Thine own guard shall\nfollow thee; and I think thou canst still take the road to Babylon\nwithout undue risk. But if thou wait--wait till Gobryas learns thy\npresence here--thou and Sippar, ay, and thus Babylonia, are lost.\"\n\n\"I and Sippar, but not Babylonia, N\u00e2n\u00e2. Bel-shar-uzzur rules over the\nGreat City now, and he is stronger than I. He will make a good king for\nthis troubled land. For me--\u00e9hu! I am full of years, and weary--weary\nfor the silver sky. Matters it greatly how soon I go? Nay! Speak no more\nof it. I forbid it, and I am the king. Tell Sharrukin that I remain in\nSippar--until the end.\"\n\nN\u00e2n\u00e2, daring to say no more, looked regretfully into the faded eyes of\nthe old man before him. Of every one that he had ever known, Nabonidus\nwas the last whom he would have expected to take this attitude. But\neddying shallows sometimes hide treasures as rare and as beautiful as\nthose that lie in the deep, smooth-flowing waters of greater streams.\nThis little pearl of courage, then, was not less admirable because it\nwas the treasure of a brook rather than of deep river or the sea. And\nN\u00e2n\u00e2 tried no more to persuade the king to leave Sippar, though, indeed,\nhe felt what the end must be.\n\nThe conversation, when it revived between them, strayed away into\nwinding paths, through Nabonidus' fads of poetry, arch\u00e6ology, and\narchitecture, to the inevitable highway of priestcraft. With this road\nN\u00e2n\u00e2 was as familiar as the king, knowing more of its detail in this\npart of the land than his master.\n\n\"Let it be forgiven that I ask of thee a question, O king! Hast thou\nfaith in thy safety in this house? Dost thou believe that Ludar may be\ntrusted to keep thy person from harm?\"\n\nNabonidus looked at his companion thoughtfully. \"To this house I came,\"\nhe said, \"because I would have defied its dwellers. Now, indeed, that\nGobryas is before the city, my safety is not assured. Yet here I will\nremain.\"\n\n\"Ludar--knows he that I am here?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Let us call Ludar hither, N\u00e2n\u00e2, and speak with him of\nGobryas.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt never read Ludar's mind by his words, O king. Yet--let him be\nsummoned.\"\n\n\"Kudash\u00fb!\" shouted the king, accordingly, and at the cry the waiting\neunuch came quickly in. \"Kudash\u00fb, bear word to the priest Ludar that I\nwould talk with him. Let him return with thee here.\"\n\nThere was a prostration and an exit, and then silence. Neither the king\nnor N\u00e2n\u00e2 said anything till, ten minutes later, the slave returned\nalone.\n\n\"Ludar follows thee?\" asked Nabonidus, quickly.\n\n\"May the king regard me with favor--Ludar is not in the college. He is\ngone forth into the city, none knows why.\"\n\nThe man was dismissed with a nod, and the two were left alone again.\nPresently N\u00e2n\u00e2 rose and made his obeisance.\n\n\"Lord king, I must go forth. The hour is late, and I have not yet\nnumbered the night-guards. Before I go--let it please thee to take up\nthy abode from to-morrow in the palace of Sharrukin. Everything there\nwas prepared for thee. Here, with Ludar, thou art not safe. If thou wilt\nnot escape from Sippar, come thou and take up thy dwelling with those\nthat regard thee with loyalty and devotion.\" N\u00e2n\u00e2 was not an emotional\nman, but the feeling in these words was genuine, and Nabonidus was\ntouched.\n\n\"The gods send thee peace of heart,\" he said, gently.\n\n\"My lord king will not come?\" persisted the soldier.\n\nNabonidus shook his head with a faint, stubborn smile, and, a moment\nlater, he was alone. For some time after his general's departure the\nking sat looking vaguely into space, his lips straightening more and\nmore and the lines round his mouth growing stern. Presently the eunuch\nglided quietly into the room and took up his position by the door,\nstanding there as he was trained to do when the king was alone.\nNabu-Nahid regarded him reflectively for a moment and then said:\n\n\"Kudash\u00fb, Ludar and N\u00e2n\u00e2 are gone into the city. I also will go. Bring\nto me my mantle, and come thou behind me. I will behold Sippar by\nnight.\"\n\nKudash\u00fb obeyed promptly, but a few seconds later, as the king was\ndonning his white coronet and cloak, he ventured to say: \"O king, live\nforever! Let me summon for thee some of the soldiers of thy guard, that\nthey may follow thee on thy way.\"\n\n\"Is thy body weary, Kudash\u00fb?\"\n\n\"Nay, lord my king; but my arms are weak to strike for thee.\"\n\n\"By Ninip! is the whole world waiting to slay me? Stay thou here, then,\nwith thy arm, weak one! I will go alone.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, father of Babylon! I go gladly. Yet, fearing for thy safety,\nI--\"\n\n\"Be silent, foolish one. I go alone. Behold, I have spoken. It is my\nwill.\"\n\nAnd in the face of plea, protest, and remonstrance, go forth alone\nNabonidus did, into the city of Sippar.\n\nThe streets were quiet. Early though it was, lacking yet two hours to\nmidnight, few towns-people were moving about. A general weariness had\nfollowed the merry-making of the past night, and this, added to\nthe feeling of solemnity attendant on the actual arrival of the\nlong-expected invading army, had closed the doors of many a house at an\nunwonted hour, and caused citizens of an ordinarily convivial\ntemperament to betake themselves to an early couch. Most of those abroad\nin the streets were soldiers, on their way to or from the watch-towers.\nIt was a curious condition for the first night of a siege, and Nabonidus\ncould not but wonder, as he proceeded, at the extraordinary calm of the\npeople; for he had known many a beleaguered city, but never one that\npresented a spectacle of such quiet on its first night of defence.\n\nThe night was fair, and with the coming of darkness there had sprung up\na faint breeze that came from the east, across two rivers, bearing with\nit a breath of cooling fragrance. The moon was just past its second\nquarter and hung suspended, in a soft, golden aureole, over the western\nwalls of the city. By its light the houses and towers of the town stood\nout in wavering outlines against the grayish, star-strewn sky. The\nstillness that wrapped the city trembled, when, occasionally, it was\npierced by a distant shout of laughter or a command called out by one of\nthe guards on the walls.\n\nNabonidus went on and on, unheeding the distance that he traversed,\nallowing himself to be permeated with the night. The spotless white of\nhis robes caused him to be taken for a priest by the few whom he passed.\nNone offered to molest him. None gave him more than a fleeting glance as\nhe went along. After what he could hardly realize had been an hour of\nwalking, he found himself standing before the great south gate of the\ncity, through which he had come that morning. It was closed now, and\nguarded with soldiers, some of whom stood or lay on the ground before\nit, while others could be seen on top of the wall, walking to and from\nthe watch-tower, whence the confused camp of Gobryas' army could be made\nout across the plain. No hostility had as yet passed between besieged\nand besiegers. Not an arrow had been shot, not a javelin hurled.\n\nThe king stood off at a little distance from the gate, reflecting on the\nscene before him. Presently there came a shout from some one outside the\ngate, a word that was heard and answered from inside. There was a\nquestion from the captain of the watch, to which an answer, inaudible to\nNabonidus, was returned. Then the small door in the gate opened. A\nfigure appeared from outside, and at sight of it Nabonidus moved swiftly\nback into the shadow of the wall. The door was closed and barred again.\nHe who had come in paused to place something in the hand of one of the\nsoldiers. Then, without a word, he moved rapidly off in the direction\nfrom which, a little while before, the king had come. Nabonidus stared\nafter him for a moment. His thoughts were in a whirl. Considering all\nthat he had known before, this incident had an unnecessarily strong\neffect on him. It was only by means of a physical effort that he finally\npulled himself together and started on his return, a hundred paces back\nof that other. In this fashion the two traversed the length of the city,\narriving at the college of the Chaldees in the same relative positions\nas those in which they had started.\n\nWhen, a few minutes after midnight, the king re-entered the building and\nturned up the passage leading to his room, he found Ludar, wrapped in a\ngray cloak, standing in the door-way talking with Kudash\u00fb. He hailed\nNabu-Nahid's appearance rather effusively.\n\n\"O king, live forever. What imprudence does he commit that wanders\nabroad at night in the city streets!\"\n\n\"And thou--wast thou guarded on thy way?\" inquired the king, rather\nsharply.\n\n\"Nay, truly. But for me there is no danger. I am--\"\n\n\"You say well, Ludar. For you, indeed, there is no danger! Shamash guard\nyour sleep!\" And with this curt good-night, Nabonidus brushed past the\npriest, closed the curtain of his room, flung off his mantle and\ncoronet, and threw himself down upon the chair that still stood\nbefore the brick table. He was in a state of tremulous anger, of\ndiscouragement, of heart-sickness, and his head drooped lower and lower,\nand his hands clasped themselves on the table before him in the\ntightness of mental pain. The light from the still burning lamp above\nhis head fell over his white figure, and a ray of it glinted off a jewel\nthat hung on a thin, golden chain from his neck. A refracted ray of this\npresently shone in his eye and caused him to look down upon the gem that\nhe was accustomed to wear inside his tunic, next his skin. It was a\ncharm--a holy charm, blessed and consecrated to be a sure protection\nagainst all bodily disease or danger. In some way, the fact that it came\nto his sight now, unexpectedly, seemed an omen of good-fortune; and with\na brow less clouded, the old man rose, took the jewel in his hands, and,\nfalling on his knees before the image of the sun-god in his room, poured\nforth a piteous prayer for rest and peace. And the sun-god heard him\ndoubly well.\n\nIt was not till early dawn began to peer from the east that the great\nking, seeking his narrow couch, dropped into an untroubled sleep.\n\nThe following day, the fourteenth of the month, was a busy one.\nNabonidus again conducted the sacrifice. Then he returned to the college\nand spent two or three long hours with a class of acolytes of the\nhighest order of embryonic priesthood. The noon meal he partook with\nLudar, and immediately afterwards was driven in his chariot to the house\nof Sharrukin, where the afternoon passed quickly in a council over\nmilitary affairs.\n\nIt was half an hour to sunset when the king returned to his room in the\ncollege and commanded his evening meal. He was drooping with fatigue, as\nthe result of his short night and his crowded day. Kudash\u00fb, therefore,\nwas ordered to refuse admittance to any one that should seek audience\nwith the king that night. After a change of garments, a bath, and more\nprayers to Shamash, the king lay down on his couch, much refreshed in\nbody and mind, and eager for the food that was presently brought him. He\nate in the twilight, for that hour of the day always brought calm to his\nspirit, and even at the close of the meal, when the room was nearly\ndark, he still refused lights, but lay, immovable and alone, with the\nghost of the dead day whose golden bier had been borne across the\nshadowy threshold of the night.\n\nGradually the king sank into a profound and vividly imaged reverie. His\nthoughts went back into many long-past scenes of his youth and young\nmanhood; and, as he afterwards remembered, the last of these was\nsomething apart from his own life. In the twilight there rose before him\nclearly and distinctly the room in which he had said farewell to his\nson. Here, under the glow of the hanging-lamp, clad in her crimson and\ngold, with the veil of black hair drawn back from her face, was Istar of\nBabylon, Belshazzar's wife. Beside her, transformed by the new power of\nhis life and love, was the storm-eyed prince, holding Istar's infant in\nhis arms. Nabonidus' eyes looked again into those of his son, and found\nthere something that now only he understood. A smile stole over the\nchildlike face of the old man. Belshazzar had found a heart-home.\nBelshazzar was a king in spirit. What mattered it how soon in truth? The\nvision grew brighter still, till the three figures were aureoled with a\ndivine light. Istar spoke to her husband, held out her arms for the\nchild. Then suddenly there came, from the passage outside the door, a\nlow murmur of voices and a quick cry. The vision crumbled. Nabonidus\nstarted up. His ears were pierced by the sound of a shrill scream, and\nthe words spoken by Kudash\u00fb: \"My lord! My king! Save thys--\" Then came a\nheavy thud as of a body fallen, and Nabu-Nahid leaped to his feet as\nthree men burst into the room.\n\nTwo of them were soldiers in armor. The third, who carried a lighted\ntorch, was in the garb of a priest. It was Ludar, the president of the\ncollege.\n\n\"How do ye thus enter my presence?\" demanded Nabonidus, glaring about\nhim wrathfully.\n\nLudar shot a sharp glance at him, and the hands of the soldiers\ntightened on their dripping pikes.\n\nNabonidus' question was fully answered, and he asked no more; but his\nmanner did not change. Perhaps he drew himself up a little, became a\nlittle more royal, a little more angry, a little brighter of eye, a\nlittle whiter of face. The soldiers stood mute and motionless, waiting\nevidently for their next move to be ordered by Ludar, their leader. He,\nafter a moment or two, nodded to them.\n\n\"Do what is commanded to be done,\" he said.\n\nIn a breath Nabonidus of Babylon lay on his back on the floor, while the\ntwo soldiers worked to bind him about with heavy thongs till he was\nunable to move so much as a finger alone. Lastly the gag was put upon\nhim; but there was no need of it. During the whole business the old man\nremained perfectly passive, perfectly still, gazing steadily up into the\nface of Ludar, who presently refused to meet his glance, though he could\nnot, in that small room, get out of range of the pale, fixed eyes.\n\nWhen their captive was perfectly secure, the soldiers lifted him in\ntheir arms and carried him roughly out of the room, past the bloody body\nof Kudash\u00fb, along the silent passage and out into the night, where,\nbefore the door of the college, waited a cart, one of the rude vehicles\nof the common people, drawn by a water-buffalo. Into this lowliest of\nall conveyances the king was lifted and laid down. There was a word of\ncommand from the soldier that clambered in beside him. The driver gave a\nlong shout, and the cart clattered away from the door of the college in\nwhich, with his still burning torch, stood white-robed Ludar, left alone\nwith his triumph.\n\nAs they went along, the king, his gaze turned upward to the sky, could\nsee nothing of what was happening in the streets around him. But that\nsomething unusual had occurred was only too apparent, and what that\nsomething was, was not difficult to surmise. The city was filled with\nsoldiers, half of them in the uniform of the Babylonish guards, and half\nof them in the dress of those that had entered the presence of the king.\nYet there was very evidently no hostility between them. Men, women, and\nchildren were also in the streets, the last making an especial clamor\nover this unexpected holiday night. Here and there bonfires burned in\nthe heat. In every direction torches flitted through the moonlight. And\nstill to the strained ears of the king came not one sound of combat, no\nsingle clash of swords or whistling of stones from the sling. No. Sippar\nhad fallen, had fallen to Elam, without blood, without a suggestion of\ndefence, without one blow for this, Nabu-Nahid's, country, the country\nover which he had ruled as justly and as gently as he could for\nseventeen proud years. No. He had been left alone, utterly alone,\nwithout a single hand to hold him back when others pushed him ruthlessly\nforward to face the rainbow gates of the silver sky.\n\nThrough the city and out of the gate of Babylon and over the shadowy\nplain for half a mile or more, the slow cart passed till it came to a\nhalt in the camp of the invader, in front of a great, crimson tent that\nstood in the midst of a host of smaller ones, and on top of which, from\nthe head of a spear fastened to the central pole, hung suspended the\nPersian sun-standard. Nabonidus saw this, rising against the shadowy\nsky; and seeing it, he realized where they were.\n\nThere were two soldiers guarding the door of this tent; and, as the cart\nhalted before it, a short colloquy passed between them and Nabonidus'\ncaptors. Then one of the soldiers disappeared inside, to come forth\nagain an instant later with an order. Nabonidus was lifted from the\nvehicle and carried inside the temporary domicile of the general. He was\ngreeted by a glare of light so bright that, involuntarily, his weak eyes\nclosed before it. When he opened them again to look about, he had been\nplaced on his feet, and found himself facing a tall, heavily armored,\nblack-bearded fellow, with piercing eyes and an air of undeniable\ndignity, who performed an obeisance due from a nobleman of rank to a\nsovereign.\n\n\"Lord Nabonidus of Babylon, I bid you welcome to my tent in the name of\nBel, your god. I am Gobryas, general of the army of Kurush of Elam.\"\n\nNabonidus slowly bent his head. \"I am your prisoner. Do your will with\nme,\" he said, faintly.\n\n\"It is my wish, O king, that you sleep here to-night in peace. By rule\nof war you are my prisoner. Yet know that I and all that is mine to\ngive, save only freedom, are at the king's command.\"\n\nAgain Nabonidus bowed his head; and then, lifting it slowly, he gazed at\nGobryas with a question in his eyes.\n\n\"I ask of you to speak, lord king!\" said the general, with all courtesy\nin his tone.\n\nNabonidus drew a quick breath. Then, with an effort, he said:\n\"Sippar--is fallen--to you?\"\n\nGobryas bowed, with regret in his attitude.\n\n\"And my servants--N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb, and Sharrukin, the former governor of the\ncity, where are they?\"\n\n\"O king, they have suffered the fate of the conquered. They alone, out\nof all Sippar, were killed in defending their palaces.\"\n\n\"They alone,\" whispered the king to himself, wearily. \"They alone? Nay,\nthere was one other--one other faithful servant had I in my kingdom. I\npray that Bel--re--ceive--\" The old man reeled where he stood. Gobryas\nsprang quickly forward, catching him before he fell. And as he gazed\nupon the helpless, innocent face of the fallen king, Gobryas was\nconstrained to wonder a little whether the part he had played in this\ngame of unwarlike war were quite worth the suffering it inflicted upon\nothers.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nBELTI-SHAR-UZZUR\n\n\nEight days after the fall of Sippar, the army of the Elamite king lay\nencamped before Babylon. Not so vast an army, after all, this that had\ncome out of lower Chaldea, after a series of astounding victories, to\ntake the Great City from her king. Less than half a mile from where the\ngigantic height of Nimitti-Bel shut off the northeast horizon, the tents\nof Cyrus' army lay scattered over the parched plain. The largest of\nthese, over which hung the royal standard, stood in the centre of the\nfirst line of the encampment, where it was most prominent to the eye\nfrom the city walls, and in the place of greatest danger in case of a\nsortie from the city.\n\nInside of Cyrus' tent, on this third day of the inactive siege, sat the\nroyal commander himself, hard at work. The weather, even to a Babylonian\nborn and bred, was nearly unendurable. To one who had been reared in the\nhills and had ruled over mountain-built Susa, with her fresh northerly\nwinds and cold torrent streams, the temperature of a Chaldean summer was\nsomething to be marvelled at. To-day the conqueror half sat, half lay\nupon the couch in his tent, dictating letters to three scribes, who bent\nover their bricks in a steaming row in the door of the tent. Both the\nmanner and the voice of the Ach\u00e6menian betrayed his intense fatigue.\nNevertheless he kept steadily on, formulating various curious plans for\nthe prosecution of his siege.\n\nA short, rather stocky man, this Cyrus, with thick, curling hair, a\nbeard more golden-brown than black, and eyes so piercingly brilliant\nthat it was difficult to determine their shade. His face had been tanned\nto a leathery brown by years of exposure in various climes; but his\nhands were smooth, shapely, and well-kept. In dress, there was no hint\nof either soldier or ruler. His head was bound round with a red fillet\nembroidered in black and gold. His body was clothed in the lightest and\nsimplest of yellowish cotton tunics, narrowly bordered with red. On his\nfeet he wore sandals, and his ankles and calves were bare. Only by his\neyes and by the quick decisiveness of his manner could one have guessed\nthat his station was high. And yet, with these two things to go by, few\nwould have failed to select this man out of a hundred others as being\nindeed Kurush, the king.\n\nBesides the king and his three scribes, there was one other person in\nthe royal tent on this blazing afternoon of the twenty-second of the\nmonth Duzu. This was a young man, tall and meagre in body, with a\npeculiarly long head, a face not wholly devoid of beauty, but with an\nexpression lurking about the lips and eyes that one who loved him would\nnot have cared to analyze. Richly dressed was this youth, much belted,\nchained, and braceleted with silver and gold, his tunic elaborately\nembroidered, the very thongs of his sandals wrought with lapis-lazuli\nand crystals. It was Cambyses, eldest son and heir of the great Cyrus,\nwho thus lay in the presence of his father, sighing out his weariness\nwith the heat, with the campaign, with the lack of fighting, with the\nlength of days--with anything and everything that it came into his head\nto say, and with that everything twisted into a complaint.\n\nCyrus, long accustomed to this monotone as an accompaniment to his\nafternoons of labor, listened to it abstractedly as he continued his\nletters. The train of thought that could not be disturbed by words,\nhowever, was presently broken by a shadow passing the door-way of the\ntent; and he suddenly looked up, staring at the second scribe, trying to\nreturn to his sentence, but able to think of nothing but the last\nimprecation uttered by his son.\n\n\"In the name of Ahura the blessed, Cambyses, get you from my presence\ntill these labors are at an end! Follow Bardiya into the camp, go where\nyou will, but leave me to the letters that must be despatched to-night\nif there be no word from Gobryas this afternoon.\"\n\n\"May he soon come!\" muttered the first scribe; and the second and third,\nhearing, sighed in unison and wiped the sweat from their dripping brows.\n\nCambyses had risen and was doubtfully contemplating the prospect of the\ncamp. Cyrus had come back to the subject of his epistle, and the scribe\nsat with his cuneiform iron poised in the air, when the scene was broken\nup. A horse, carrying a rider who clung to its bare back like a monkey,\none hand twisted in the mane for guidance, came dashing up over the\nplain from the northwest and stopped at the tent door. The rider leaped\nto the ground, bending his head slightly before the king, and shouting,\nin a clear, fresh voice:\n\n\"News, my father! News at last! Gobryas with his army is three miles\naway. He will reach us by nightfall!\"\n\nCyrus sprang to his feet. \"How know you this, Bardiya?\"\n\n\"I have seen them all, spoken with the general, and return to thee as\nhis messenger.\"\n\nCyrus quickly waved his hand to the scribes. \"Get you to your tents. Do\nnot return to me till I shall command.\"\n\nHe waited while the three men picked up their stools in sober joy, and,\nsaluting the royal master with a single accord, departed in an orderly\nfile. When they were out of hearing, and Cyrus and his two sons were\nquite alone, the king let fall the crimson flap over the tent door, and\nthen turned to Bardiya with his face very eager. \"The king, Bar--\"\n\n\"Gobryas brings with him Nabu-Nahid, the king of Babylon, a prisoner, to\ndeliver him up to you.\"\n\nCyrus nodded, with less satisfaction than the boy had expected, and then\nthoughtfully bent his head. There was a short silence, which neither of\nthe sons dared break. They saw an expression of trouble creep into their\nfather's face. They saw him frown, and they heard him sigh. Then\nsuddenly he crossed to a small coffer in the lent, and drew from it a\nlong, white streamer.\n\n\"Bardiya, fasten this to the head of the spear on top of the tent. Put\nit there thyself, and at once.\"\n\nThe boy, in extreme surprise, received the pennant from his father's\nhand and went outside with it. Fifteen minutes later it was floating in\nthe hot afternoon wind from the top of the royal tent; and ten minutes\nafter that a white-robed acolyte had left the summit of Nimitti-Bel and\nwas speeding through the fields on his way to a certain house in the\ncentre of the city.\n\nThe afternoon passed. It came to be the hour of day's death, and in that\nhour the final junction of the two invading armies was to be effected.\nSeven months before, in the hills of Elam, they had separated, Gobryas\nmarching to the north, Cyrus to the south. And now, each of them having\nfulfilled to the letter his plan of campaign, there remained only one\nthing more to do, the taking of that city which, six years ago, Cyrus\nhad found impregnable to arms, and which he was now to assault in a less\nhonorable and surer way.\n\nThe lamps in the royal tent were already swinging from their chains in a\nglow of fire, and the full moon was rising from the east over the city,\nthough the sky was still too white for stars, when Cyrus, with Cambyses\non his right hand and Bardiya on his left, stood in the door-way of his\ntent, waiting. Over the plain, at no great distance, could be seen a\nslow-moving line of horses and men. In front of this line, advancing at\nfull gallop, came a single chariot, drawn by three white horses\nharnessed abreast, and carrying three men--the driver and two others.\nThis vehicle hurried along straight in the direction of the royal tent,\nuntil presently Cyrus stepped eagerly forward, while his sons cried in\none voice, \"Gobryas!\"\n\nThe chariot came to a halt, and from it leaped a tall, bearded fellow,\nwhom Cyrus seized in his arms and clasped delightedly. \"Welcome, lord of\nSippar. Welcome, O conqueror!\" he cried, in the Aramaic language,\ngenerally used in his camp, and understood by Babylonian, Jew, and\nElamite alike.\n\nHaving been embraced, Gobryas saw fit to bend the knee before his\nmaster, saying: \"I bring the king my lord his royal prisoner. He is full\nof years and weary with the length of day. Let him, I pray, be removed\nto some tent that befits his rank, where refreshment may be given him.\"\n\nThree pairs of eyes looked quickly up to the chariot, but Nabonidus'\nback was turned to them. He stood there alone, his chained arms at his\nsides, looking off upon the walls of Babylon. His face was invisible;\nbut Cyrus, seeing it, would not have known the expression. As it was,\nwhen the conqueror stepped up to the chariot and spoke a word of\ncourteous greeting, the old man turned to him a dull and gentle\ncountenance.\n\n\"O king, Nabu-Nahid of the Great City, let thy body find rest and\nrefreshment here in my frail dwelling-place! In the name of the blessed\nAhura-Mazda, I, Kurush, bid thee welcome. Descend from the hot chariot\nand enter my tent.\"\n\nNabonidus acknowledged the courtesy with old-accustomed graciousness. In\nalighting from the vehicle he stumbled a little in his great exhaustion.\nInstantly Bardiya and Gobryas started to his side, and, each taking an\narm, assisted the fallen king gently inside the tent, prepared for him\nthe couch on which Cambyses had spent the afternoon, and made him\ncomfortable upon it while Cyrus called to a slave to bring food and wine\nto all.\n\nThe five of them partook together of the evening meal, while\nconversation ran upon general topics. Nabonidus did not speak; nor,\nthough the others did not guess it, did he listen to what was said.\nCyrus and his general might have discussed their most secret plans\nwithout risk of being overheard or understood, for Nabonidus' heart was\nbeyond them, in Babylon, and his thoughts were of his world, not of\ntheirs.\n\nAfter the meal was over, however, Gobryas leaned across to the king and\nwhispered, just audibly: \"I must go forth now, for a time, to oversee\nthe encampment that you have commanded. While I am gone, were it not\nwell that Nabonidus be put in a tent of his own, under guard, that when\nI return we may talk freely of many things?\"\n\n\"Nabu-Nahid--\" Cyrus hesitated a little in his reply. \"Nabu-Nahid will,\nI think, not sleep in this camp to-night. He is to be delivered into\nother hands, to which, many weeks ago, I promised to intrust him.\"\n\n\"Whose are they?\" demanded Gobryas, roughly, without any of the respect\ndue to his lord.\n\nCyrus failed to resent the breach. His expression betokened regret as he\nopened his lips to reply. But before a word left his mouth two figures\nappeared suddenly in the door-way--two white-robed figures, only one of\nwhom wore the goat-skin on his shoulder. Before Cyrus could turn to\nthem, the prisoner on the couch sprang suddenly to his feet, and a cry\nrang out into the night:\n\n\"Amraphel--thou dog!\"\n\nThen silence ensued. Gobryas, whose back had turned to the door, moved\nslowly round. Catching sight of the new-comers, he suddenly realized\nwhat Cyrus had meant: suddenly knew why Nabonidus would not sleep that\nnight safely guarded in the camp. The high-priest of Babylon, and the\nleader of the Jews, in response to a prearranged signal, had come to\nclaim their own--part of their payment for the betrayal of the city.\n\nAs he looked and understood yet more, Gobryas' face darkened with\ndisgust. He could imagine well enough what was to follow, and his spirit\nrevolted against taking any part in it.\n\n\"Let my lord give me permission to retire!\" he demanded gruffly of\nCyrus.\n\nThe king nodded to him, and the general forthwith, with a curl of the\nlip and a flash of disdain at the Babylonians, brushed his way by them\nand hurriedly left the tent. His departure removed the single\ndisinterested element in the scene--and those that remained to enact it\ndrew mental breath. For a moment or two no one moved. Priest and Jew\nstood facing the conqueror, the three of them eying one another in full\nunderstanding of this consummation of their plot. The conqueror's sons,\nmore than half cognizant of the whole significance of the affair,\nshifted their glances from one figure to another with a vague sense of\nforeboding. Lastly, Nabonidus, the central figure in the scene, stiff\nand faint in his unutterable desertion, hair and face far whiter than\nhis stained garments, confronted, with an air of supreme accusation, the\ntwo betrayers of his people. The silence was long, and nearly\nunendurable. Amraphel would not speak; Cyrus could not; the young men\ndid not dare. It remained for Belti-shar-uzzur, evading that burning\nglance of Nabu-Nahid's, to address himself to the conqueror:\n\n\"We have seen the signal, Kurush, and have answered it. We are come to\nreceive our own.\"\n\nFor the shadow of an instant Cyrus dropped his eyes. He said, anxiously:\n\"Leave the prisoner here. I swear to his safety. He shall come to no\nharm!\"\n\nAmraphel stepped forward with menace in his eyes. \"The promise! Remember\nthe promise! Remember, or we fail you. Babylon to thee--Nabu-Nahid to\nus!\"\n\nAt these words two cries rang out through the tent. The one was from\nNabu-Nahid, the other from Cyrus' youngest son. The boy stepped forward\nquickly, his feeling plainly written in his young face. \"My father!\" was\nall he said; but before the words, and the unutterable things they told,\nthe head of the great warrior fell and his heart smote him.\n\n\"Give us our tribute, Kurush!\" sneered the Jew, scorning the scene.\n\n\"Take what was promised you,\" answered the conqueror, slowly.\n\nBelti-shar-uzzur stepped forward exultantly and would have put out his\nhand to touch Nabonidus' arm, when the old man quickly turned from him\nand cast himself at Cyrus' feet.\n\n\"Thou wearest, there at thy waist, a knife, O conqueror! Let it by thy\nhand rest in my heart!\" he cried out. \"Send me not forth, great king, in\nthe power of these two, or I die terribly! I die alone, in the night,\nwith none to close my eyes!\"\n\nCyrus turned his head away. \"Take the prisoner from my sight, ye dogs,\nor I will hold ye both here also! Take him from me!\"\n\nAt this Daniel, starting forward, threw himself on the kneeling king,\ncaught him about the meagre body, swung him up to shoulder, and would\nhave started out of the tent when Amraphel stopped him.\n\n\"The gag,\" he muttered, sharply.\n\nBardiya started forward, his hand on his sword; but his father, catching\nhim by the girdle, held him in a grasp of iron till the operation was\nover and the piece of wood lay in Nabu-Nahid's mouth, fastened there\nwith a white bandage. His hands and feet were also bound with leathern\nthongs, and after this the body, now as helpless as a log, was borne out\ninto the night in the arms of the Jew. Then Cyrus and his sons were left\nalone, nor, during the remainder of that unhappy night, did they speak\none to another.\n\nIn the mean time Daniel had carried the king to where, some yards from\nthe entrance of the royal tent, there stood a closed litter, such as was\nused by women of rank. Beside it, as it rested on the ground, were its\nfour bearers, stalwart men, muffled from head to foot in white--slaves\nof the house of Amraphel. None of these mute, dark-faced creatures\nstirred as their master returned to them with his companion and his\ncompanion's burden. Only, as they came close, the foremost fellow\nsilently threw back the curtain from one side of the basket-like couch.\nDaniel stooped and laid the body of the king on his back on the cushions\ninside. The king closed his eyes. The curtain was lowered and Amraphel\ngave the signal. The four slaves seized the poles and, softly singing\ntheir working-chorus, raised their burden waist-high and began their\nwalk back to the gate of Sand.\n\nIt was a twenty-minute walk, and was accomplished without adventure.\nWhen they came to a halt outside the gate, Nabonidus, anxiously\nlistening, could hear nothing but a suggestion of whispering between\nAmraphel and some one whom he believed to be the captain of the gate.\nPresently their way was resumed, and the company passed into the city. A\nlittle distance inside, the litter stopped again and was set down on the\nground. The curtains were thrown back, Daniel bent again over the king,\ntook him about the body, and, lifting him, laid him in one of two\nchariots that stood waiting. In his single fleeting glance Nabonidus\nrecognized both of these as belonging to Amraphel's house. The king lay\nin the one that Daniel entered. From the other, where Amraphel stood,\ncame presently the long, peculiar cry for the starting of the horses.\nDaniel's driver echoed it. The animals sprang forward, and the long\ndrive through the city began.\n\nIn spite of the jolting misery of that ride, Nabonidus preferred it to\nthe litter. Air came freely to his lips, and now he could see a little\nof what they passed. The moon was well up in the unclouded sky, lighting\nthe fields and streets of the Great City for the last passage of her\nlast native king. Nabonidus' heart was full, but he did not weep. The\nend to which he was going was unknown. Yet this, for him, was, as he\nknew well, the last sight of his beloved city. Still, even as he went,\nthe moonlight fell athwart the sapphire charm that hung upon his neck,\nand sent forth a thin gleam of the blue light of hope--a hope that could\nnot be brought to fulfilment by anything short of a miracle.\n\nThe horses on both the chariots were swift, and it took scarcely a\nhalf-hour to reach the second gate of Sand in Imgur-Bel. Through this\nthey passed without parley, and the journey across the inner city was\nbegun. They had entered Babylon at the extreme west, a little to the\nnorth of the canal of the New Year, which, as they drove, could be seen\nin the distance, shining clear as silver frost in the moonlight,\nreflecting in its placid surface the shadowy black buildings near it on\neither side. Rib\u00e2ta's house was too far distant to be seen; and the\ntenement of Ut rose tall and gaunt a long way to the south. Ten minutes\nlater the hurrying vehicles clattered into the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. They\ncontinued along the famous way for little more than a quarter of a mile,\nand then turned to the east again, till, at something near eleven\no'clock, they came to a halt beside a small, neglected building on the\nbank of the river Euphrates: mighty Euphrates whose Chaldaic waves were\nof tears to-night. Here, evidently, was their destination. Nabonidus,\naching in every joint, groaning wretchedly in his heart, was lifted\nagain in Daniel's arms. He had one glance at the river and the group of\nroyal buildings clustered thereon but a little distance away. For one\ninstant the three famous palaces and the mound of the hanging gardens\nmet his eyes. Then they were lost to him, for the world swam and grew\nblack, and he fainted.\n\nTwo minutes later, when he returned into a dim consciousness, he was in\na place that he soon came to recognize. It was the temporary abode of\nhis strange gods. The interior, lighted by two torches, that burned blue\nand ghostlike on the bare brick walls, was utterly forlorn. The walls,\nfloors, and ceiling were of crumbling gray brick, unrelieved by a single\ncolor or attempt at ornament; and the usually open door-way was now\nclosed by a black curtain. So much he saw in the first moment of\narrival. In the next he realized that the gag had been taken from his\nmouth and that his arms were being unbound. In the third the voice of\nAmraphel was heard, bidding him rise. Obediently he made the attempt,\ngot, with much effort, to his feet, reeled blindly, and was saved from\nfalling again by Daniel. Amraphel's lip curled. Nevertheless he helped\nthe old man to sit down with his back to the wall. Then, when Nabonidus\nhad blinked a little and grown steadier as to his head, the high-priest\nstood over him and spoke:\n\n\"Thou, O weak one, hast been king of the Great City. King of her shalt\nthou be nevermore. Here thou art, alone, unheard, unseen, in my power\nand the power of the captive Jew. Death hangs over thy head; yet by one\nmeans thou mayst save thyself. Wilt thou hear?\"\n\nNabonidus, looking at him steadily, nodded.\n\nAmraphel continued: \"No man, Nabonidus, either fears or loves thee. Thy\npower over the people of the Great City does not by one-twentieth equal\nmine. But at thy passing there are two--two whom I hate--and, I say it,\nfear--that will struggle for the crown thou hast borne. One of these\nthou hast seen to-night--the Ach\u00e6menian. The other is the child of thy\nflesh, not of thy spirit--Belshazzar the prince. Nabu-Nahid, if thou\nto-night wilt swear, on penalty of the curse of all the gods, to remove\nthy son and thy son's wives, and thyself and thy wives, and all thy\nhousehold, from the royal palace, and wilt swear that thou and he will\ngo forth in peace out of the Great City, to return no more to it\nforever, if thou wilt do this--\"\n\n\"Thou fool!\"\n\nAmraphel faced round. \"What sayest thou, Jew?\"\n\n\"Thou fool! Wilt thou put faith in the word of a man in the death fear?\nWilt thou play me false? There was to be no choice here to-night. Mine\neyes were to behold the blood of the enemy of my race. He shall find no\nmercy--or, if he finds it, then thou shalt not!\"\n\nAmraphel grew white with anger; but, before he spoke again, Nabonidus\nhad struggled to his feet and stood supporting himself against the wall,\ngazing with fiery eyes at his enemy.\n\n\"I also say it:--thou fool!\" he said. \"Think you, indeed, that because I\nam old and feeble, and in the power of traitors, I would sell the\nbirthright of my son? Thou fool!\"\n\nAt these words Daniel turned to the old man and looked thoughtfully at\nhim. But Amraphel, with a sneer, advanced a step or two, and said, in a\nsoft and menacing voice: \"The hour is come, Nabu-Nahid. Prepare\nthyself!\"\n\n\"O Bel! Receive my spirit into the silver sky!\"\n\nSlowly Daniel drew his knife, but Amraphel was before him. Nabonidus saw\nthe weapon of his enemy flash in the torch-light. The gleam of it passed\nover his deathly face. Just at the moment of the blow, a faint cry left\nhis lips. Then a long spurt of heart's blood shot from the body. There\nwas a sickening gasp--a fall--and the flesh only was there with the\nmurderers. Nabu-Nahid had gone. Belshazzar was king in Babylon.\n\nThe Jew had gone rather sick, and Amraphel himself was white to the\nlips. \"Let us go forth,\" he muttered, unsteadily.\n\n\"Fool!\" said Daniel, for the second time. \"Wilt thou leave here the body\nof the king, that all Babylon may look on it at dawn? Shall thy\ncharioteer and mine say who it was that brought Nabonidus here? Thou\nhast struck the blow. Hast thou lost strength to finish the work?\"\n\nAmraphel caught at his nerves and said: \"What is there to be done?\"\n\nDaniel's lip curled, but he did not reply in words. Passing into a far\ncorner of the temple, he took up two fallen bricks that lay there and\nbrought them over to the body. At the sight Amraphel came to his senses.\n\n\"I will make fast this one to his feet if thou takest the hands,\" he\nsaid, quietly.\n\nAccordingly Daniel drew from his girdle two more leathern thongs, and\nwith them the weights were bound upon the body. Then the two stood back\nand looked at their work. Amraphel was satisfied. Not so the Jew. One\nmore brick he fetched from the little heap in the corner and fastened it\non Nabonidus' neck, never noticing that in the operation he loosened and\ndislodged something that had been around the throat of the king. The\nlast task finished, he stood back once more, carefully examining the\nbloody corpse.\n\n\"Take out thy dagger,\" he said, finally, to his companion.\n\nAmraphel shrank back. \"I cannot!\" he whispered.\n\nBeltishazzar bent over and drew it from the wound. Blood followed it in\na thick stream. The Jew wiped the weapon off on the skirt of Nabonidus'\nrobe and silently handed it to his companion. \"Now--take thou the feet,\"\nhe commanded, himself lifting the shoulders of the light body.\n\nRevolting as it all was, Amraphel could not but obey the word of the\nJew. Together they bore the body out of the temple, into the still\nmoonlight, down to the edge of the quietly flowing river. For an instant\nthey held it over the brink. Then, at a whisper from the Jew, they let\ngo together. There was a splash, an eddy in the water, a little red\nstain on the clear stream, and then only a widening circle of ripples\nremained to mark the resting-place of Babylon's last king.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLate on the afternoon of the next day, Belitsum, the low-born second\nwife of Nabonidus, sat, as usual, in the court-yard of her part of the\nseraglio, in her usual canopied idleness. Morning prayers and exorcisms\nhad been said; the daily omens looked to; all the endless details of\nsuperstition finished; and now the queen of Babylon was free to dream\naway the rest of the day in comparative quiet. Beside her lay a piece of\nunfinished embroidery, badly done; for her plebeian fingers had never\ntaken kindly to this work of the gentle-born. Two eunuchs waved over her\nhuge feather fans, of which the extreme size denoted her rank. Beside\nher sat a pretty slave with a lute in her hand, though Belitsum was\npaying no attention to the sweet monotony of the tune she played. The\nqueen was lost in one of those vacant reveries in which long years of\nidleness and neglect had taught her to remain for hours.\n\nSuddenly there came an interruption upon this quiet scene. A eunuch of\nthe outer palace hurriedly entered the court, and, prostrating himself\nprofoundly before Belitsum, asked permission to speak.\n\nThe queen was a moment or two coming out of her dreams, but she\npresently recovered enough to find her curiosity, and to say with some\neagerness: \"Speak, slave! Deliver thy message. Is it from the king?\"\n\n\"May it be pleasing to the queen my lady! No word hath come from\nNabu-Nahid. It is a soothsayer that comes in royal state, beseeching the\nears of the queen to incline to him.\"\n\n\"A soothsayer?\" Belitsum relapsed into tranquillity. \"Let him be taken\ninto the shrine. But also cause him to know that for this day the gods\nhave been propitiated.\"\n\nAs the eunuch departed, Belitsum, who had long since lost claim to youth\nand the slenderness thereof, rose with an effort to her feet. \"Kud\u00fba,\"\nshe said to the slave, who had also scrambled up, \"wait thou my return.\nI am going to the shrine.\"\n\nKud\u00fba fell back willingly enough, while the queen, followed by her\nfan-bearers, waddled slowly across the court-yard towards the specially\nconsecrated room in which any member of the royal harem might hold\nconference with men of the outer world. In spite of her slow pace, the\nqueen reached the dimly lighted apartment in advance of the soothsayer;\nand she occupied her time till his arrival in offering up a quick prayer\nto Nindar, her especial deity. The Aman\u00fb had hardly been reached when\ntwo figures appeared in the door-way, one the attendant eunuch, the\nother a magnificently robed and coroneted man, in whom one accustomed to\nhis usual slovenly appearance would have had great difficulty in\nrecognizing Beltishazzar the Jew.\n\nBelitsum, entirely ignorant of his race and station, judging him only by\nhis dress and bearing, came forward with hasty respect, leaving her\nfan-bearers on either side of the small altar. At the same time Daniel,\naccustomed of old to the rigorous etiquette of the court, made a proper\nand graceful obeisance.\n\n\"Art thou indeed but a soothsayer?\" inquired Belitsum, admiringly.\n\n\"No soothsayer I, lady queen of Babylon, but a prophet and a dreamer of\ndreams. And it is by reason of a dream sent me by the Lord of my race\nthat I come to you, seeking audience. Open my lips, O queen, that I may\ntell this dream!\"\n\n\"Wilt thou have gold? Wilt thou have gems and silver? How shall I open\nthy lips?\"\n\n\"Bid me only to speak. Grant me the favor. Let me tell the dream, and\nrestrain thy tears till its truth be known.\"\n\nAt these last words Belitsum nervously clasped and unclasped her hands.\n\"Speak!\" she said, quickly. \"Tell thy dream! Speak!\"\n\n\"In the evening of yesterday I lay down and slept. And in my sleep the\nLord appeared to me in a vision, saying: 'Go thou down to the temple of\nstrange gods by the side of the river, and there shalt thou find him who\nwas king in Babylon.' And thereat, in my dream, I arose and went down\nthrough the city to the river-bank and the deserted temple thereon. And\nthere I beheld Nabu-Nahid, the king, in mortal combat with two men that\nsought to kill him. And in my sleep I was withheld from giving him aid.\nI saw him fall by the blow from a golden dagger, and when he was dead\nthe assassins, whose faces remained black to me, lifted him in their\narms and cast him into the river, and he sank from my sight. Then said\nthe Lord unto me again: 'Having beheld this thing, hasten to her who was\nthe wife of him that is dead and relate it to her.' And behold, when I\nawoke I obeyed the word of the Lord; and, obeying, I now go forth from\nthy presence.\" Whereupon Daniel, with a delightfully dramatic effect,\nturned short on his heel, leaving the shrine, and in three minutes was\noutside the palace gates.\n\nThrough his recital Belitsum and her eunuchs had remained open-mouthed,\nrooted where they stood. It was not till the Jew had actually\ndisappeared from her sight that the queen's amazement was overcome by\nher dismay, and, with a long-drawn, preliminary howl, she fell flat upon\nthe floor in an agony of despair. Nabonidus, her husband, was dead.\nNever for one instant did her devout soul doubt the word of the prophet.\nNabonidus was dead, and she was a widow. The shrine echoed to the sounds\nof shrieks, of groans, of wailing, finally of hysterical laughter. Now\nand then an attendant, drawn thither by the sounds of woe, appeared in\nthe door-way, looked at her, at the bewildered eunuchs behind her, and\nscurried away again in empty-headed wonder. Finally one, wiser than the\nrest, went to the room where Belshazzar sat in council, and informed him\nthat his step-mother was dying in the harem shrine. The prince was\nforced to believe the frightened and excited manner of the slave, and,\nhastily excusing himself to his lords, he strode through the palace to\nthe shrine. In the door-way he halted. Belitsum was kneeling on the\nfloor, beating her breast and wailing out prayers for the dead. She did\nnot even notice the appearance of the prince.\n\n\"Belitsum--lady--what is thy grief?\" he asked, gently.\n\nNo response. Ejaculations and redoubled wails.\n\nThen Belshazzar, perceiving that she was bordering on frenzy, went\nforward and took her by the shoulders. \"Art thou stricken with a\nsickness?\" he demanded, loudly.\n\n\"Thy father--Nabu-Nahid--the king!\" was all the answer he could get.\n\nBelshazzar grew a shade paler. \"My father!\" He looked about him, and\ncaught the eye of one of the eunuchs in the corner. This man he\naddressed. \"What is the cause of this weeping? Knowest thou wherefore\nshe cries?\"\n\nThe man nodded solemnly.\n\n\"Speak, then!\"\n\nForthwith the slave began an intelligent recital of the occurrences of\nthe last half-hour, including a repetition of the dream in Daniel's own\nwords. Belitsum quieted enough during this speech to listen again to the\ndream; but, after it was finished, the look on Belshazzar's face somehow\nwithheld her from recommencing her lamentations.\n\n\"Who was this man? Didst thou know him?\" demanded the prince of the\nslave.\n\n\"O prince, live forever! He was a strange prophet. Never before have\nmine eyes beheld him.\"\n\nBelshazzar bit his lip. His face was very grave. After a short pause he\ntook Belitsum by the arm and lifted her up. Then, turning again to the\neunuch, he said, quietly:\n\n\"Go thou and command my chariot to be brought, and let the driver be\nalone in it.\"\n\nThen, having almost tenderly returned Belitsum to the harem, and bidding\nher restrain her weeping till his return, Belshazzar went forth to\ndismiss his council for the morning, retaining Rib\u00e2ta alone out of all\nthe councillors. Fifteen minutes later he and Bit-Shumukin together\nmounted the chariot and set forth for the little temple of strange gods\non the bank of the Euphrates. During the drive Belshazzar related to\nRib\u00e2ta the substance of what he knew; and, like himself, Rib\u00e2ta's first\nquestion was as to the identity of the prophet.\n\n\"There is one whom it might be,\" suggested the nobleman, when Belshazzar\nhad confessed himself at fault. \"It may, perhaps, be Daniel the Jew.\"\n\n\"So at first I thought. Yet when has any man ever beheld Daniel in such\nraiment as this prophet wore? The Jew is poor.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta demurred a little, yet could not but admit that Belshazzar had\nall the evidence on his side. Then, as they neared the temple, silence\nfell between them.\n\nThe little building stood before them utterly deserted. Not a human\nbeing was in sight. It was a lonely spot--too far south of the bridge\nand too far north of the ferry to be frequented by any one. The prince\ndismounted from the chariot first, but in the curtained door-way of the\ntemple he paused.\n\n\"Rib\u00e2ta,\" said he, softly, \"I am afraid.\"\n\nBit-Shumukin's reply was to lay a brother's hand on his shoulder. Then\nBelshazzar lifted back the curtain and entered the room. There came a\ngreat cry from his lips, and the hideous sight was once more veiled in\ngloom.\n\n\"There is blood, Rib\u00e2ta! It is blood!\" whispered the prince, hoarsely.\n\n\"I saw it, Belshazzar. Yet it may be the blood of an animal, or of some\nother man. I cannot think that thy father was yester-night in Babylon.\nCome, let us look, my prince. Within we may find some trace--some\nevidence of what has happened.\"\n\nThe prince shrank. \"Wilt thou do it, Rib\u00e2ta?\" he asked.\n\nAccordingly, while Belshazzar held aside the curtain that some light\nmight enter by the door-way, Rib\u00e2ta, sick at heart, hunted over the\nblood-splashed floor for some clew to the identity of what it was that\nhad died here. Belshazzar presently turned his back and stood staring\ninto the street, refusing to look, yet listening with every sense for a\ndreaded exclamation from his friend. It came. As Bit-Shumukin bent over\nthe corner where Nabonidus had fallen, he found something that wrung\nfrom him a low cry.\n\nBelshazzar turned deathly white. \"What is it?\" he said, quietly.\n\nRib\u00e2ta came to him with something in his hand. It was a small, shining,\nblue stone, that showed itself in the sunshine to be an Egyptian-cut\nsapphire of great value, attached to a wire of twisted gold.\n\nBelshazzar took it dully from his hand. \"My father wore it always on his\nneck. Let us return to the palace,\" he said.\n\n\"But the body--it may surely be found!\"\n\n\"The river hath it. Let her keep her own.\"\n\nAnd so the two remounted the vehicle and started on their way back\nthrough the city of which Belshazzar was king.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nTHE WOMAN'S WOE\n\n\nOn that fateful morning Belshazzar was away from the palace less than\none hour; yet when he re-entered it he was aged ten years at heart, and\none, at least, in appearance. He neither saw nor heard any one as he\nhurried through the great court-yard to his own room, whither Rib\u00e2ta\naccompanied him and remained with him till late afternoon, while they\ntwo took council together. Belshazzar was unnaturally calm. Through all\ntheir talk neither he nor Rib\u00e2ta once hinted that either knew or cared\nto know the identity of the murderers. For, whatever they suspected,\nwhatever was all but a certainty, both of them were too painfully aware\nof Babylon's present situation not to know that any accusation they\nmight make of those whose power was now supreme, would do infinitely\nmore harm than good: would merely precipitate that frightful climax that\nboth of them dreaded and neither spoke of. Therefore, after a careful\ndebate, it was decided to keep the murder of Nabonidus a profound secret\nuntil such time as the disclosure might be safely made.\n\n\"I charge thee as my brother, Rib\u00e2ta,\" were Belshazzar's parting words\nto his friend that day, \"that thou let no man or woman, of whatever\nstation, know from thy lips who is king of Babylon. And save for Istar,\nwho is as myself, none shall know it from my lips. But also, as I live\nand reign, there shall come a day, not too distant, when justice shall\nbe done--when this foul crime shall be avenged, as never crime before,\non them that have accomplished it.\"\n\nRib\u00e2ta gave his promise in all devotion, and, embracing his king, bade\nhim farewell and set off to his own abode, his mind unstrung by the\nfearful discovery of the morning.\n\nLong hours before, Belshazzar had sent a message of reassurance to\nBelitsum; and now, with a weary sigh of relief, he turned his steps\ntowards the distant apartments of his wife and child. With Istar, as he\nknew, was peace and sympathy. Never yet had she failed to understand\nhim, and to offer him in his trials the comfort that he needed. His\nmind, like his heart, was absolutely hers. Arrived at the threshold of\nthe room where, at this hour, she was always to be found, he stopped,\nhis hand upon the curtain. Some one within had been singing. Now,\nnoiseless as was his approach, the voice was silent. The curtain was\npushed aside. Istar stood before him with a smile in her eyes.\n\n\"I felt thy presence, lord,\" she said, in such a tone that his face\nkindled with love-light. \"Thou--Belshazzar! Art thou ill?\"\n\n\"Yea, at heart,\" he answered. \"Not in body. Be not afraid. Let me come\nin to thee, that I may tell thee Babylon's new woe.\"\n\nIstar took him gently by the hand and led him into the apartment. Inside\nstood Baba, holding the baby to her breast. It was she whose voice\nBelshazzar had heard. Belshazzar greeted the little slave, and then\nIstar, knowing how he wished to be alone with her, whispered a word to\nBaba, who a moment later went quietly away.\n\nWhen they were alone Belshazzar sank back on the divan in the corner,\nand Istar, laying her baby upon the bed, seated herself at her lord's\nfeet, laid her hands in his, and anxiously scanned his care-worn face.\n\n\"Kurush hath stormed the walls, Belshazzar? The city is taken?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"Nay, my beloved. My father hath been murdered in the city--in the\ntemple of the strange gods, by the river-bank.\"\n\n\"Thy father!\" Istar gasped with horror. \"Thy father! Oh, my lord--my\nlord--save thyself! If they should do this with--\" Istar's head sank\nforward. She brought both Belshazzar's hands to her lips and held them\nthere in an agony of love and terror. So they remained for a long time,\nsorrowing together silently: Istar for her lord, Belshazzar for the\ncity. But Istar's presence brought comfort to the heart of the king, and\nher touch filled him with that high sense of protectiveness that\ngenerates the truest courage. In this woman life had given him enough.\nHe had neither desire nor need for further blessings. His father had not\nbeen to him all that a stronger man might have been. It was the horror\nof that father's lonely death that now so completely overwhelmed him.\nBut Istar, feminine, weak even, as she had come to be, brought him his\nfull meed of consolation. The two of them wore the night away in council\nfor Babylon; for Istar's fears for her king had now become abnormal.\nBelshazzar listened in surprise to her desperate prayers that he\nsurround himself with every protection, that he beware against venturing\nout at night, that he wear armor under his tunic, and that he carry\nweapons of defence always around with him.\n\n\"They that sought thy father's life seek also thine,\" she insisted, till\nin the end Belshazzar left her with the promise that he would care for\nhimself as he would have cared for her.\n\nIf this promise were not to the letter kept, it was hardly to be laid at\nBelshazzar's door as a fault. For at such a time as this, when the city\nwas in such peril, an example of cowardly fear from its ruler would have\nresulted badly. After the death of N\u00e2n\u00e2-Babil\u00fb at Sippar, and in the\nface of the continued absence of Nabonidus, Belshazzar had taken on\nhimself the duties of absolute monarch--lord of the people and general\nof the army. And certainly it never could be charged to him that he\nneglected these duties. Early and late, sometimes from dawn until dawn\nagain, he worked on those endless details of civil and military life\nthat he alone could attend to. The city was in a state of siege. All the\ngates in Nimitti-Bel were closed, and those in Imgur-Bel doubly guarded.\nAlso, in consideration of the fact that the food supplies coming from\nthe country were cut off, the great fields between the outer and inner\nwalls were under cultivation. A census was taken of every soul in the\ncity, and preparations made for the regular daily grain allotments to\ncome now from the granaries, and later from the new crops when they\nshould be ready for harvest. For, by careful management, no one in\nBabylon need ever suffer from hunger, no matter how long a siege should\nlast. This Cyrus had learned once before, six years ago; and the\nquestion now in the mind of every man was: Could he be made to cover it\nagain?\n\nCertainly the siege was conducted on an extraordinary plan. For ten days\nthe besieging army had lain in camp before the walls of the city, yet\nnot an arrow had as yet been shot on either side, not a javelin hurled\nnor a stone slung. The handful of soldiers inside the walls were hardly\nmore than enough to man the watch-towers and guard the gates; and they\nwere under orders from Belshazzar to await developments passively.\nMeantime they were kept in excellent form. Every day Belshazzar reviewed\nthem in the great field between the walls, and daily he examined a\ncertain number of men from his own regiment of Guti as to their\nintelligence and ability. Also, late in the afternoon, it had become his\ncustom to drive on top of Nimitti-Bel in his chariot, showing himself to\nthe enemy and to the city also. There was little danger in this drive,\nsince the range from Cyrus' camp was too long for any known weapon, and\nthe height of the wall was an excellent safeguard against shots from\nnearer at hand. At this time quite an extensive stable was maintained on\nthe giant wall. Chariots had been wheeled up the inclined plane that led\nto the top of it, and orders were carried from gate to gate on horseback\nalong the top. Belshazzar's wild drives on that dizzy height became one\nof the favorite sights of the citizens; and it grew to be the fashion\nfor numbers of people of all classes to drive out to Nimitti-Bel in the\nafternoon, to witness the spectacle of the storm-prince in his golden\nchariot lashing his four white horses madly along that smooth way, two\nhundred and fifty feet above the ground.\n\nOn the afternoon of the twelfth day of the siege, one of the last days\nin the month of Duzu, Charmides walked out beyond Imgur-Bel to see this\nmuch-talked-of sight. At this time the Greek presented rather a\ndifferent appearance from that of six months ago. His resignation from\nthe temple of Sin had proved disastrous; and there were now times when\nthe meanest of food was not to be found in the house of Beltani.\nCharmides had no work to do, would not beg, hated the thought of the\ntemple, grew gaunt and big-eyed, went unkempt as to dress, and mourned\nover Ram\u00fba, who in turn wept over him, both of them, and Beltani, too,\nconcealing their state from Baba with the utmost care. To-day, after a\ntroubled hour at home, where Ram\u00fba's efforts at cheerfulness were like\nblows to him, the Greek went out, in the face of a prostrating heat, to\nseek by rapid walking an escape from the thoughts that pursued him, and\nto evade the admission to himself of the inevitable end: that he must go\nback to the profession of lies and of deceit; of treachery, of crimes,\nof death. He made his way quickly across the city and out beyond the\nfirst wall to a spot where green, well-watered fields stretched before\nhis eyes, putting him suddenly back into his youth. He halted in his\nwalk at a distance of thirty yards from the great wall, just behind a\ngroup of people come evidently for the same purpose as his--that of\nwatching Belshazzar's drive. Rather absent-mindedly the Greek noticed\nthe man immediately in front of him, who had been in a measure connected\nwith his old life of the temple; and he watched the movements of that\nlean, ill-kempt figure with the same keen sub-consciousness that one\nsometimes exercises when the thoughts are very intent on something else.\nIt was in this way that he noted the sling in the right hand of the Jew.\n\nThere was not long to wait for the coming of Belshazzar. At a little\nmurmur from the men in front, Charmides turned his head and saw, far\ndown the wall, a black speck that gradually increased in size, and\nfinally resolved itself into four flying horses, harness and crests\nflashing in the light of approaching sunset, that raced neck and neck\nunder the long, black lash wielded by him who stood alone in the\nrattling vehicle--a figure the poise of which was beyond question royal.\nCharmides looked on it with undisguised admiration--the superb head with\nits golden coronet, the broad shoulders, to which was fastened a\nfluttering, crimson cloak, and the hands flashing with jewels the least\nof which would have kept the Greek's stricken household well fed for\nmonths.\n\nAbsorbed as were Charmides' eyes in the sight of the approaching figure,\nhe nevertheless felt his gaze suddenly withdrawn to the man in front of\nhim, who was now busily fumbling with the weapon in his right hand.\nSuddenly a stone had been fitted into the sling and aim taken, and at\nthe same time Charmides' slow thoughts resolved themselves. Leaning\nforward, he twitched the sleeve on the Jew's right arm at the moment in\nwhich the stone flew forth, wide of its mark, while the chariot passed\nsafely by. Beltishazzar, with a Hebrew exclamation, wheeled sharply\nabout. Charmides faced him in silence. A look only passed between them,\nbut it was enough. In that little time they knew each other. Charmides\nhad made an enemy, and the all-powerful Jew felt a twinge of fear.\n\nAn hour after this incident Charmides and the king met, face to face, in\nthe middle of the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb. Belshazzar was in his ordinary chariot,\nslowly returning from the walls. Charmides was on foot, going his weary\nway back to the tenement of Ut. It occurred to the Greek to speak to the\nlord of the city on the subject of his personal safety. He therefore\nstopped in the road, directly in front of the royal horses. With a sharp\nexclamation Belshazzar drew up his reins. Catching sight of the Greek's\nface, however, and recognizing it, he paused to listen when Charmides\nspoke.\n\n\"Lord prince of the Great City--live forever!\" he began, formally.\n\"There was to-day an attempt upon the most royal life of the prince my\nlord.\"\n\nBelshazzar stared a little. \"How, Greek?\"\n\n\"As the royal chariot drove along the top of Nimitti-Bel, a man, one of\nthe subjects of my lord, made endeavor to fell him by a shot from a\nsling. I, pulling his sleeve at the moment, caused the stone to fly wide\nof the mark. When next my lord drives it may be that I shall not be at\nhand.\"\n\nBelshazzar looked quizzically into the face of him who spoke these\nlaconic words. But he found no guile in the emaciated face. Instead,\nthere was something there that roused his interest. \"Mount beside me,\nGreek. I have not forgotten thee. Thou shalt return with me to the\npalace.\"\n\nCharmides refused. He had no desire for a cross-examination on the\nsubject that he had detailed as fully as he intended to the prince. All\nefforts on Belshazzar's part to induce him to come were in vain.\nTherefore, seeing that Charmides would have his way, Belshazzar did what\nhe could for the very apparent signs of pecuniary distress in the\nyouth's appearance. Detaching from his neck a golden chain wrought with\nwell-cut gems, he silently held it out to the Greek.\n\nCharmides was much displeased. It was the first time that he had ever\nneeded a gift, and therefore the thought of taking this one shamed him.\n\"My words, O prince, were not a suit for gifts.\"\n\n\"Thy wife,\" suggested Belshazzar, inconsequently.\n\nA flicker passed through the Greek's eyes, but he did not waver. \"My\nlord, I shall probably re-enter the priesthood.\"\n\n\"I think thee no such enemy to me. Come into my regiment of Gutium.\"\n\n\"Nay. I cannot fight. I will have no blood on my hands. I follow music\nalone; and music forbids murder.\"\n\nBelshazzar laughed slightly at the fellow's incomprehensible attitude.\n\"Go back, then, to temple service. I will trust thee there,\" he said,\ngood-naturedly. \"And now, the name of him that would have had my life?\"\n\nCharmides opened his lips to speak, and then closed them again. \"Ask me\nnot. Only beware and guard thyself.\"\n\nThe king bent his brows. \"Greek, hast thou lied to me?\"\n\n\"No, lord prince.\"\n\nBelshazzar shrugged. \"Out of my way, then!\" he cried. And Charmides\nstepped quickly out of the road while the king brought his whip over the\nhaunches of his steeds and started forward, tossing, as he went, the\nchain of gold at the feet of the Greek. Nor was he ungenerous enough to\ncast a single backward glance to see whether or no the hungry fellow\npicked it up.\n\nSo Belshazzar proceeded on his way back to the palace, musing rather on\nthe incident of his little talk with Charmides than upon its\nsubject--the attempt on his life. More than this one time, and in more\ndangerous ways than a sling-shot at a hundred yards, he had been\nthreatened with death. Those very drives round the walls carried with\nthem the possibility of a far more frightful end. But Belshazzar's was\nan adventurous nature. And danger was his life, a life that the city's\nstate of quiescence had once led him to seek by other than reputable\npaths.\n\nOn his arrival at the palace he went immediately to Istar's rooms,\ndetermined to tell her nothing of the event of the afternoon, for her\nfears for his personal safety would be thereby enormously increased. But\nwhen he came to her he found another subject ready to occupy all his\nthoughts. Istar was not watching for him at the door, as was her\ninvariable custom. Instead, he found her hanging over the bed on which\nher baby lay ill--so ill that Belshazzar, on first seeing it, turned\npale for Istar's sake. And the look that he found in her face, when,\nwith a glad cry that he had come, she turned it to him, sent a pang to\nhis heart.\n\nIstar's child, the fruit of her earth-love, had cost her her godhead,\nbut had returned her joy a thousandfold dearer than divinity had been.\nOnly now, as she stood bending over the helpless little form, racked as\nit was with mortal pain, did the greatest world-horror, the horror of\ndeath, first lay its hold upon her. The thought that this little being\nwhom she had brought into the world--whom, day and night since its\ncoming she had cherished with an all-powerful love and joy--_could_ die,\ncould cease to live for her forever, rushed over her as the waters close\nover the head of a drowning woman.\n\nUntil an hour before the coming of Belshazzar, Istar had been alone with\nthe child, believing it to be suffering from some infantine ailment. But\nfinally the little creature's fever was so manifestly high, and its\ndistress so great, that she had commanded the attendance of the new\nrab-mag, a man widely celebrated for the potency of his charms. He came\nat once, examined the baby from head to foot, and noted certain things\nthat caused him to turn to the mother with a look of deep anxiety.\n\n\"Great lady,\" he said to her, \"thou wilt do well to leave this child\nalone, though before dawn it die. I, Kidish-Nindar, say it. Accept my\nwords, and put the child from thee for the sake of the Great City over\nwhich thy husband rules!\"\n\nThen Istar, in fear and amazement--quickly and sharply dismissed the man\nfrom her presence and turned again to the infant, that lay now in a\nquiet stupor. It was so that Belshazzar found her, wetting the child's\nforehead with her tears, pouring forth mingled prayers and the\nincoherent, birdlike talk of a mother, while her own face took on the\ncolor of chalk, and her eyes were bright with a dread to which she would\nnot, even to herself, give form.\n\nThe king, for a moment, took her place over the infant, and stood\nregarding him while Istar told the story of the rab-mag's desertion.\nBelshazzar would have commanded his return had not the mother forbidden\nit. But when his displeasure had cooled a little, the king began to\nponder over the evident fear of Kidish-Nindar; and finally, bidding\nIstar remain where she was, he took the child in his arms, carried it\nacross the room, and seated himself with it upon his knees directly\nunder a light. His back was turned to the divan, and Istar did not see\nwhat he did. When he had finished his examination and carried the\nfaintly moaning child back to its place, he went over to her, and she\ncould not but start with dismay at the ghastly pallor that had come upon\nhim. Rising, she laid both hands upon his arm, looking silently,\nwistfully, into his sad eyes.\n\n\"My lord!\" she whispered, fear unlocking her lips.\n\nBelshazzar, knowing the ineffable tenderness of her motherhood, could\nnot tell her what he knew. He said only: \"Beloved, we will watch\ntogether through the night.\"\n\nBut before that watch began Belshazzar left Istar's rooms for the space\nof half an hour while he sought the apartment of Kidish-Nindar. The\nrab-mag was frantically purifying his body and repeating mingled prayers\nand exorcisms, in the hope of warding off that which he so unspeakably\ndreaded. The king, by means of threats and bribes adroitly alternated,\nextorted from the man an oath of silence, and then left him grovelling\non his knees before an image of Sin, while he, the king of Babylon,\nreturned to the vigil of his child.\n\nThrough the long night they sat together, man and wife, by the bedside\nof the child. Together they watched the progress of that terrible\ndisease of which Istar was so happily ignorant. Together they saw the\nflame of life struggle with the suffocating darkness in which it burned.\nAnd they saw the little light grow feebler, and the flame flutter in the\nwind that came across the dark valley of the beyond. Istar's brain\nreeled and her heart grew sick. Still, as she sat with her gaze fixed on\nthe drawn face of the child, unconscious that Belshazzar's eyes were\nalways upon her, she refused to believe what was too apparent.\n\nAnd there came a time in the early dawn when the mother could hold away\nno longer. Lifting the baby from its place, she clasped it close to her\nbreast, carried it across to the soft divan, and lay down with the\nlittle, fever-flushed body pressed warm over her heart. In this position\nher eyes, weary with the long vigil, closed; and while she slept the day\nbroke. Belshazzar remained close at her side to watch the end alone. He\ncould not have told what it was that caused him to lift up his hands\nthere in the faint light, groping for something to which to cling, for\nsome higher power that should ease the terrible aching of his heart.\nSuddenly the world had become a vast waste, and he was in it alone,\nhelpless and unutterably weary. And it was still without the hand of God\nto help him that he saw the end come--the death of Istar's happiness and\nof his own. It was while Istar still quietly slept that the white shadow\npassed into space. And the woman awoke to find Belshazzar's hand in\nhers, and the little body lying stiff and rigid across her bosom.\n\nWhen Istar realized what had happened she made no outcry. She sat\nclasping the lifeless form tighter to her own. Tearless, speechless,\nmotionless, she sat alone with that unbearable thing that mortals know\nas the death-sorrow. Pitilessly it ate its way into her vitals. She\nforgot everything that had been in her heart before. She was unconscious\nof any living presence. She was bereft--bereft--and of her offspring. It\nwas in her mind to curse the God that had conceived such suffering and\nput it upon man. And then there came a touch upon her arm that stilled\nall her rebellion. Belshazzar's tears fell hot upon her cheek. Without a\nword she lifted up to him the baby that was also his: and, when he took\nit in his arms, she crept again over to the pillows, and as she laid her\nface among them, the blessed tears came forth, and she could weep.\n\nHow long she lay there no one knew. Belshazzar had carried away the\nbody--the little body that had been hers; and when he returned to her he\nbrought a cup of wine. The child was gone. As he lifted her up in his\narms she asked a mute question with her eyes, and he answered her\nsoftly:\n\n\"The baby, most beloved, is gone. Our eyes may not again behold him.\nSome day--some day--\" he got no further. For an instant Istar had looked\nat him in a dull, meaningless sort of way. Then, no longer knowing what\nshe did, her nerves suddenly giving way, she threw herself upon him in\nblind anger, struggling like one gone mad, crying that he had stolen her\nchild from her, screaming till her voice was gone and her strength gave\nway, and she fell into his arms a helpless, lifeless form.\n\nLater in the day, when, with invincible patience and tenderness, he had\nsoothed her into quietude and had gone forth to his inevitable duties,\nBaba came--Baba, who, since her day in the house of \u00cagibi, had been\nIstar's constant companion.\n\nBaba had come to love Istar's child almost as Istar herself loved it.\nWhen, therefore, the little slave first came to the mother, she could\nspeak no words of comfort. Her tears flowed faster than Istar's own, and\nshe could only grieve beside the queen. Yet in some way this human woe\nbrought to Istar's lonely heart its first breath of comfort and of hope.\nIn the evening she began to speak to Baba of many half-forgotten\nthings--of her own mysterious birth, of her dim remembrances of a great\npreceding existence, of those beings that had sometimes come to her on\nearth from space. In the last few weeks Istar had become almost utterly\noblivious of her one-time divinity. Natural life and natural love had so\nblunted her former faculties of perception that the past remained only\nas a misty background to her life. Yet as her mind struggled to pierce\nthe mists that hid from her the glory of bygone days, a longing was born\nwithin her heart--a longing ill-defined, yet so strong that she made,\nperforce, painful efforts to formulate it.\n\n\"I have beheld the glory of the setting sun--the pale light of the newly\nrisen moon. The murmur of waters came to me as I slept. I beheld great\nlakes and white palaces, and high towers shining in the morning light.\nThe scent of the lotus filled the air, and the rustle of the wind was in\nthe palm-trees. Tell me, my Baba--tell me that for which I thirst! Tell\nme the great desire of my heart! Tell me, oh my Baba, where, in the same\nhour, have I known all these perfect things?\"\n\nBaba, gazing at her with the big, wondering eyes that had never in all\nher little life shone with the light of complete happiness, understood\nthe words of her golden lady. \"I will bring the great comfort to thee,\"\nshe said. \"Wait till I come again.\" And, rising, she left the palace.\n\nThrough two still hours Istar waited there with her heart-sorrow,\ntrusting in Baba to bring that for which she thirsted. And at last, when\nshe had grown weary with waiting, Baba came again, and with her some one\nelse--Charmides, with his burnished hair and his pale, gaunt face,\ncarrying his lyre in his hand. With a silent obeisance to Istar, he\nstood off at a little distance, and, opening his lips, began to sing.\n\nThen, indeed, came the glory of the setting sun, the pale light of the\nnewly risen moon, with the whisper of waters and the shining gold of\ngreat lakes. And around fair white towers and palaces hung the scent of\nlotus flowers, and the murmur of the evening wind was in the palm-trees.\nAll things far and beautiful came home in the same hour to Istar's\nsenses. And as he sang again, the tears of mingled joy and woe flowed\nfrom her eyes. Once more, and music, which is divine, opened divinity\nagain before her vision, and she rose up transfigured, crying:\n\n\"Allaraine! Allaraine! Mine eyes behold thee once again!\"\n\nThen the moment of fire faded, and she was alone with only Charmides and\nhis careworn, ethereal face, singing on in the fragrant accents of his\nSicilian land, till Istar's passion faded gently away, and she smiled a\nlittle, and her eyelids grew heavy with sleep. Presently her flower-like\nhead drooped forward. The frail, white hands fell from where they had\nbeen clasped upon her breast. Baba drew her down upon the divan, and\nwhen Charmides' voice died at length away, a great silence was in the\nroom. Baba and the Greek were alone together. Charmides stood\ntransfixed, his eyes fastened upon the sleeping figure of her whom he\nhad once worshipped. He was roused from the look by a touch on his hand.\nBaba was kneeling at his side, and her lips were pressed to the fingers\nthat had touched the magic lyre-strings, bringing peace to the soul of\nIstar of Babylon.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd thereafter ten days passed away, and it was the time of the great\nyearly feast of Tammuz, the beautiful god of spring.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE FEAST OF TAMMUZ\n\n\nThe midsummer month, Ab\u00fb, dedicated to the \"Queen of the Bow,\" was\nushered in with heat intense, suffocating, and unendurable. The second\nday of the month was the sixteenth of the siege--so-called. The camp of\nthe Elamite remained perfectly passive. No preparations for fighting had\nbeen made, neither battering-ram nor catapult constructed, not an arrow\nlet fly from the bow, not a pebble from the sling. The great body of\nstout warriors from the vigorous north remained in demoralizing\nidleness, broiling in their tents, sleeping by day, living and suffering\nat night, while the city they coveted lay quiet, half lifeless, on the\nplain before them.\n\nThe time had come for the great religious festival celebrated each year\nin the Babylonian temples by priest, king, and people, in honor of\nIstar's murdered spouse, Tammuz, the young god of spring, slain by the\nfierce bolts of high-riding Shamash. This feast was of three days'\nduration, and began at the hour of the first sacrifice on the morning of\nthe second of the month. It was the most important festival in the\ncalendar, and never yet in the history of the city had its celebration,\nfor any reason whatsoever, been neglected. And this year the royal\ndecree concerning it was issued as usual.\n\nIn the week that preceded the prospective holiday, however, the lord of\nBabylon was subject to some unaccountable forebodings with regard to\nthis feast. Outwardly, as any one could see, the city was quiet enough.\nInwardly it seethed. This, of course, Belshazzar knew. But of the extent\nor the trend of the plot, neither he nor any of his partisans was aware.\nHis ears could not hear what was talked of at noon in the houses of\nZicar\u00fb. His eyes could not see the well-hidden rooms in which priests\nand people met to talk over wrongs that the citizens had never thought\nof before, but which their indefatigable preceptors skilfully pointed\nout to them. Nor did Belshazzar much heed the harangues that daily\nfollowed morning sacrifice in every temple. He hardly noticed how\nimmense were the crowds in attendance at sacrifice now; and those of the\nlords and the soldiers that did notice, refused to think lucidly, but\nput it all down to anxiety over the siege and a wish to propitiate the\ngods. Still, blind, deaf, utterly insensible as were the king and all\nhis councillors to the only open evidences of treachery in the city,\nthere was no one of them that did not, however vaguely, feel treachery\nin the air, and dread accordingly.\n\nIn the days between the fall of Sippar and the feast, Nabonidus had not\nonce, so far as his son knew, been inquired for by man, woman, or priest\nin the Great City. If anything were said in the palace it was in\nwhispers too careful to reach the royal ears. Belitsum, still overcome\nby the prophet's dream, had gone into an uncertain retirement; but the\nremainder of the harem went thoughtlessly and light-heartedly about\ntheir occupations, adding to their usual aimless lives the pleasure of\npreparing for the great holiday, now so near at hand.\n\nThe demi-god Tammuz, beloved of the love-goddess (as Spring and Love\nhave been forever wedded in myth and song) had no proper place of\nworship in Babylon. His romantic death, however, was celebrated in every\ntemple of the city and the suburbs on the same days. From time\nimmemorial it had been the custom for the royal household--men, women,\nchildren, slaves, officers, and servants--to remove into the great hall\nof the temple of Bel-Marduk, where the high-priest was accustomed to\nofficiate.[12] Here for three days they remained, engaged in mingled\nprayer and revelry, the one forbidden refreshment being that only one\nwhich could betoken forgetfulness of the gods and the purposes of the\nfeast--sleep.\n\nIn consequence of this, for a week after the festival of the death of\nSpring, the Great City was wont to wear the aspect of a city of the\ndead; for every one in it moved out from the temple in which he had\ncelebrated the great event, straight to his bed, and there remained till\nhis vitality was restored to him.\n\nAccording to custom, then, on the night of the first of July Babylon was\nin a ferment of activity. Houses were preparing for temporary desertion,\nstripped of costly hangings and furniture, which were stowed where they\nmight be out of reach of sacrilegious marauders, while holiday garments\nand ornaments, the costliest that each household could afford, were\nmaking ready for wear on the morrow. In every garden garlands were\nwoven. In the temples, priests and eunuchs were at work setting up\ntables and divans, hanging flower-ropes and wreaths over the images of\nTammuz that were placed in each house of worship. All night chariots\nrattled through the streets, and men shouted to each other from house to\nhouse. Great droves of bullocks and goats, and immense numbers of fowls\nand doves, were conveyed to the temporary sheds erected on each\ntemple-platform, in anticipation of the needs of the sacrifices. To the\ncasual observer everything might have appeared exactly as usual. There\nwas none to know how many secret weapons were slipped into the broad\ngirdles of the citizens' holiday dresses. There was none to wonder why,\nat some time between midnight and dawn, a Zicar\u00ee, or some member of the\npriesthood, stopped at almost every house in the common quarters to\nwhisper certain final instructions in the ear of the householder. And\nfrom the great height of Nimitti-Bel, the members of the city guard\nfailed, in the darkness, to perceive that the black camp of the invader\nwas not at rest.\n\nThere were two men in Babylon aware of all these things, and these two\nsat together, like spiders in the great web of their spinning, watching\nthroughout that fervid night. They were in the house of the high-priest\nof Bel, on the east side of the \u00c2-Ibur-Sab\u00fb; and one of them was\nAmraphel, the master of the house, while the other was Beltishazzar the\nJew. They did not talk, for there was little to speak of. Their plan had\nbeen long in the making and was perfect at last. Every detail was at the\nfinger-tips of both of them. And it had been only a consciousness of the\ngigantic consequence of their plan, and the probable monstrous results\nof it, that made its originators instinctively draw together on the eve\nof its fulfilment. Neither of them was nervous in the presence of the\nother, for one of these men perfectly complemented his companion. The\ngreat intellect and the talent for broad strokes of policy that had made\nAmraphel's position what it was, was completed by the abnormal\ncharacteristics of craft and foresight possessed by the Jew. Amraphel's\ncourage was the outcome of his great pride. Daniel's bravery was that of\nthe enthusiast, the fanatic, the leader of men--tempered always with a\nspecies of cowardice, the cowardice that was to give Babylon over to\nother hands than his for government.\n\nThus here, in the silent interior of Amraphel's vast palace, sat the two\ntraitors, inwardly communing, outwardly silent, throughout the long\nnight of the first of July, while Babylon raged within, and Belshazzar\ndreamed feverishly in the house of his dead father.\n\nMorning--the morning of the second of Ab--dawned over the city. On the\nlips of every man was the name of Tammuz. In the heart of every man were\nthe mingled emotions of excitement, of dread, of vague desire. The\npalace of the king was, early in the day, the scene of confused\npreparation. Only one person in it experienced no sensation of\npleasurable excitement at the prospect of the coming feast; Istar, still\nmourning her unspeakable loss, had spent the night in accustomed grief,\nto which this time something was added--a vague sense of dread, of\nundefined foreboding. At early dawn, before the palace was awake,\nBelshazzar came in to her, and his eyes were dark with trouble. Istar\nlooked searchingly into his face before she spoke.\n\n\"What is the woe of my lord? Thou hast not slept, Belshazzar?\"\n\n\"Yea, beloved, I have slept--and dreamed: dreamed till my head is on\nfire. Let thy hands cool the burning of mine eyes. Let thy words still\nthe fears that are rising in my heart. Istar, I have spoken this night\nwith the spirit of my father, who bade me welcome--home.\"\n\nIstar gave a sharp cry, and the color fled from her face.\n\n\"It was a vision, a wandering dream; and yet it has brought foreboding\nin its train. Bring me comfort, Istar, my beloved.\"\n\n\"Comfort, lord of my heart! Comfort! Ah! I have none of it. Since my\nbaby is taken from me, my heart weeps. O Belshazzar, thou king, let us\nnot ask for comfort. Let us rather mingle our tears before the seat of\nGod; and from our grief shall spring the blessing of the divine comfort.\nMy heart weeps. Why, then, should my lips smile? Thou, dear lord,\nremainest to me. If thou wert gone I should not weep, for with thee my\nlife, too, would go. My lord--my lord--I love thee so!\"\n\nQuickly Belshazzar caught her in his arms, crushing her to him in an\nembrace wherein all their earthly and spiritual love mingled together in\none supreme moment of ecstasy. When his arms unclosed, both were faint.\nIstar lay back upon her couch, her eyes shut, her breath coming with\ndifficulty; while Belshazzar stood over her, looking down at her beauty\nwith a sudden feeling of sweet, ineffable peace.\n\nNow the day had fully broken, and the whole palace was alive. Belshazzar\ntook tender leave of his wife, for the two of them were to go different\nways to the temple: Istar in her litter with the members of the harem,\nBelshazzar in his golden chariot, by the side of the high-priest.\n\n\"My lord shall see me clothed all in black and silver; nor, through the\nthree days, will I uncover my face before the eyes of those assembled,\"\nwhispered Istar, as he knelt for the last instant beside her.\n\n\"On the evening of the third day, beloved, thou must unveil. Tammuz,\nlike our child, is dead; yet in their grief the women disclose their\nfeatures. So also shalt thou. Now, fare thee well--till once again we\nare alone together here.\"\n\nIstar started nervously, and then rose to her feet with a sudden\nimpulse. \"Belshazzar, wilt thou guard thyself in the temple? Wilt thou\nnot have thy men of Gutium at thy side?\"\n\n\"How had you known that, Istar? Such a thought never came to me before;\nyet now--this year--I have commanded that my whole regiment, with their\narms, be gathered together in the temple with my regular household. Why\nI have done this thing I myself know not. And yet--and yet--\"\n\nIstar put her arms about his neck. \"Let the great God be thanked!\" she\nwhispered, earnestly. \"And I also--I also will be with thee. If harm\ncomes, we shall be together to the end.\"\n\nFinally Belshazzar left her and went to his own rooms to see that all\npreparations for the great feast were made. Istar, in the mean time,\ncovered herself with the long, black, silver-shot veil that she had worn\nin the days of her loneliness; and, robed only in this and her white\ntunic, without jewel or ornament of any kind, she sat alone in her room\ntill it came to be the time of setting forth. A eunuch announced that\nher litter waited; and, attended by two slaves with fans, she walked out\nto the great court-yard of the palace.\n\nHere, indeed, was a scene of the liveliest confusion. Men, women,\nchildren, and eunuchs of every type, all in holiday dress, all noisily\ntalking and laughing, moved about among groups of chariots, litters,\nrichly caparisoned donkeys, and two or three camels; for, on the way to\nand from the feast, the meanest slave was never asked to walk. Istar was\nthe first of the royal party to appear in the court-yard, and her\nmourning costume created much comment of a disappointed character. Her\nveiled face and melancholy gait cast a shadow over the general merriment\nof the lower class, among whom, indeed, Istar was not popular. Her\nlitter, however, was quickly brought to her, and just as she lay down in\nit, happy to be out of sight, Belitsum, the dowager, appeared. Her mood\nwas quite different from that of her quasi daughter-in-law. She had cast\naside her widow's weeds, as was her privilege, for the three feast-days;\nand her stout person was gorgeously arrayed. A band of flashing jewels\nheld her head-cloth in place above her eyebrows, and she waddled along\nto a jingling accompaniment of bells that were fastened on her ankles\nand strings of dangling beads that hung from her waist. Her laughter\nsounded high and shrill as she tossed some light-hearted jest to the\nline of attendants that followed her; and the whole court-yard responded\nto her wit with mighty roars of laughter. Now, indeed, Belitsum was in\nher element. It took her full fifteen minutes to settle herself in her\nlitter, and she was only then finally fixed because the appearance of\nBelshazzar put an end to any further by-play for the benefit of the\non-lookers.\n\nBelshazzar hastily mounted his chariot, and, the signal for the start\nbeing immediately given, there was a mad scramble for vehicles, donkeys,\nand camels, and the royal procession passed through the gate of the\npalace.\n\nThe temple of Marduk, in which the king kept the feast of Tammuz, was\nthe largest temple in Babylon, and the only important one on the east\nbank of the Euphrates. At the other end of the great bridge, Amraphel,\nclad in the fullest insignia of his office, joined the king at the head\nof the line of the royal household. Their way led along the M\u00fbtaqut\u00fb,\nthe smaller of Nebuchadrezzar's two boulevards; and it was lined with\npeople that risked the possibility of being late at the opening\nsacrifice in their temples in order to see this imposing spectacle. For\nthe first time in a year Belshazzar was cheered along his way. And there\nwas something in the voices of the people that went home to the heart of\nthe uncrowned king; so that, for the first time in his life, his eyes\nwere wet with the tears of love that royalty should feel for its\nchildren.\n\nOne incident only disturbed the dignity of the march. Belitsum, the\nirrepressible, had barely managed to contain herself in solitude when\nthe curtain of her litter finally shut her away from the eyes of the\nadmiring throng. But now she was consoled by the fact that, though she\nwas herself unseen, she could comfortably watch the crowd that lined the\nstreets through which she passed. The procession was more than half-way\nto the temple when her sharp eyes suddenly caught sight of a man that\nstood watching the procession from the left side of the street. Meanly\ndressed and dull-eyed as he was, she nevertheless recognized in him her\nnew prophet, the man of dreams.\n\nQuickly thrusting her head from her slow-moving equipage, she cried to\none of her bearers, pointing at the same time to the object of her\ncuriosity:\n\n\"Shusu-Sin! Shusu-Sin! Who is that man there--he of the brown tunic and\nthe rose-topped cane? Speak!\"\n\nThe bearer glanced round in an embarrassed fashion as the crowd craned\nforward to look at the queen. He had no difficulty in recognizing the\nman she designated. Then, leaning backward, towards the waiting ear of\nthe dowager, he whispered, discreetly:\n\n\"He on whom the eyes of the queen have deigned to rest is Beltishazzar\nthe Jew, called of his people Daniel.\"\n\n\"A Jew!\" cried Belitsum, in amazement. Then, catching the innumerable\neyes fixed upon her in wonder or in amusement, she dove hastily back\ninto her litter, carrying with her the long-desired knowledge.\n\nMeantime, at the head of the procession drove Belshazzar and Amraphel,\nside by side, in their golden chariots. Beyond the requisite first\nsalutation, neither of them had spoken on the whole way, till, at a\nquarter of an hour before the time set for the first sacrifice, the\nroyal vehicles halted in the great square of Marduk. Here was something\nat sight of which Amraphel started anxiously. In that square, south of\nthe main entrance of the temple, drawn rank on rank in matchless array,\nspear, helmet, and sword flashing in the sun, was Belshazzar's guard,\nthe famous regiment of Gutium. They had been waiting here all the\nmorning, under command of their lieutenant, at the orders of their\ncommander. And now, as the king drew near, they made the royal salute,\nand quietly closed ranks in preparation for marching. Belshazzar, giving\nthem a long, sweeping salute, suddenly halted his chariot. The\nhigh-priest, in extreme anxiety, did the same. Then the king shouted\nthree orders, all of them barely comprehensible to a civilian. But\nAmraphel's ears were sharp; his wits sharper. At the last command his\nface grew crimson with anger.\n\n\"What means this?\" he asked, hoarsely, turning on the king. \"Think you\nthese dogs shall be admitted to the holy temple?\"\n\nBelshazzar barely turned his head towards the speaker. \"What sayest\nthou?\" he asked, coolly.\n\n\"It is against the laws of the gods that armed men should enter into\ntheir places of worship.\"\n\n\"I had not heard it,\" returned the king. \"And it is my will that this,\nmy regiment, follow me into the temple. How\"--suddenly he turned full on\nthe priest--\"how wilt thou gainsay me?\"\n\nAmraphel drew back into himself. What had Belshazzar heard? How much did\nhe know? Could he indeed, with this handful of soldiers, hold that\ntemple of Marduk against the army of Cyrus and the Babylonish mob? It\nwas a question that was not easy to answer. Do what he would, Amraphel\nwas for the moment sorely nonplussed. He could see nothing for it but to\nsubmit. It was thorough defeat; for, fifteen minutes later, fifty\nmembers of the priesthood, the whole of the royal household, and the\nregiment of Gutium, five hundred strong, had entered the temple of\nBel-Marduk.\n\nAlmost incredibly vast was the great hall of this, the greatest temple\nof the first of Babylon's twelve great gods. In it the seven hundred\npeople that entered found plenty of room--more than enough room to\nspread themselves about at will. The vast walls, which towered up to a\ntremendous height, were richly adorned in the lower half with\nbas-reliefs illustrating various religious myths: the council of the\ngods; Bel-Marduk's combat with Tiam\u00e2t the dragon; and Oannes the\nfish-god, giver of wisdom, expounding religion to the throngs of people\nthat came down to hear him on the shores of the gulf of the setting sun.\nAbove these sculptures ran bands of history, in the immaculate\ncuneiform, giving the story of Babylon from the time of her founding\ndown to to-day. Still over this, on the enamelled tiles that carried the\nwalls on up to the dim and shadowy roof, were the decorations for the\nfeast. Great cloths of silk and muslin, elaborately and beautifully\nembroidered, fell, softly luminous, in the glowing light. Ropes of\nflowers were everywhere festooned; and their fragrance alone would have\nrendered the air rich. Their breath, however, vied with streams of\nincense, with showered perfumes, with fragrance of the sweet myrrh and\nIndian spices that burned along the walls in braziers of beaten brass.\nFinally, the light from the scene itself furnished sweetness to the\nroom; for, from a thousand well-wrought hanging-lamps came flickering,\ngolden flames, fed with the rarest perfumed oil.\n\nThe preparations for the feast and for the innumerable sacrifices, with\nwhich the feasting was to be varied, had been carefully made. The back\nrooms of the temple had been converted indiscriminately into kitchens,\nlarders, and stables for the animals to be used for the sacrifice. Here\nan army of slaves was already at work, and there were half a hundred\ntemple eunuchs, clad in spotless white, with collars of gold and caps of\nTyrian purple, to minister to the wants of the feasters.\n\nThe great hall had been prepared with infinite care for the reception of\nthe worshippers. In the back of the room, facing the entrance, and\nraised ten feet above the floor, was the platform on which stood the\nshrine of Tammuz. On the broad space before the holy of holies, carpeted\nwith rugs, lighted by jewel-crusted lamps, were the divan and table of\nthe king, who was to keep this place during the three days of the feast.\nAt the foot of the steps leading up into this high place was the\nsacrificial altar, on which a fire was kept burning continuously; and to\nthe right and to the left of this stood other images of Tammuz. Here,\nfor six hours by day and six by night, was the place of the high-priest.\nDuring the rest of the time he lay above, on a couch beside that of the\nking, or, if he chose, moved from place to place at the long tables that\nlined the walls and filled the central spaces of the hall. At these\ntables rank was not observed, and the lord of the treasury and the\nmeanest slave of the harem might be found side by side. These matters,\nhowever, adjusted themselves. Men sat with their chosen friends, or\nmoved about from hour to hour as they wished, while the women generally\nremained in groups at the upper end of the hall.\n\nTo-day Rib\u00e2ta, in company with the lords of the palace, took his place\nimmediately below Belshazzar's platform, while his slaves were just\nbeyond them, to the right. The soldiers of Gutium were in a body at the\nend of the hall, lying awkwardly enough on their silken couches, and\ndreaming grimly of nights in the watch-towers on the walls when they\nfeasted according to their taste. On the right hand of the great hall,\nquite alone, at a solitary table under the figure of Bel on the wall,\nsat the one being to whom this festival was not a thing of joy. Istar,\nveiled from head to foot, uncrowned, unadorned, unattended, sat alone on\nher couch, gazing straight before her, wrapped in grief and foreboding,\nhearing nothing of what went on about her. Belshazzar from his place,\nand Baba from where she mingled with the slaves, watched her when they\ncould; and for many hours that day it seemed to them that she did not\nmove; and their bodies grew weary with the thought of how she stayed\nthere, rigid and untiring.\n\nAs soon as the great company was assembled and each had found a place,\nthe first sacrifice of the day was made. Two under-priests led in a\nsnow-white bullock with gilded horns, his body twined with lotus flowers\nand his feet bound with golden chains.\n\nThis animal was led once round the room, while every one rose,\nprostrated himself before it, and remained standing through the whole\nsacrificial ceremony. Amraphel performed the slaughter in the name of\nTammuz. Then a short incantation was made. The blood of the dead\ncreature was poured out upon the altar, and the carcass was then carried\naway to be flayed, dressed, and cooked. This ceremony formally opened\nthe festival, and it was followed by a loud chant led by the priests, in\nwhich the praises of Tammuz and Istar were set forth. In the midst of\nthis singing the first wine was brought. Flagon after flagon of the\npurple juice of Helbon, of Lebanon, of Izalla, of Tuhimme, of Zimini,\nand of Opis in Armenia was emptied down the eager throats of both men\nand women. Very shortly the scene took on a different aspect. Laughter\ncame freely. Voices rose clearer and higher, and snatches of song echoed\nunder the high roof. The music of the lutes and cymbals caused more than\none woman to rise and fall into that slow, sinuous, dreamy posturing,\ncalled, in the East, dancing. Many sacrifices followed. Goats and lambs\nwere slaughtered by tens and twenties. Doves, fastened neck to neck with\nfine, silver chains, were killed off by the hundreds: timid, fluttering\nthings, reared for this sacred end in the temple towers, but unable, in\ntheir folly, to realize the worthiness of their holy martyrdom. Amraphel\nand his under-priests admirably performed their tasks. Indeed, Amraphel\nseemed doubly impressive to-day. His men were exalted with their wine,\nand everything but the affairs of the hour had slipped from their\nthoughts.\n\nOnly Istar, of them all, looked on unmoved and sad. To-day she saw her\nlord as never before, crowning the feast in all the splendor of his\nroyalty. Never had the faultless beauty of his physique impressed her\nso. He stood at the top of the ten steps, directly in front of the\narched door-way of the shrine, three golden-robed slaves crouching on\neither side of him, lifting in his hands a yellow cup of wine that he\ndrank to the men of his guard, to the regiment of Guti. His purple\ncloak, wrought with long scrolls of burning gold, flowed back from his\nshoulders. His superb head, its black locks bound about with a twisted\nfillet in which flashed fifty purple amethysts, was held like that of a\nconqueror on the day of his greatest victory. Istar caught the flashing\nof the storm-eyes, saw the lips curve with his deep laughter, watched\nthe gleaming of the jewels on his breast, and then, as he raised the cup\nto his mouth, she sank back in her place, dizzy and sick at heart. He\nhad forgotten as she could not forget. He thought no more of the little\ncreature he had watched with her, that had lain in his arms so many\ntimes warm and breathing with life, and that had been so lately taken\nfrom him in death. And at that thought of death a terrible shudder\npassed over her, and she became still and cold, and intensely weary of\nthe scene of revelry. Slowly she sank back into a reclining position on\nher couch. She had refused every proffered dish of food, every kind of\nwine. Her eyelids closed and there came over her a kind of stupor, in\nwhich she lay for many hours. It was not sleep, for through it she could\nhear the sounds in the room, could distinguish Belshazzar's voice\nwhenever he spoke, and always answered the slaves that came reverently\nto waken her, telling them that she knew all that passed as well as they\nthemselves. And yet Istar was not actually in that room. Nay, she could\nfeel herself alone, at an infinite distance. When, after a long period\nshe opened her eyes again, she saw the scene more than ever full of\nlife. The lamps glowed brighter than before, but through the opening far\nin the roof no daylight came. The day was over. Night had come. Istar\nwas faint for food, yet she rebelled at the idea of the heavy,\nhalf-cooked flesh served in this room; and she thought that possibly, in\nthe rear of the temple, there might be some quiet place where she could\nbreak bread and taste of fruit and wine alone and undisturbed. With this\nthought she rose quietly and moved across to the foot of the shrine, on\nthe platform of which Amraphel and Belshazzar now sat side by side.\nHere, moved by an irresistible impulse, Istar of Babylon turned to look\nback on the scene she was leaving. But her eyes, first raised, did not\nreturn to the floor. Instead, she stood transfixed, the heart in her\nwildly throbbing, her head swimming with the overpowering wonder of the\nsight that met her eyes. Unconscious of what she did, her two hands drew\nthe enshrouding veil from her face, and then there rushed upon her\nvision such a sight as she had never thought to see again.\n\nIn the air, above the vast, closed doors, hung Allaraine, in a dazzling\ncloud of glory, his form all but indistinguishable in the palpitating\nrays of his aureole. He was without his lyre. In his right hand he held\na wand of molten gold, with which he wrote upon the broad space over the\ndoors. He, and that that he wrote, were clearly intelligible to Istar,\nwho gazed on him unnoticed in her place. For Allaraine had come for her,\nand for her alone was writing his message there upon the wall. This she\nknew from the first.\n\nBut how was it with those others that thronged the hall? Before their\nblinded spiritual eyes all that was distinguishable were three fingers\nof the archetype's hand, and the unreadable words of fire that he wrote.\nYet these were enough: infinitely more than enough. Amraphel and\nBelshazzar together, from the high place, first saw the miracle; and\nfrom the lips of the king broke forth a cry, a cry that stilled every\nvoice in the temple. All eyes were turned to the shrine, and beheld the\ndread staring of Amraphel, whose gaze was fixed in dumb terror on the\nopposite wall. With universal accord every glance followed his, and\nevery eye beheld the gradual fading of the hand and the blazing\nbrilliance of the writing that was left upon the wall. There was no cry\nfrom the assemblage. A silence, infinitely more impressive than any\nsound, fell upon them. For five long minutes none moved or spoke. Istar\nremained unperceived in her place. Trembling and dazed, her lips moved\nnoiselessly, repeating over and over the words that were written before\nher:\n\n\"Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silver sky waits for thy\nsoul.\"\n\nAgain and yet again she repeated those two phrases to herself, till, out\nof the depths of the long-past, their meaning came home to her. Then a\nfaint sigh broke from her lips, a sigh of ineffable weariness, of\nineffable relief. She replaced the veil over her face, and, gliding\nnoiselessly back to her couch, lay down upon it with her new knowledge,\ngiving little heed to all that followed.\n\nThe voice of Belshazzar broke the spell hanging over the room. His tones\nstartled the company like the clarion blast of a trumpet, as he cried:\n\"Alch\u00eea! Balat\u00fb! Ubar! Umar\u00eea! Ye prophets of the great gods, arise and\ncome before me!\"\n\nFrom out of the throng of feasters rose four white-robed men,\nbare-headed and bare-footed, prophets of Nabonidus' household.\nMechanically obeying the words of their lord, they came forth and stood\nin a row before the steps of the high place.\n\n\"Ye that are professed to know the wishes of the gods, interpret now to\nus that which is written upon the wall.\"\n\nOne by one the four men turned and scanned the wall with its flaming\ntext. And one by one each turned back to the king again, saying,\nhelplessly: \"O prince, live forever! I cannot read it!\"\n\nThen Belshazzar's pale face became tinged with red and his eyes blazed\nwith anger. \"Look ye again! I say that honor and riches and great power\nshall be his that interprets these words upon the wall. Look ye again!\"\n\nAnd again they looked. But had the reward for the reading been the\nkingdom of Babylonia, not one of the four possessed the wit or the\ncourage to interpret to the master that which was unreadable to mortal\neyes.\n\nWhen it was seen in the room how the prophets had failed in their task,\nthe murmurs of many tongues began to be heard against them. The whole\nthrong was tremulous with awe and with fear. Amraphel himself felt it.\nHe gazed helplessly at Belshazzar, never realizing this tremendous\nopportunity, never perceiving that no situation could possibly have been\nmore desirable than this. It was from a wholly unexpected source that\nhelp came to his cause. In the midst of the dread silence that had\ngradually overpowered the people, Belitsum sprang from her place, and,\nhurrying as well as she could to the foot of the steps leading up to the\nshrine, cried out to Belshazzar:\n\n\"O king, live forever! Let not thy thoughts trouble thee nor thy\ncountenance be changed. There is a man in thy kingdom in whom is the\nspirit of the great gods; in whom was found light and understanding and\nwisdom in the days of thy father's father. What hath he not shown thee\nand me in the miracle of his dream? Forasmuch as great knowledge and\nunderstanding, interpreting of dreams and showing of hard sentences and\ndissolving of doubts, were found in Daniel, called Beltishazzar, let\nthen that Daniel be called, and he will show the interpreting of the\nletters of the fiery hand.\"\n\nBelshazzar heard his step-mother with no little amazement, for he had\nhardly credited her with either sense or knowledge. But her words\nrecalled to him something that Nabonidus had once said to him regarding\nthis same man, and he made a sudden determination to try him with this\ndifficult feat.\n\n\"Ina-shu-sin!\" he shouted to the officer of his house that stood on\nguard at the door. \"Let the door of the temple be opened. Go thou forth\ninto the city and find him that is called Beltishazzar the Jew, bringing\nhim back to the temple. Haste thee!\"\n\nThe man had not time to acknowledge the command when Amraphel turned\nquickly to Belshazzar: \"Lord prince,\" said he, softly, \"the man Daniel\nbeing well known to the priesthood, send thou rather a temple steward to\nfind him. He will appear before thee very shortly.\"\n\nBelshazzar looked searchingly into the face of the high-priest, but he\nfailed to find there more than a warrantable anxiety. Therefore he\nreplied: \"As thou wilt, Amraphel. In\u00e2-shu-\u00cebni, let rather Baza of the\ntemple go to search for the prophet; and watch thou for them from the\ndoor, that Daniel, coming, may quickly enter.\"\n\nThe priest Baza, of the third house of Zicar\u00fb, put away the cups that he\nbore, and, catching Amraphel's sign, made his obeisance to the king and\nhurried from the temple. Just before his disappearance Istar, who had\nwatched the whole scene in silence, half rose from the couch to which\nshe had returned, as if she would have prevented the man's departure.\nFor a second she stood quite still in her upright position, glancing\nfrom the letters on the wall to Belshazzar's face. Then she sank back on\nher couch again without speaking; and as her head once more touched the\ncushions, Baza disappeared into the night, and In\u00e2-shu-\u00cebni shut, but\ndid not fasten after him, the great temple door.\n\nFifteen minutes passed, and still the dazed throng neither spoke nor\nmoved. They waited for him who could make plain to them the mystery or\nthe miracle that had come upon the feast. At the end of this time the\ntemple door once again softly opened, and a man, dark-robed,\nbare-footed, gaunt, and sharp-eyed, walked into the room, and straight\nto the foot of the steps of the shrine. Seeing Belshazzar and Amraphel\ntogether above him, he made obeisance to each, and Belshazzar, rising,\ncame to the top of the first step, asking:\n\n\"Art thou that Daniel which art of the captivity of Judah, whom the\ngreat king my father's father brought out of Jewry?\"\n\nDaniel bent his head.\n\n\"It is said of thee that the spirit of the gods, light, wisdom, and\nunderstanding, are to be found in thee. Look then, thou leader of Jews,\nat the wall yonder. Behold what is written on it in letters of fire. If\nthou canst interpret those strange words, honor and great riches shall\nbe to thee. Look thou, and read.\"\n\nObediently, while the gaze of every eye in the room of the feast was\nfixed upon him, Daniel turned and looked over the door, that had been\nleft ajar, and saw the signs that glowed more faintly now upon the\nbricks above. For many seconds he stood passive, his black brows knit\nunder the stress of thought. Amraphel grew cold with nervousness. His\nlips twitched to give the signal that should drown this incident in the\nflood of something infinitely greater; and he was on the very verge of\ncrying out when the prophet turned and faced the king, a fire of emotion\nburning in his eyes and in his cheeks. When he opened his lips the room\ngrew breathless, and Istar, shivering in irrepressible fear, hung upon\nhis words:\n\n\"O king, the most high God gave Nebuchadrezzar thy forefather a kingdom,\nand majesty and glory and honor. And for the majesty that he gave him\nall people, nations, languages, trembled and feared before him. Whom he\nwould he slew; and whom he would he kept alive; and whom he would he set\nup; and whom he would he put down. But when his mind was lift up and his\nheart was hardened in pride, he was deposed from his kingly throne and\nthey took his glory from him. And he was driven forth from the sons of\nmen. His heart was made like the beasts, and his dwelling was made with\nwild asses. They fed him with grass like oxen, and his body was wet with\nthe dew of heaven, till he knew that the most high God ruled in the\nkingdom of men, and that He appointeth over it whomsoever He will.\n\n\"And thou his descendant, O Belshazzar, hast not humbled thine heart,\nthough thou knewest all this. Thou hast lifted thyself up against the\nLord of heaven; and they have brought the vessels of His house before\nthee, thou and thy lords, thy wives and thy concubines, have drunk wine\nin them. Thou hast worshipped the gods of silver and of gold, and of\nbrass, iron, wood, and stone, which see not, nor hear nor know. And the\nGod in whose hands thy breath is, and whose are all thy ways, hast thou\nnot glorified. Then was the part of the hand sent from Him, and this\nwriting was given.\n\n\"This is the writing that was written: 'Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin.'\n\n\"This is the interpretation of the thing: Mene: God hath numbered thy\nkingdom and finished it. Tekel: thou art weighed in the balances and\nfound wanting. Peres: Thy kingdom is divided--_and given to the Medes\nand Persians_!\"\n\nThe last words were spoken not to Belshazzar nor to any one in the\ntemple. They rose to a shout that was heard outside the half-open temple\ndoor. In the moments that followed, Istar, her eyes blazing with wrath\nand scorn, sprang to her feet and came forth to confront the man of\nlies. But her lips never showed him false. Even as she lifted up her\nvoice there came from without the sound of a mighty roar of fury. The\ntwo doors of the temple were burst apart, and those within found\nthemselves face to face with the army of Cyrus and a vast Babylonish\nmob.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nTHE REGIMENT OF GUTI\n\n\nThe terrible spell of silence that had spread over the feasters at the\ntemple was broken by a woman's scream. That scream brought men and women\nalike back to life. With a loud shout Belshazzar the king leaped down\nthe steps of the shrine and ran forward, crying lustily to his guard to\nform into line. Old as he was, Amraphel, Cyrus' tool, was an instant\nbefore the king; and he, with Daniel the prophet close beside him, made\nhis way through the band of soldiers that had gathered near the door, to\nthe ranks of the enemy, in the vast throng of whom priest and Jew were\npresently lost to sight.\n\nMeantime Belshazzar hurriedly rallied his men around him, had them\nquickly in order, and lined them before the opening, from which by this\ntime doors and gates had been entirely torn away. The men of Guti were\narmored and armed. The scent of battle came to their nostrils. They were\nat home with it. Their blood tingled with joy, and Belshazzar saw how\nthey would fight for him, every man to the end.\n\nNow came the first sharp volley of arrows and sling-stones from the\nmultitude at the doors. Two or three of the guards fell. The ranks were\nquickly closed up and the volley answered. Then the range became too\nshort for bows. Men of Elam and Babylonish traitors were hand-to-hand\nwith the defenders of the temple. In the semi-darkness it was hard to\ndistinguish between friend and foe; and the struggle became as man to\nman. Shouts and cries ascended from the indivisible mass. In the midst\nof everything rose the trumpet tones of Belshazzar, crying encouragement\nto his men. But the rich and mellow voice of Cyrus was not to be heard\ngiving commands to the other side. Cyrus was not here to-night. Only the\nopen field and honorable combat were his. And he had left the dishonor\nof such a victory to Amraphel the high-priest, and Cambyses, his own\nson, who had asked for it.\n\nIn the temple, behind the ranks of the regiment of Guti, the royal\neunuchs, creatures of silent courage and loyalty, had gathered together\nall the women into one group, round which, for protection, they and the\nlords of the council were piling the temple furniture into a barricade.\nIstar alone was not here. Since the first battle-cry no one had seen\nher; and now, in the excitement of the moment, she, being unseen, was\nalso forgotten.\n\nBaba, in her silks and chains, was with the women of Rib\u00e2ta's household,\nall of whom their lord had placed carefully in one corner of the\nprotecting barricade, behind a pile of divans and stone tables laid\nbeside the sacrificial altar. In the rush of the moment Rib\u00e2ta had but a\nword with his favorite slave. For an instant, however, he bent over her,\nto see that she was well protected, and in that time he pressed his lips\nas a seal against her forehead, muttering hurriedly, at the same time:\n\"Courage, little one! Be not afraid. Our lives are in the hands of the\ngreat Bel. Pray to him, but do not weep.\"\n\nAnd Baba answered readily, without any sign of fear: \"My lord is my\nlord. I obey his word.\"\n\nThen, as he left her side, the young girl lay back on the floor close\nagainst a couch that had been tipped beside her, and stayed there,\nsilent and open-eyed, listening to the tumult of the battle round the\ndoor. The chorus of shouts and yells was deafening. Babylonish\nbattle-cries mingled with Median phrases of triumph. And closer at hand,\nall around her, in fact, the women of high station lay wailing out their\nfright. Rib\u00e2ta's two wives were near, crazed with terror for themselves,\nfor their lord, for Babylon, for the king. Now and then, high above the\ngeneral tumult, came the shrill, fierce voice of Belitsum, crying her\nanguish. Nabonidus was the name that continually left her lips, till\nBelshazzar himself, from the thickest of the fight, caught the\nsyllables, and fought the more fiercely for the memory of his father.\n\nWhile the men of Gutium held the door, there appeared to be nothing to\nfear for the women in the temple. Rib\u00e2ta, before joining in the\nconflict, passed among his friends of the council, bidding them hold\nback a little from the thick of the fight, that, should it prove\nnecessary, they might be unhurt to defend the women. The holders of the\ntemple were in bad enough straits, to be sure, yet there was no\nimmediate danger. Belshazzar's men, flanked by two bands of eunuchs and\nnoblemen, who fought with sacrificial knives and axes, were for the\nmoment holding all Babylon and the army of Cyrus at bay. Baba knew this,\nas she lay, quiet and silent, gazing up into the shadowy spaces of the\nroof. Presently, while all that terrible din sounded in her ears, with\nthat throng of writhing, struggling, bleeding men twenty yards away, a\nlittle smile stretched itself over her lips, and her eyes fell shut. She\nlay wrapped in a vision of her own: a vision of fair fields and broad,\nblue water, where, on the shore, stood a man; a man whose hair shone\nlike the sun, and who bore in his hands a five-stringed lyre. And\npresently, from out of the racket, she could hear the pure tones of\nCharmides' voice, singing, as he had always sung throughout his life,\nfor love.\n\nBaba was lying unconscious of her surroundings in this little ecstasy,\nwhen suddenly the low wailing of the women was heightened into loud\ncries of well-warranted horror. The little slave felt a new presence at\nhand. She lifted up her eyes, and saw something that caused her heart to\nrise into her throat. The barricade was breaking down before a band of\narmed temple-servants that were advancing to the murder of the women. A\ncold stream poured round Baba's heart, and for the first time to-night\nshe screamed aloud. Her cry was answered by Rib\u00e2ta, who was trying\ndesperately to gather the lords out of the conflict at the door. But the\nfight there was going badly. More than half the defenders of the temple\nhad fallen, and each of those that remained was pressed by half a dozen\nof the enemy. Many of the guards had been drawn out into the square and\nwere keeping up the battle there while they lived. But it seemed all at\nonce that the defence could not last many minutes more. Not a man could\ncome to the rescue of the women caught in so terrible a trap. And in the\nfaces of the inhuman creatures that threatened them, there was no hope\nfor their lives. The murderers were nearly all of them Zicar\u00fb from the\nthird college, which was Amraphel's own; and into their hearts hatred\nfor the upper classes had been instilled for years. Now, as they looked\nupon their helpless prey, all the animal savagery of their race rose up\nin them, and their eyes sparkled and their lips twitched in the lust for\nblood. The wife of Nab\u00fb-Mashetic-Urr\u00e2, one of the old councillors of\nNabonidus, received the first blow. The knife of a seer struck her to\nthe heart; and with that first gush of blood the general carnage began.\nDefenceless as they were, the women were roused to action. With their\nhands, their limbs, their teeth, the pins that fastened their hair, they\nfought uselessly for life. From the place where she lay half concealed,\nBaba watched the scenes of murder around her. The woman next her had\nbeen dodging the knife that continually pursued her, till, stabbed in a\ndozen places, hair and body dripping with her blood, she proffered her\nheart to the assassin, who mercifully plunged his dripping blade up to\nits hilt in her breast.\n\nBaba gave a hoarse shriek, threw up her hands, and fell, face down, upon\nthe floor. A second after a streak of fire ran deep into her right\nshoulder. Then, immediately, all the noise died away. The world reeled\nwith her and became black; and for her this scene of incredible\nbrutality was at an end.\n\nNot so Belshazzar's desperate task. At the moment when the Zicar\u00fb,\nappearing from the back rooms of the temple, had set about the slaughter\nof the women, the king, in the midst of a little band of five soldiers,\nhad pressed through the front ranks of the enemy, out into the temple\nsquare. This was packed with the city mob that had gathered from the\nfeast in the temples of Nebo, Nergal, Istar, and Sin, and come hither\nunder the leadership of their officiating priests. In the darkness it\nwas impossible to tell friend from foe. Belshazzar's self-constituted\nbody-guard fought madly to preserve his life; but, fifteen minutes after\nthey had passed the temple doors, the last of them, wounded in twenty\nplaces, had fallen at the feet of his king, and Belshazzar of Babylon\nwas alone with the darkness and with besetting death. Many set upon him\nwhere he stood on the eastern edge of the square; but perhaps none of\nhis assailants knew him. He was armed only with a short sword taken from\nthe hand of a dying Elamite; but with this weapon his execution was\nterrible. As man after man went down before his tigerish strength, the\nattention of many was drawn to him, and presently he found himself\nbacking down a narrow and crooked street running out of the square,\nengaged with three men, variously armed, that vainly strove to fell him.\nAn arrow stuck in the flesh of his right forearm, and there was a great\ngash upon one of his knees. He left behind him a trail of blood; but, in\nthe heat of contest, he felt not a twinge of pain. The noise of the\nbattle perceptibly diminished. He heard it vaguely, caring at this time\nvery little how the fight was going. His adversaries pressed him hard;\nyet he smiled, as continually he beat them back. The brute, the tiger in\nhim, was uppermost now. He had not a thought for anything but fighting.\nIn his slow and certain way he had retreated perhaps two hundred yards,\nand was approaching the house of one of the under-priests of Bel. From\nits open door-way a flood of light poured into the street, and as\nBelshazzar moved into the luminous spot a cry of recognition broke from\nthe lips of his oppressors. At the same moment a white-robed figure came\nquickly out of the house, and, unseen by him, moved behind Belshazzar.\nIn the moment that followed, a knife gleamed in the light behind the\nking. The blow fell. With a great cry Belshazzar reeled, sank to his\nknee, straightened up again with a superhuman effort, thrust weakly in\nthe direction of the men in front, and sank back on the ground with a\nfaint moan. At the same time his assassin, motioning the three soldiers\nto go back, stepped in front of his victim and bent over him.\n\n\"Amraphel!\" muttered the king.\n\n\"Ay, Amraphel, thou dog! Amraphel, thou tyrant of the city! Amraphel,\nthou last ruler of a hated line! Amraphel, that stands at last alone in\nthe land of his desire! Hear thou, then, the name of Amraphel. Know his\neverlasting hatred for thee and thine, and knowing--die!\" Then, with his\nsandalled foot, the old man spurned the face of him that was fallen,\nhoping to bring some craven word to the lips of the king.\n\nBut Belshazzar was himself in death as in life. Gazing steadily into the\nface of the high-priest, he permitted himself to smile--a slight,\nscornful smile, such as he had sometimes worn during the sacrifice.\nSeeing it, the high-priest was goaded into a hot fury. With what\nstrength he had he kicked the face of the dying man. Then, drawing his\nbloody skirts about him, he turned and passed once more into the house\nof the priest, out of Belshazzar's sight forever.\n\nSo at last the king lay alone, unmolested, with the night and with his\nthoughts. Babylon was fallen--was fallen the Great City, before the hand\nof no invader, but by treachery and stealth, by means of murder and of\noutrage. All this the king knew; yet no regret for the inevitable\ndisturbed these final moments. Rather he turned his mind to that that\nwas his alone, to that which constituted his true, his inner life, that\nmade his great happiness, that had redeemed him from all mental\npain--his supreme love for Istar the woman.\n\nIn that dim dream into which all surrounding things were fading, her\nname floated to his lips. Once, twice, thrice he repeated it to himself,\nlingeringly, adoringly, loving each syllable as he spoke it. He had no\nthought, no hope of seeing her again. She was somewhere, far away, in\nthe midst of those direful scenes beyond him. He commended her to his\ngods as best he could. Then he thought of himself as at her side, the\nmist of her hair hiding the world from his eyes, the perfume of her\nbreath causing his head to swim. He thought of her as she had been to\nhim in the last months. And then--suddenly--she was with him.\n\nOut of the gloom of the narrow street she came, searching after him,\ncalling his name. The veil had fallen back from her pallid face. Her\neyes were staring wide with fear and with the horror of blood. Her\nmovement was slow, indeterminate, vague. Not till after he had watched\nher for a full minute did she come upon his figure in its pools of\nblood. Then, with a faint, fluttering cry she ran to him, only\nhalf-believing her poor vision. Their meeting was ineffable. She lay\nupon his body, eye on eye, lip on lip to him, her cries stifled by his\ngasping breath, her wandering hands caressing his hair, his brow, his\nneck, his bloody vestment. Not knowing what she did, she pulled the\nbroken arrow from his arm, and then screamed to think of where it had\nbeen. Of the two, Belshazzar's state of mind was infinitely clearer,\ninfinitely stronger than hers. It was with a supreme effort that he took\nhis lips from hers that he might speak, might try to make her understand\nwhat this moment must be to them.\n\n\"Oh, thou art wounded, my king, my beloved! Look--here upon thee is\nblood--blood on the white of thy robe. Why art thou red?\" she repeated,\nonce and again, anxiously examining the wet, dark stains that flowed\never freshly from his body.\n\nBelshazzar saw that her brain was turned, and his anguish became\nterrible. Was she to bid him good-bye like this? Must he leave her\nforever with the infinite unsaid? How could he bring her mind back to\nhim, if but for one moment? He could not think. All that he could do was\nto say, thickly, with the blood in his mouth:\n\n\"Istar, beloved, I die! Dost thou hear?\"\n\n\"Yea, Belshazzar, and I also. Allaraine hath written it upon the wall.\nDidst thou not see? 'Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silver\nsky waits for thy soul.' I also die.\"\n\n\"Thou!\" he murmured, quickly. \"Art thou wounded, Istar?\" His feeble\nhands searched over her body, but felt no sign of blood. She had been\nuntouched by any weapon. And now his eyes grew dull with suffering, and\nhe said, faintly, and with reluctance: \"Fare thee far and well, my\nIstar--Istar of my city. I go.\"\n\n\"Belshazzar!\"\n\nWhat it had been, tone or word of his, that roused her at last, the\ndying man could not tell. But that name rang through the night in a\nscream of living agony. Now she knew what it meant--that her Babylon was\nfallen around her--that the world was empty--that the lord of her life\nwas passing--that henceforward her way lay through the valley of\nloneliness. What mattered now the writing on the wall, hopeless prophecy\nof her own death? Belshazzar was here, beneath her, dying; while\nshe--Istar--his wife--had received no wound.\n\nShe raised him in her arms and their eyes met for the last time. How\nmuch passed in the look cannot be told, for it was a final mingling of\nsouls. All their love, their infinite happiness, their sorrow, their\ntears unshed, the humanity of their two lives, was embodied in that\nlook. Grief of parting was not there, for the two were striving to make\nparting endurable, each to each, by the look. It was finished at last,\nwith Belshazzar's whispered words:\n\n\"In the silver sky, O my glorious one, I wait for thee!\"\n\n\"O my beloved, wait for me! Wait for me!\"\n\nThen the body dropped inert in her arms. Belshazzar was gone. Istar was\nleft alone in the world.\n\nHow long afterwards she rose from that place she did not know. Many\npeople--soldiers of the invading army and men of the mob, with\nblood-dripping swords--had passed her as she lay along the ground, face\ndown, beside the body. And none of these offered to molest her, for they\nthought that two dead lay there in the semi-darkness. The light in the\nhouse of the priest of Bel had gone out, and the shouts of conflict had\nlong since been hushed. Still, through all the city, there was the\nmurmur of uneasiness, of many men awake and stirring. The night was\nfilled with stars, and with that curious white glow that comes in\nmidsummer to the Orient. But it seemed strange that the skies did not\nturn from the hideous spectacle of Babylon that night.\n\nForth into the city, from the body that she loved, Istar went. Guided\nand protected by some divine spirit, she passed unhurt among groups of\nstrange, uncouth warriors that laughed and talked in an unknown tongue.\nShe crossed streets where dead lay piled together. For those that were\nloyal to the city had not been spared by the men of Amraphel. She passed\nhouses in which sat women wailing out their terror through the long\nhours before the dawn; and came finally to the open doors of a small\ntemple in which the feast of Tammuz had been celebrated through the day.\nBefore this Istar paused. Inside she could see the glowing of the\nsacrificial lights and the disorderly desertion of the room--the long,\nempty tables covered with half-filled cups and plates, and the altar\nwhence, from the smouldering fire, a thin stream of blue incense still\npoured upward. The woman's weary eyes saw these long, soft divans with a\nsense of desire and of relief. She entered the room and went quickly\ntowards the nearest resting-place. She was about to lay herself down.\nHer eyes were all but closed under their weight of weariness, when\nsuddenly, from the shadowy spaces beyond her, came a sound that caused\nher to start back from the couch, and hasten in nervous terror towards\nthe door. It had been only the bleating of a little group of hungry\nsheep in their pen near the temple kitchen; yet the unexpected noise had\nshattered Istar's nerves, and she fared forth again out of the holy\nhouse into the long, winding streets of the city.\n\nWhither she went, how far, with what purpose, no one knew, no one cared.\nShe saw the river winding its tranquil way between well-stoned banks,\nwith the shadows of vast buildings mirrored in its depths, while the\nglittering stars from their high dome shone like pale, white eyes in the\nglassy, lazily moving stream. Wandering Euphrates! Took it any heed of\nthe deeds of good or evil performed upon its banks? God had bequeathed\nto it eternal calm, had made the sight of it an eternal balm for weary\neyes. This night it brought peace on its waves and a promise of rest to\nthe soul of the woman. As she stood gazing down into its baffling green,\nthere came to her again the message from the kingdom, written in golden\nletters on the surface of the water. Again Istar read and again she\nwondered, yet in her soul understood the words:\n\n\"Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silver sky waits for thy\nsoul.\"\n\nIstar, in her great woe, stood looking upon the fiery words, that seemed\nto have burned themselves into her brain; and her whole heart rebelled\nagainst them. Those that she loved had been taken from her. With\nBelshazzar, the light of her life was extinguished. Man was bound to God\nonly by great suffering, by grief, by heart-sorrow! A sob came into her\nthroat, and there was anger in her mind as she would have turned away\nfrom the mystical words. But at that instant they flashed out into\ndarkness, and the gleam was gone. For a moment the night grew thickly\nblack, and Istar reeled where she stood. Afterwards she found herself\nwalking on the bank of the river, only a little distance west of the\nspot where the huge temple of Marduk reared its bulk into the air. It\nwas now in Istar's mind to go back to the place where Belshazzar's body\nlay, and to remain there at his side till dawn should banish the horrors\nof the night. But just as she would have left the river for the second\ntime, there came out upon the path that ran along its bank a group of\nwhite-robed men, whom Istar knew for priests, bearing with them a heavy\nburden covered over with a purple cloth. At sight of them Istar turned\nsuddenly dizzy and crouched on the bricks of the pavement.\n\nArrived at the edge of the river, the five priests of Amraphel's temple\nlaid their burden on the ground and removed the cloth that covered it.\nBelshazzar's body was exposed to view. Istar, with a little moan,\npressed both hands tightly across her breast. But neither sound nor\nmovement attracted any attention from the priests. These now indulged in\na short parley, that ended in their taking from the corpse the royal\nornaments that covered it and dividing them evenly among the five.\n\n\"Now, Bel-shar-utsur, tyrant of the city, go down by river to plead with\nthe Lady Mulge in Ninkigal for a drink from the spring of life; for thou\nshalt drink no more, in the Great City, of the wines of Helbon and\nIzalla!\"\n\nWith this only farewell, three of them lifted the body up, swung it\nthrice in the air by the feet and by the head, and at the third swing\nlet it fly out into the waters of the river that had so short a time\nbefore received the worn frame of the dead man's father.\n\nAs the body left their hands the priests were startled to hear a long,\nlow cry that came from a few yards to the right. Looking, they saw a\nwoman's figure run to the river-bank and peer into the waters below,\nwhere the body of the king, as on a funeral barge, went floating down\ntowards the city of the dead that lay south of Babylon.\n\nWithout any attempt at accosting her who mourned, the men of Amraphel\npresently turned away and began their return to the temple, carrying\nwith them the new wealth of jewels. Istar also rose, half consciously,\nand knowing neither any abiding-place where to lay her head, nor any one\nto seek who could give her help, she moved away aimlessly down the bank\nof the stream. A few yards to the south there was a great ferry station,\nwhere, by day, a dozen boats were wont to ply back and forth across the\nstream. By night only one barge went its way backward and forward; and\nas Istar came down to the little quay the broad scow was just ready to\nstart to the western shore with its load of men and soldiers. She ran\nquickly down the steps and on to this moving bridge. The west bank of\nthe river was home to her. She knew its streets and its people. There,\nto the north, was the palace of Belshazzar, and the temple in which she\nhad once dwelt. There, somewhere, she would find shelter.\n\nWhen the barge finally touched the landing at the western shore and\nIstar, last of any one, was about to leave it, she was stopped by one of\nthe ferrymen.\n\n\"Lady, it is two _se_ for the passage.\"\n\n\"Two _se_! Money? I have none,\" said Istar, slowly.\n\n\"Thou shalt not leave the barge till the price is paid,\" retorted the\nboatman, angrily.\n\nBut vaguely understanding what he meant, Istar pulled the veil from her\nface and fixed her great eyes upon him, the better to comprehend what it\nwas he told her. The man gave a great start, for in the semi-darkness\nher marvellous beauty shone like a star. Then the rough fellow bent his\nhead before her.\n\n\"It is the lady of Babylon! Great Istar, forgive our fault! Let it\nplease thee to leave the barge!\" he exclaimed, reverently.\n\nIstar did not pause to wonder that he knew her. She saw that her way was\nopen, and she went forth, up the steps, across the path at the top, and\ninto the lower city. Too weary, too stricken for either rest or sleep,\nshe felt her brain burn and her limbs grow cold as she walked. Now there\nwas a fire in her veins; now they grew chill as the snows of Elam. In\nthe pale gray of the dawn she trembled with sickness. The coming of day\nwas not beautiful to her eyes. In the first pink flush from the east she\nfound herself standing before a miserable hut on the border of a canal,\nand from the dark door-way came a voice crying in great fear:\n\n\"The plague! The plague! It is come upon us! Behold the gods visit their\nwrath upon men! Woe, woe to them that see light in Babylon to-day!\"\n\nIstar shuddered at the cry. From another place farther to the north the\nwords of horror and grief were repeated. The reign of death was thus\nproclaimed in the city. Now there was a great ringing in Istar's ears.\nLights shot up before her eyes. It seemed to her that over all the city,\nfrom the five millions of human tongues, rose that cry of woe: \"The\nplague! The plague!\"\n\nThe memory of her dead child was with her. A few more paces she\nstaggered through, half consciously. Then, of a sudden, some one\nappeared beside her--some one whom she knew and had forgotten. At sight\nof the well-known face the woman's brain gave way. With a long,\nheart-broken sob, she fell helpless, lifeless, into the reverent arms of\nCharmides, her bard.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nPESTILENCE\n\n\nIt was thus that, on the night of July 3d, in the year 538 B.C., Persian\nrule began in Babylon, and native rule in the Great City was ended\nforever.\n\nHistorically this was true. In actual fact, on the morning of July\n4th--ay, and for many weeks thereafter--no man knew the real ruler of\nthe city, and no man greatly cared to know him. Every soul within the\nwalls was occupied with a far more terrible and more engrossing matter,\nand officer and priest alike obeyed orders of Cyrus that passed through\nthe lips of Amraphel, without caring whence they were issued or why.\nCyrus the king, his sons, and the most of his army remained encamped\nwithout the walls. Gobryas had returned to the governorship of Sippar.\nAmraphel, unable to find any loop-hole for escape, remained shut up in\nhis palace, miserably afraid, not even venturing to sacrifice in the\ntemple for dread of the curse that hung over the city. Every place of\nworship, indeed, was deserted. In the middle of the temple of Bel-Marduk\nthe hideous pile of dead still lay behind their barricade, just as they\nhad fallen on the night of the massacre. Men not cowards at other times\nfled that building and the square and all the neighborhood, as a place\nof the damned. The air around was thick with the stench of death; and no\ncommand of Cyrus could force one of his men near enough to the spot to\nwall up the open space between the shattered doors.\n\nPlague reigned supreme in Babylon. The black death, that horror of\nhorrors that occasionally swept upon the great nations of the East, like\nthe scourge of God smiting every man in its path, leaving behind it a\nwake of dead, dying, and miserable bereft, had entered into the\nbeleaguered city. It was for this that Amraphel stopped ears and eyes\nand remained a prisoner behind the thick, white walls of his palace,\nwhere the chorus of woe could not penetrate to him. And day by day\nDaniel the Jew interpreted, to those that would hear, the meaning of\nthis further wrath of God against them that had so long allowed\nthemselves to be governed by such a one as Nabonidus, descendant of\nNebuchadrezzar. Indefatigably Daniel, plague-marked and immune long\nyears ago, preached the wrathful word of his death-bearing Lord; and\nsuch was his success among these pagans that it became a not uncommon\nthing to behold some woman, swollen and spotted, inexpressibly repulsive\nand pitiable to look at, with the final frenzy upon her, kneeling in\nstreet or hovel before the wooden image of a demon, and frantically\ncalling upon the god of the Jews to remove from her both the curse of\nlife and the after-terrors of hell, and to plunge her into the\nlonged-for peace of utter annihilation.\n\nBy the middle of the month bodies could not be buried, but lay piled in\nstreets and houses, till Babylon became the true city of Mulge, Queen of\nthe Dead. Those that knew, those that had gone through the visitation of\nthirty years before, felt their hearts fail them as they thought of what\nwas still to come. Many, indeed, tried to leave the city; but Cyrus'\nsoldiers patrolled every gate, and any having about them the mark of\ndeath were not allowed to pass.\n\nCharmides the Greek was not among those that attempted an escape. By\nevery tie that he held sacred he was bound to his adopted city, and it\nwas his one desire to do what little he might to help the sufferers of\nthe plague.\n\nAt dawn on the fourth of Ab, the morning after the fall of the city,\nRam\u00fba and Beltani sat together in their tenement, waiting, watching,\nmore than all wondering at the strange sounds that had come to them as\nfaint echoes of the great happenings of the night. Neither of them had\ngone to celebrate the feast in any temple. Plead or storm as Beltani\nwould, she found Charmides fixed in his wishes on this point, and in\ntears and bitterness of spirit she found it necessary to move forward\nfor an entire year all her dreams of three days of unlimited wine and\nmeat. The Greek, who had gone back to temple-service almost immediately\nafter his meeting with Belshazzar on the day of Daniel's attempted\nassassination of the king, knew enough of what was likely to happen in\nthe first night of the feast to forbid his family to participate in it.\nAnd while Beltani had raged, and even Ram\u00fba had shed a few submissive\ntears when Charmides departed for the temple of Sin, the two of them\nwatched quietly through the night and eagerly awaited the promised early\nreturn of the master of the household.\n\nVery early in the evening came vague mutterings of distant, gathering\nmobs. Much later were the still more indeterminate but more ominous\nsounds of battle, shouts and cries, with the underlying murmur grown\nmore fierce. Afterwards fell the great silence--a silence in which no\nman could sleep, something more terrible than sound, something that\nforeboded direful things--carnage, murder, merciless death. At this time\nthe name of Baba first passed the lips of the waiting women. Baba was in\nRib\u00e2ta's train at the temple of Bel-Marduk. Baba, a slave, stood no\nchance of salvation if any were to be lost. Had she lived or had she\ndied that night? Through the silence that lasted till dawn this unspoken\nquestion lay in the hearts of the watchers. And then, with the first\nstreaks of day, their thoughts were turned again by something else,\nanother cry more awful than any battle-shout, that rose like a mist from\nevery hovel in the tenement quarter.\n\n\"The plague--the plague! Woe unto us! It is the plague!\"\n\nIt was as if every soul in the city was become a leper, and each was\ncrying his disease. At the first sound of it Ram\u00fba's heart turned sick\nwithin her, and Beltani became as white as the dawn. For Beltani could\nremember the last plague in Babylon.\n\n\"Charmides! Why does he stay?\" whispered Ram\u00fba to her mother, over and\nover again; and it was the only word that passed between them till, with\nthe first beams of the sun, the Greek was seen coming into the square in\nfront of the tenement. At sight of him Ram\u00fba gave a little cry:\n\n\"He is not alone!\"\n\n\"It is not Baba,\" added Beltani, quickly.\n\nThen the two of them watched in silence while Charmides advanced with\nhis companion, a tall, slender woman covered with the silver-woven veil,\nwho faltered as she moved, till Charmides was nearly carrying her. At\nthe first glance Ram\u00fba perceived that the Greek was weary, so weary that\nevery step was an effort to him. Thus, when he finally reached the door\nof the dwelling, she ran quickly forward to give him aid.\n\n\"The night has been very long. Thou must rest,\" she whispered,\ndisregarding the stranger, who drooped as they halted at the door.\n\n\"Nay, Ram\u00fba. Nay. I am not weary,\" returned the Greek, monotonously.\n\"Behold, I bring home to you Istar, the great lady of Babylon. In this\nnight she, and all in the Great City, have terribly suffered. Babylon is\nfallen to Kurush the king, and Belshazzar, the mighty prince, and all\nthat were with him in the temple of Bel, are slain.\"\n\nIstar gave a quick, convulsive shudder, but Ram\u00fba hardly noticed her.\n\"Baba!\" she cried, in terror. \"Baba was in the temple of Bel!\"\n\nCharmides turned very white, and Istar suddenly threw back the veil from\nher face. \"And Baba--Baba, too!\" she said, mournfully, her voice ringing\nlike a knell.\n\nBut seeing the woman, Ram\u00fba and her mother forgot what they said. The\ntwo of them stood transfixed by her undreamed-of, supernatural beauty.\nHer pallor was something incredible, and the unearthly purity of it, the\nlight in the great eyes, the bluish shadows that lay on the skin, were\nenough for the moment to make one forget death itself. As she looked,\nBeltani perceived something that caused her to start. She took an\nimpulsive step forward, and then halted again as Istar's eyes came\nslowly to the level of hers.\n\n\"What seest thou?\" asked the woman.\n\nBeltani went forward again and laid a finger upon Istar's neck, and as\nshe draw it away Istar shuddered convulsively.\n\n\"What is it?\" demanded Charmides, in a thick voice.\n\n\"The plague.\"\n\nThere was a momentary silence as the four that stood there gave the\nwords time to penetrate. Then Istar, quivering again, started suddenly\ntowards the door. Charmides barred her way.\n\n\"Where goest thou?\" he asked, gently.\n\n\"Out! Out into the Great City! Let me go, Charmides! Let me go!\"\n\nWith what little strength she had Istar threw herself upon the Greek,\nthat he might give way and let her escape from his house. But Charmides\nwas firm, and his strength infinitely greater than hers. After a\nstruggle of a few seconds Istar gave way and would have fallen upon the\nfloor had not the young man caught her about the body, lifted her in his\narms, and carried her, lifeless and unresisting, into the little-used\ninner room where, at this moment, Bazuzu lay asleep. The black slave was\nquickly roused and Istar was placed upon a hurriedly arranged bed. Then\nCharmides returned again to his wife and sternly commanded her to retire\nto her room up-stairs, forbidding her to enter the lower rooms of their\ndwelling while Istar should be there. Both Bazuzu and Beltani had had\nthe plague, and were in no danger from it. But Charmides himself, like\nRam\u00fba, was relegated to the upper rooms and to the roof.\n\nThe moment that her body rested upon a bed, poor as it was, Istar fell\nasleep, and there, in the great weight of her sickness and her grief,\nlay for many hours insensible to all things. As the heat of the day came\non, and the atmosphere of the small and ill-ventilated room became more\nand more stifling, Bazuzu took his place at her side, and minute by\nminute, hour by hour, fanned to her lips what air there was, while his\nown face streamed with perspiration and his breath came in gasps. His\neyes, the eyes that had so tenderly watched the childlike slumbers of\nRam\u00fba and Baba, now looked upon her whose face had been the wonder of\nthe East, whom he himself once had seen clothed in blinding radiance,\nseated upon her golden car in a procession of the great gods and who now\nlay here, alone and friendless, shorn of her divinity, stricken with\ndisease, to die a pauper's death or to live on to a hideous old age.\n\nIstar suffered in her sleep. Whether it was the memory of the horror of\nthe past night or the pain of disease racking her body could not be\ntold. But Bazuzu heard her moans with heartfelt pity. Over and over\nagain she spoke two names, one of which the slave could scarcely\nunderstand, the other that of the dead prince of Babylon. They were the\nnames of her baby and of her husband, all that world of happiness that\nhad gone, and that was calling to her out of the shadowy past.\n\nLike every one in the clutch of the dread sickness, Istar thirsted\ncontinually, yet shrank, nauseated, at the mere sight of water or milk.\nContinually Beltani brought and held to her lips the refreshment that\nshe craved, as often to have it thrust away with a gesture of pitiable\nrepulsion. At length, seeing there was no other way, Bazuzu held the\nsick woman fast pinioned on the ground, while Beltani poured down her\nthroat a pint of freshly cooled water. Over the first swallow Istar's\nstruggles were convulsive, but after that she drank eagerly all that was\ngiven her, and when the last in the cup was gone she opened her burning\neyes in a mute appeal for more. This was refused, of necessity; but, in\npity for the heat of her fever and the closeness of the room, Beltani\nhad her carried out and laid down near the door-way of the living-room,\nwhere presently she sank into a sleep that changed gradually to a heavy\nstupor.\n\nNoon passed and left the city streets quivering with heat. From the\nburning desert in the west came a faint breath of wind, that twinkled\nblue and white in the air till the eyes were blinded and the brain\nreeled under its intensity. Charmides and Ram\u00fba were sitting together on\nthe gallery outside their room in an upper story of the tenement,\nlooking off to the shining strip of canal beyond which rose the patch of\nshrivelled green where, two months before, Rib\u00e2ta's garden had blossomed\nwith many a fragrant rose and fragile lily. Charmides was mentally\npreparing himself for another journey across the desolate city to the\ntemple of Bel, that vast tomb in which so many tangled bodies lay. He\nhad not yet voiced his intention to Ram\u00fba, though he knew that she would\nnot oppose it.\n\nSuddenly round the corner of the tenement, into the open square, came a\nstrange thing: a human being, crawling upon hands and knees along the\nbrick pavement, halting now and then in visible exhaustion, but\ndisplaying also a nervous eagerness in its movements; and all the way\nbehind it as it came was left a deep, red trail. A mere heap of bloody\nrags at first it seemed; but presently, as he watched, Charmides could\nsee a mop of long, black hair that fell to the ground upon one side.\n\n\"That is a woman, Ram\u00fba,\" he whispered.\n\nRam\u00fba, white to the lips, grasped his arm. \"Go! Go to her, Charmides!\"\nshe responded, a breathless fear coming on her.\n\n\"What is it, Ram\u00fba? What is thy thought?\" questioned the Greek.\n\n\"I do not know. Go thou, Charmides! Haste! Haste! She falls!\"\n\nThereupon Charmides went, slowly at first, still staring in a\nhalf-puzzled way at the little heap of bruised flesh that now lay inert\nupon the bricks below. Then his pace quickened, for he realized the\nwoman's need. Along the gallery and down the stairs he ran, and then, at\nbreakneck pace, crossed the space between the wounded creature and the\ndoor-way of the tenement. Ram\u00fba, straining her eyes after him, saw him\nbend over the fallen one, and then thought that a cry came from his\nlips.\n\nHardly a cry, more a groan of utter horror it was. Charmides' heart was\nin his throat. For a second the blue eyes closed to shut out the\npitiable sight, and then opened again upon Baba. It was Baba that lay\nthere before him: Baba who, mangled as she was, had, in the gray dawn,\ncrawled out from the bodies among which she lay in the temple, and since\nthen had come upon her hands and knees, inch by inch, foot by foot, all\nacross the Great City, to her old home, to him that stood over her now.\nShe had allowed herself the untold luxury of unconsciousness only when\nthe journey's end was reached, when at last she was at the door-way of\nthe place of her early poverty, her great happiness, her life-sorrow.\n\nCharmides knelt beside her, and, with a little quiver in which pity and\nfear for her were evenly mingled, lifted her in his arms. She stained\nhis tunic with blood; but presently he perceived that this blood was not\nall Baba's own. It was caked in clots upon her torn garments; it smeared\nher rich sandals; it matted her hair. Yet on her body there was, so far\nas he could yet determine, only one wound--a deep stab in the back of\nher left shoulder. From this the blood had almost ceased to flow, coming\nonly in a little trickle when she drew a longer breath than usual.\n\nCharmides bore the light form, face downward, towards the stairs of the\ntenement, thinking rapidly as he went. A horrible sight, truly, to lay\nbefore Ram\u00fba. Yet Ram\u00fba must see it. Carry her into those rooms where\nIstar lay in the delirium of the plague, he dared not. Nowhere\nelse--yes, there was one other place. There was the home of Baba's\nmaster. Should he take her there before Ram\u00fba guessed her identity?\nRib\u00e2ta's house would be open to her. And yet--and yet--it was here that\nBaba herself had chosen to come, as she might well believe, in death.\nThat mute appeal could not be withstood. Here, because she had asked it,\nshe must remain.\n\nStep by step up the stairs to the gallery he bore the pathetic burden.\nAt the top of the flight stood Ram\u00fba, face colorless, eyes wide with a\nfear that she would not admit to herself. Charmides, looking up, met the\nlook, answered it, and saw his wife's hands go up to her head.\n\n\"Charmides! It is not--\" she stopped.\n\n\"It is Baba, my beloved. Baba is alive. She has come home to us, Ram\u00fba,\nto be cared for. Be thou brave, then. Go down and bring water wherewith\nto wash her, and a clean tunic of thine own to put upon her; and then\ntogether we will bind her wound.\"\n\nA little while and the sunset came, and Babylon was aureoled again in\ncrimson. Not till then did Rib\u00e2ta's slave come back to consciousness in\nher sister's arms. The horror of the past night had stamped itself as\nindelibly upon her mind as on her body. Between fits of trembling she\npoured out to Ram\u00fba the story of the fight in the temple and the\nmassacre of the women. Charmides, standing outside the door on the\ngallery, listened to the tale as he looked off across the quiet city.\n\n\"And Istar, Istar, our divine lady, I did not behold at the side of\nBelitsum the queen, nor with the women of the royal house who lie\ntogether now in the centre of the dead. May the great gods grant that\nshe and her lord, Belshazzar, together escaped death and are\nfree--somewhere--in the city.\"\n\n\"Baba, the Lady Istar is here--below--sick of the plague; and our mother\nand Bazuzu are at her side.\"\n\n\"The Lady Istar! Here!\" Baba struggled to sit up, but Ram\u00fba kept her\nfirmly down while she told her the story of Istar's coming; how\nCharmides brought her to them crazed with her grief and with her long\nwandering.\n\nBaba listened closely, and at the end of the recital her tears flowed\nfast. \"Belshazzar, then, is dead!\" she whispered more than once. \"The\nmighty prince is dead, and Istar is alone--alone--even as I.\"\n\nBut now, while Ram\u00fba wiped her tears away, Charmides came in to them,\nsaying: \"Across the square from the canal come two men in the livery of\nthe house of Rib\u00e2ta. I go forth to meet them. If it is for thee they\ncome, Baba, what word shall I give to them?\"\n\nBaba gave a long sigh, and her eyes closed. \"I am here. Seeks my lord\nfor me? I am my lord's. I will return to him when I may.\"\n\nAnd with this reply Charmides went forth to meet the messengers.\n\nRib\u00e2ta's men halted at the foot of the steps, waiting his descent; and\nthe Greek found that he had guessed aright when he surmised the object\nof their coming. My Lord Rib\u00e2ta, terribly wounded, stricken with great\ngrief at the downfall of the city and the massacre of all his women, had\ndespatched messengers to the only place where news of his favorite slave\ncould be had, if mayhap she had by a miracle escaped the general\ncarnage. Charmides dutifully gave them Baba's message, saw their faces\nlight up with amazement and pleasure, and bade them, if they would carry\nBaba to their lord, go fetch the easiest of litters, that she might not\nsuffer more than necessary on the way.\n\nThis was done. In less than an hour two litters halted in front of the\ntenement of Ut, and in one of them was Rib\u00e2ta himself, his head, breast,\narms, and one limb wrapped in heavy bandages, so weak that his voice was\nbut a whisper, yet a whisper of joy that one little creature out of all\nthe multitude had escaped death in the temple. Baba was carried down to\nhim, and their meeting had in it much of pathos. Rib\u00e2ta's career was\nruined, his position gone, his lord dead, his house in disorder; yet one\nthing was left to him, and her, in great joy, he took to his heart.\nCharmides and Ram\u00fba, side by side, stood listening as Rib\u00e2ta whispered\nto his slave the two words that changed the lives of them all.\n\n\"Baba--my wife,\" said he. And then presently, together, they were\ncarried away into the evening.\n\nWhile Charmides and Ram\u00fba went back to their room to talk over the great\nthing that had come to Baba, Beltani, below, was preparing for the\ndoleful night. She had kindled a little fire, cooked food for herself\nand Bazuzu, and was now on her knees offering up incantations to Namtar,\nthe demon of the plague. Bazuzu, from his place beside Istar, joined at\nintervals in the prayers, which the sick woman, now in the violent\ndelirium of fever, broke in upon continually with appeals for help and\nwails of grief over Belshazzar, who never left her thoughts.\n\nIn many a house and hovel in the Great City a similar scene was enacted\nto-night. Yet there could not be one more deplorable than this. She who\nraved upon the bed of straw in the heart of the most poverty-stricken\nquarter of Babylon--from what things was she descended? One by one she\nhad lost everything that had made her life wonderful. Now the last, that\nattribute that she had left uncounted because it seemed to her\nindestructible, was going from her. In the next five days of this\nhorrible sickness her beauty fled away, and she was left a thing\ndreadful for mankind to look upon.\n\nBy the second day of her attack, the mental disturbance had increased\ntill the intervals of her sanity entirely disappeared. On the morning of\nthe third day began those violent constrictions of the heart that caused\nunspeakable agony and brought her to the brink of the black abyss. By\nthis time, also, the enlargement of glands, or buboes, the dominating\nsymptom of the plague, had become frightful to see. Her eyes were\nsuffused with a thick, white matter. Upon her body came forth great\ncarbuncles. On the fourth day dark spots, patches like black bruises,\nand long, livid stripes, appeared upon her fair skin. The fever, now at\nits height, burned itself out in a day, and Istar fell into a cold and\nquiet stupor, the first stage of death. Her lips were black. Her eyes\nhad closed. Her body had become something from which Beltani shrank at\nsight, and old Bazuzu touched only because of his great pity for the\nwoman. Also at this time Istar's veil of hair, which had been wont to\nconceal her under its silken meshes, fell out in great masses and was\nburned by Beltani as a sacrifice before the demon of the plague.\n\nBeltani's prayers to Namtar, however, had lost their sincerity, for the\nold woman could not in her heart wish Istar to live in her terrible\ndisfigurement. Istar herself did not yet know what she had become. But\nunless, as seemed most probable, she died, there must soon come a time\nwhen she would discover, when she would see people shrink away from\ncontact with her, yet turn to stare after in that fascination that a\ndreadful sight draws forth. Out of pure reverence for what Istar had\nbeen, Beltani attended her faithfully. Every herb and medicine and charm\nwithin her means and known to her she used to mitigate the sores, and to\nmake the after-scars less terrible. Yet she, and Bazuzu also, felt that\ndeath were now the greatest boon for the woman.\n\nDeath did not come. In spite of her stupor and her low temperature, the\nfatal eighth day passed, and on the morning of the ninth Istar lived and\nwas better. She regained a dim consciousness, and the strength to ask\nfor food, which was given her in minute quantities, as also milk and\nwine. For forty-eight hours she hovered on the brink of reawakening; and\nthen, finally, she found herself.\n\nOn the morning of the fifteenth of the month Istar opened her eyes in\nthe early dawn. She was alone. On the other side of the room, upon her\npallet, Beltani lay in a heavy sleep. Bazuzu was outside in the square.\nIstar moved her hand and sighed. She felt life coursing through her\nveins, and remembered the past week with only a vague, nightmarish sense\nof oppression. The air of the morning, hot as it was, had in it the\ngathered sweetness of the long, starry hours. She breathed it with joy;\nand for a moment forgot the sorrow that must be hers perpetually.\nPresently, with an old and habitual gesture, she lifted her hand to her\nhead to push away her hair. And her hand touched the head. There was no\nhair upon it. Rather, two or three thin strands hung about her ears.\nOtherwise she was bald.\n\nThe heart of Istar gave a peculiar throb. She held up both hands before\nher eyes; and, as she saw them, she herself shrank. The hands, those\nfragile hands, the fair, white wrists, the arms, were spotted and\nstreaked and swollen and hideously scabbed. She touched her cheek and\nfound raw flesh upon it. She tore the covering from her neck. It was the\nsame. Everywhere--everywhere, from head to foot, over her whole\nbody--she was accursed. It was the plague--the plague! Istar tottered to\nher feet and uplifted her eyes. Poor, weak eyes! Yea, she was all but\nblind. With one low, wailing cry the afflicted one let herself slowly\ndown, till she lay prone upon the kindly floor that did not hesitate to\nreceive her. And there, through time and the day-dawn, she wept out the\nburden of her soul. But of the future and its inevitable suffering she\ncould not think. As yet the way was too dark, too incomprehensible to\nher.\n\nThere upon the floor, motionless, Bazuzu found her two hours later. For\nlong minutes he stood over her, helpless, pitying, knowing that there\nwas no comfort to bring. But his heart was full as he felt the abandon\nof her attitude. Presently, kneeling at her side, he laid a horny hand\ngently upon one of her shoulders. And from his fingers a message of mute\nsympathy went forth to her. When she could bear that he should look upon\nher she lifted her head and opened her half-closed eyes to him. Then she\nspake, quietly, but with authority:\n\n\"Let my veil be brought, that I may put it upon me.\"\n\nFrom the corner where it had lain, carefully folded by Beltani, Bazuzu\nbrought it to her--the soft, black, silver-shot covering of her\nhappiness. In silence he watched the woman put it on, wrapping it about\nher so that her head, her face, her arms, her form, were completely\nshrouded. Then, from behind the veil, she spoke:\n\n\"Let no man evermore seek to behold me in my disfigurement. Behold, no\nlonger am I Istar, but a wanderer over the face of the earth. I go forth\nfrom this house of friendliness. The voice of the great God bids me\nfollow out my life in desert places, in the lands of my enemies.\"\n\nBazuzu, from her words still believing her more than mortal, bent his\nhead in silent acceptance of her desires. She took two or three quiet\nsteps to the door, and then, when he had thought her gone, turned again,\nand softly said:\n\n\"Thou, Bazuzu, and thy mistress, and the young Greek whose house this\nis, take what thanks I have to give thee, and the blessing of All-Father\nfor thy mercy to me, an outcast. Gold have I none, nor riches of any\nsort in payment for your labor. But from my heart I bless thee for thy\ncompassion.\"\n\nThen, like a shadow, she glided out at the door, across the deserted\nsquare, down to the canal of the New Year, and along its bank, out into\nthe city. Through the long morning she moved through the streets,\naccosting no one, stared at by the multitude, but unaddressed. Her\nmiserable body burned and ached. The sun poured down its blue-hot rays\nupon her head. Muffled as she was in the veil, she was like to suffocate\nfor air to breathe, yet she would not expose herself to the gaze of\nhuman beings. It was noon when she entered the square of the great gods\nand passed the door of the temple of Nergal, looking with weary eyes\ninto its vast and cool interior. At some distance within was a group of\npriests, Sang\u00fb, En\u00fb, and Bar\u00fb, men of importance in their several\nstations. These the plague-stricken eyes of the woman failed in the dim\nlight to see. But she was startled suddenly by the appearance in the\ndoor-way of one of them, who, catching a sight of her, had run quickly\nforward, and now stood eagerly staring at her form. She did not draw\nback from the look, and presently the priest spoke:\n\n\"Thou that standest shadow-like before me--art thou she whom they called\nIstar of Babylon?\"\n\n\"I was Istar of Babylon,\" came the gentle voice.\n\n\"_Was!_ Comest thou from Ninkigal?\" The priest started back from her,\nturning a little pale.\n\n\"Nay. Still I live; yet now am nameless.\"\n\n\"Thou hast dwelt as a goddess in the temple of Istar? Thou hast lived in\nthe palace of the king as the wife of Belshazzar?\"\n\nIstar bent her head.\n\n\"Enter, then, into the temple, that I may speak with the others here\nbefore you.\" He motioned her to pass into the building, and, obediently,\nIstar entered it. She stood at a little distance, while he that had\naccosted her returned to the group of his companions and spoke with\nthem. In a few moments they summoned Istar to their midst. She came\nquite close, and they eyed her in silence for a little while. Then one\nsaid:\n\n\"Ay. It is Istar of Babylon. I saw her thus from afar on the night of\nthe feast of Tammuz.\"\n\n\"She is well found. Istar, for eight days hast thou been sought\nthroughout the Great City. Kurush, the conqueror, demands thy presence\nbefore him. He has heard of thee and thy beauty, and the strange things\nthou art said to know; and he would have beheld thee on the day after\nthe taking of the city. But we have searched for thee in vain. Where\nhast thou hidden?\"\n\n\"I fulfilled my days. I will go now, if he wills, before the great\nconqueror. Haste were best, for the time to the end is not now long.\"\n\nThe priests looked at each other uncertainly. Her words had in them a\nring of prophecy. They consulted for a little among themselves, till\nIstar herself made all things easy for them:\n\n\"Let a swift runner be sent to the camp of Cyrus, and let the great king\nbe told that, one hour after the departure of the messenger, I come to\nhim. In that hour I will rest here in the temple, for I am weak in body.\nThen ye may lead me out by the gate of Bel to the camp of the conqueror,\nand there shall ye leave me. From that camp let no man follow me forth.\nNow have I spoken.\"\n\nAnd the priests heard the words of Istar and found them to be good; and\nthat which she had commanded was done.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nKURUSH THE KING\n\n\nThe camp of the invading army lay spread over the sun-burned plain like\na camp of the dead. There was hardly a sign of life round any of the\nmany-colored tents. The very horses and pack-mules, tethered in a herd\nin the midst of the desert of dry grass, lay for the most part panting\nwith heat, pining, no doubt, for the distant, breezy hills of fair Iran\nand the snowy highlands of Media, where they had been born and bred.\nThose of the soldiers not quartered inside the city lay under the shadow\nof their tents, hardly caring to exert themselves to speak, sleeping if\nthey could, drinking as much as was to be had if they could not. Almost\nthe only person abroad in the noontide was the commander himself, who,\nwith one companion, was going through the camp, making one of his\nimpromptu examinations of his men and their armament. Hardened as he was\nby years of campaigning in strange countries, Cyrus to-day found Babylon\nas unbearable as any one. His body was damp with sweat, and his\nbreathing, as he walked, was audible. The blue quiver of heat that came\nfrom the great desert near by made his eyes bloodshot, and caused him to\nsee with no little difficulty. Still, remonstrate as he would, the\nwhite-robed man that walked with him succeeded only in making Cyrus more\nthorough and more lingering at his task.\n\nThe commander's two sons, however, had not the energy of their father.\nThey lay on divans in the royal tent, Bardiya, the younger and more\nfavored of the two, strumming idly on a musical instrument; Cambyses,\ncontent to be still, drinking bowl after bowl of a concoction supplied\nby a slave, pausing occasionally in the bibulous process to curse at the\nflies and winged insects that swarmed about him. Presently, looking over\nat his brother, who for the moment had ceased to play, he asked,\ncivilly:\n\n\"In thy pilgrimage of yesterday, Bardiya, didst discover any cool spot\nin the city yonder?\"\n\nBardiya drew himself together with a little gesture of disgust, and his\nbrother's features broadened with a grin. \"Babylon is city of filth, of\ndisease, of death. Thousands within it die of the plague. Those that\nsicken and those that are dead lie alike in the open streets. There is\nno relief. The very river runs like molten metal. On the pavement bricks\nthe flesh of a slain animal could be roasted to a turn. I go no more to\nBabylon.\"\n\nCambyses laughed. \"And her whom you sought, Bardiya--she loved you not?\"\n\nBardiya, highly displeased at the tone, replied: \"She is not in the\ncity; or, if she is, no man knows where she lies hid. Some say that she\nascended to the silver sky with the spirit of Bel-shar-utsur, who was\nher husband. Again they tell me she was murdered with the other women in\nthe temple of Bel-Marduk, on the night we took the city. Howbeit, no man\nreally knows whether or not Istar of Babylon still lives.\"\n\nCambyses laughed again. \"Istar of Babylon! A myth! She lives no more\nthan any other god. Think you the great Ahura comes down among men, a\nman?\"\n\nBut Bardiya's faith would not be shaken, and he had begun an elaborate\nprotestation, when the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of\nCyrus, returning from his round with Amraphel of Bel at his side. At the\nentrance of their father the young men rose and saluted him with a\nrespect that was the more marked because both of them utterly ignored\nthe presence of the high-priest.\n\nAmraphel's bearing was a curious contrast to that of the conqueror. It\nwas replete with affectation and bombastic dignity, and whatever\nmortification he felt at the want of recognition shown him by Cyrus'\nsons, was manifested only by an increased loftiness of carriage.\n\nThe king seated himself in an ivory chair before a little stone table\nthat stood in the centre of the tent, and he motioned Amraphel at the\nsame time to a stool at his side. No sooner was he seated than the\npriest began to speak upon what was evidently a continued subject,\nalready much discussed. And though his tone was in itself sufficiently\nself-satisfied, the terms in which he spoke were exceedingly unlike\nthose that he had been accustomed to use to the whilom king of Babylon.\nWhere once had been unutterable arrogance and supercilious disdain of\neverything, was now eager flattery, cajolements, toadyism, and unceasing\nassurances of devotion. In the Elamite of plebeian parentage, Amraphel\nhad found a none too complacent master.\n\n\"And does my lord the king think his city ill-governed, that he is not\ncontent to remain in safety outside its unhealthy walls? Nay, great\nKurush, thine every command, to the least of them, is given there by me,\nand strictly obeyed by those in office under me. As I have said, the\ncity is loyal to you, through my teachings.\"\n\nCyrus bit his beard impatiently. \"It is not that I fear lest my commands\nbe disregarded. You I hold responsible for their fulfilment. It is that\nI would better know what commands to give. Here am I, native of another\nland, ignorant of Babylonish ways, of Babylonish needs, knowing no one\nstreet, no temple in all the city, striving to govern it from this camp\noutside the walls. It is folly, priest!\"\n\n\"Nay, most mighty king. What the people need, I know. What they want\nshall be given. Fear not--\"\n\n\"_Fear not!_\" Cyrus turned on him with such a look that the high-priest\nstarted in confusion and shrank away a little, while from his corner\nCambyses laughed harshly; but Bardiya scowled at the presumption of the\npriest. At sound of the laugh Amraphel flushed with anger; and Cyrus,\ncontrolling himself again, observed, in a gentler tone:\n\n\"Yesterday Bardiya, my son, went into the city yonder; and his story of\nthose that perish of the plague is grievous.\"\n\n\"The young prince, the son of my lord, came into the city!\" exclaimed\nAmraphel, in chagrin. \"Why, then, sought he me not in my house?\"\n\n\"For the reason that he sought another and a fairer than thou, good\nAmraphel,\" replied Cambyses, in a highly impertinent tone.\n\n\"Whom didst thou seek, prince?\" asked the priest, turning to Bardiya.\n\n\"Her whom they call Istar of Babylon.\"\n\n\"Ah! Where didst thou learn that name?\"\n\n\"It is to be heard through all the east--and west--and north. No man but\nknows of the living goddess of Babylon. Yet within the walls of her city\nI found her not, nor any that could tell me where she dwelt. _Is_ there\nsuch an one, Amraphel?\"\n\n\"Now is it seven days since I sent asking that she be brought to me, or\nthat I may have permission to go before her,\" observed Cyrus,\nthoughtfully. \"Yet hath she not come, nor have I had any word from her.\"\n\n\"There was indeed an Istar of Babylon, who was wedded to Belshazzar, the\ndead tyrant. And her beauty, were it famed at all, were rightly famed\nover all the world. Yet was she no goddess: rather a sorceress, a witch,\na demon, most wicked, most impure. Since the night of the taking of the\ncity she hath been seen by no man. She it was, no doubt, that murdered\nBelshazzar the king, whom my lord commanded to be saved from death and\nto be brought before him. Now, doubtless, she hath taken his spirit with\nher down to her kingdom, down to Mulge, where she and he feast by day\nupon the dust of the dead, and by night upon the blood of living beings;\nfor they are vampires. Yea, verily, Istar of Babylon is no more, O\nking.\"\n\nThere was a little silence. Amraphel's words had been spoken with every\nappearance of sincerity; and the idea that he presented was sufficiently\nweird to appeal to the lively imaginations of the Elamites. Bardiya gave\na little sigh, and Cambyses and his father were for a moment lost in\nthought, when the party was broken in upon by a man that appeared\nsuddenly in the door-way of the tent, and, seeing Cyrus and the\nhigh-priest together, bent the knee before them and asked permission to\nspeak. He was a runner, or messenger, from the city, and as such his\nunceremonious entrance was pardonable--nay, customary.\n\n\"What wouldst thou, swift one?\" demanded the king, good-humoredly.\n\n\"May the lord king of the city live forever! I am come with word from\nher that is called Istar of Babylon, whose presence before thee thou\nhast desired. Behold she follows me hither in one hour; and she sends\nher greeting to the great conqueror.\"\n\nCyrus, with a mixture of surprise and amusement, glanced at the priest,\nwho was a fair picture of uneasiness.\n\n\"Say, runner,\" asked the king, teasingly, \"the Lady Istar, did she rise\nbefore thee out of the ground from the land of Ninkigal? Came she forth\nbefore thine eyes? Or art even thou, perchance, a ghost?\"\n\nThe man looked his bewilderment at the king, and this time Bardiya\nhimself roared with laughter.\n\n\"The Lady Istar is living. The message was given me by a priest of\nNergal, who comes to conduct the lady before thee. I know no more, O\nking!\"\n\n\"Then take thy leave, fellow,\" cried Cyrus, tossing him a shekel from\nhis girdle, and smiling as the man prostrated with lightning-like\nrapidity and was up and gone from the tent like an arrow from the bow,\nere Amraphel had time to speak.\n\nNow the high-priest rose, and, with an air of angry dignity, demanded\npermission to retire. Cyrus gave it willingly enough, for the man\nwearied him, and continually angered him by his presumption. Thus, then,\na moment later, the high-priest was mounting his chariot at the edge of\nthe camp, and might presently have been seen rolling swiftly away in the\ndirection of the gate of Bel.\n\nCyrus and his sons were left alone till the coming of her whose name had\nso long been familiar to them. At the end of half an hour Bardiya rose\nfrom his place, straightened his tunic, and went over to the door of the\ntent to look out upon the plain in the direction of the city. Cyrus and\nCambyses were eating their delayed noon meal; but the younger man, whose\nvein of romance was marked, refused food, and stood here alone, looking\nout over the parched fields. From time to time his father asked if\nanything were to be seen of their promised visitor; and always came the\nreply:\n\n\"Neither chariot nor litter do I see.\"\n\nThen finally, as all three of them grew impatient at the delay, the\nyouth added: \"But there are, near at hand, a company of priests on foot,\nand in their midst is some one clad in black. They come towards our\ntent. Perhaps--\"\n\nCyrus came over and stood at his shoulder. \"I think it is the woman,\" he\nsaid. And he was right.\n\nThe three of them, the great king in the centre, Cambyses on the right\nhand, Bardiya on the left, stood in the door-way of the tent as the\nlittle band of white-robed priests came up to them. There was a slow,\nsinking reverence on the part of the attendants, and from their midst\ncame forth a tall, slight figure muffled in the silver-shining veil.\nSeeing her, the conqueror and his sons all three inclined their bodies,\nand then Cyrus stretched out his hand.\n\n\"Istar of Babylon, we give you greeting in the name of Elam and Media,\nand we bid you welcome to this tent of the plain.\"\n\nIstar bent her head, acknowledging the courtesy, but denied her hand to\nhim that mutely asked it. Turning slightly, she dismissed the priests,\nwho, remembering her commands, accepted the gesture and departed from\nher reluctantly.\n\nThen Istar entered the tent and took the chair that Cambyses hastened to\nplace for her. Cyrus also seated himself, but the young men stood. Now\nthat speech seemed demanded of him, the great king looked a little\nuncertain of himself. He glanced at the concealing veil which the woman\nstill kept close around her, and he longed greatly to ask for a sight of\nthe far-famed face. Yet that was a request that he dared not make.\nIstar, however, read his mind without difficulty, and let her head sink\nsorrowfully upon her breast. It seemed to her at last that her cup of\nbitterness was full; and she whispered a little prayer into the silence.\nCyrus caught three or four of her low words, and these gave him an\nopening for speech.\n\n\"You speak to the gods. Is it with the gods of Babylon that you hold\ncommunion, lady?\"\n\n\"There is no god but God, great king; and Him, in their hearts, all men\nmust worship.\"\n\nCyrus looked slightly puzzled, and his curiosity was stronger than ever.\nYielding to an impulse, he leaned over, asking: \"Istar of Babylon, who\nart thou?\"\n\nIstar glanced round her. \"Let thy sons depart, that we may be alone,\"\nshe said, in a quiet command.\n\nCyrus made a gesture that the young men dared not disobey, and, however\nmuch against their wills, they quickly left the tent. In departing,\nBardiya let fall the curtain at the door, so that the king and the\nking's visitor were alone in the pleasant half-light. Then Istar spoke:\n\"Thou hast asked what I am, O king. Tell me first who art thou, and\nthereafter I will answer thee.\"\n\n\"I am Kurush, an Ach\u00e6menian.\"\n\n\"And I am Istar, a woman, sent of God to be punished on earth.\"\n\n\"Unveil thyself, woman. Let me behold that face that the world has\nworshipped.\"\n\nIstar rose. She was trembling slightly in her great shame. Yet there was\nno hesitation in her movements. With a dexterous twist she flung off her\nveil and stood revealed before the conqueror in all her unspeakable\nugliness.\n\nCyrus let a cry escape him. \"Thou! Thou art not Istar of Babylon!\"\n\nShe folded both hands across her breast and her dim eyes closed. \"I am\nIstar of Babylon,\" she said, softly.\n\nAfter the shock of first seeing her, the king had looked away. Now, as\nshe stood there before him, mute and motionless, he struggled with\nhimself to let his eyes return to her without outward betrayal of his\nfeeling. When finally he looked again his brown orbs were clear and\ncalm, and he showed no sign of repulsion. For one, two, three minutes he\nlooked upon her face till, in spite of the frightful complexion, he\nbegan to perceive its fundamental beauty. Of her eyes, only, he could\nnot judge. They were swollen, red, matterated, nearly closed. Otherwise\nhe knew from what he saw that she had once been rarely beautiful.\nOnly--always--she was hideous now--hideous beyond belief.\n\nKnowing well his mind, how she revolted him, how strong was his desire\nto leave her presence, Istar still stood before the great king. It was\nher final mortification, and even her going forth from the temple of Bel\nunder Amraphel's lash had not been so terrible to her as this. Yet now,\nby degrees, as if a magnetic current passed between them, some\nunderstanding of what she underwent came home to the warrior. Compassion\nand pity took the place of horror. His face grew very gentle, and,\nmoving to Istar's side, he laid one hand on her cotton-clad shoulder.\n\n\"Istar, thou hast greatly suffered. Is it not so?\"\n\nShe shrank back from his touch as if she knew all that the move had cost\nhim. But the question she answered freely, without hesitation.\n\n\"I have suffered, yea, by day and by night, for many months. I doubted\nthe wisdom of the Lord, and I am punished. I became mortal. I loved; and\nthat that I loved more than myself death hath taken from me. Fame,\nhonor, riches, purity, love, and beauty are gone. Nothing now remains.\nThe end draws near. From afar I hear the voice of my beloved calling me.\n\n\"Thou, O king, great king, lord of the gate of God, art at the zenith of\nthy glory. Thy greatest victory is won. Thy time here is not much\nlonger. After thee come two that shall dispute the throne, and they\nshall fare forth from the world in the bloodshed of murder and\nself-murder. After them cometh one greater than either, that shall enter\nBabylon from another country. For him the sun grows golden. He shall put\ndown usurpers from his seat; and for a little while shall hold and rule\nthe kingdom with a strong and mighty hand. And then--I see the city\nslowly sink--under the weight of time. One more conqueror she shall\nknow: a youth of iron from a land of gold. And he shall set the world\naghast with his conquests; but he shall find his tomb there within the\nGreat City of his conquering. After him the East grows black. The rose\nshall wither unseen upon her tree. Even to the banks of the great river\nblow thick the desert sands. Walls and palaces shall crumble away. And\nupon the broken stairs of the tower of Bel a jewel of great price lies\nfor many centuries unheeded in the universal desolation. And for\ncenturies, Ach\u00e6menian, thou shalt sleep, ere thou art known again as\nking of Babylon--the city of my lord.\"\n\nWith the ending of her vision Istar smiled slowly upon him that watched\nher with troubled eyes. As the spell passed she trembled, and, stooping,\npicked up the veil that lay about her feet. Cyrus moved forward as if he\nwould have stopped her.\n\n\"Speak on! Let me hear again that that thou hast foretold. Such prophecy\nas this no seer of my court hath ever made.\"\n\nBut Istar's fire was gone. The light in her face died away, and in its\ndeath Cyrus read her answer to his plea. Then she wrapped herself again\nin the covering that hid her plight, and from it, as from behind a mask,\nshe spoke again:\n\n\"Thou, O Cyrus, who hast beheld me in mine ugliness, must carry with\nthee the memory of it forever. Yet know that Istar of Babylon hath\nhumbled herself before thee as before no living man. My king is dead. In\nhis place, by reason of thy gentleness and justice, I hail thee lord of\nChaldea and of Babylon.\" And thereupon, before Cyrus understood what she\ndid or could prevent the act, Istar knelt at his feet and touched them,\nthe right and the left, with her forehead, in the manner of the day.\n\nWith a quick exclamation Cyrus lifted her up; but she spoke gently to\nhim, saying:\n\n\"That that was written have I done. Censure me not. I but obeyed my law.\nNow fare thee well, O king. The end cometh, and I go forth to meet it.\"\n\n\"Nay, Istar--hold! One question more! Thou, his wife, art accused of the\nmurder of the king of Babylon, whom I commanded to be brought before me\nliving and unhurt from the feast in the temple. How dost thou answer\nthis accusation?\"\n\n\"Who hath accused me of the deed?\"\n\n\"The priest of Bel.\"\n\n\"Amraphel?\"\n\n\"Yea.\"\n\n\"Then I ask thee only why I should have killed him that my soul loves as\nit loved not God?\"\n\n\"Knowest thou, then, the murderer?\"\n\n\"He that accused me shall, in God's time, answer to that charge. But\nthou, Cyrus, see that thou punish him not. Thy hands are red with the\nblood of many slain in battle; and shall the slayer accuse the slayer?\nNow speak no more to me. I return again to the city.\"\n\nIn spite of her last bidding, Cyrus, slightly angered by her perfect\nassurance, would have spoken again, had he not found it to be a physical\nimpossibility. It was in his heart to accuse her of his own accord of\nthe death of Belshazzar. Yet he could not voice the thought. As she left\nthe tent he moved after her to the door-way, whence he could look over\nthe plain to the walls of the city. He saw the black-robed figure glide\nunaccosted through the camp and beyond it, in the direction that\nAmraphel had taken more than an hour before. And as he watched her Cyrus\nfelt a great reverence spring up in his heart, and in the after-wonder\nat her bearing and her words he forgot how she had looked. And\npresently, as he stood there lost in thought, Bardiya came to his\nshoulder, asking, softly:\n\n\"My father, is she all that men have said?\"\n\nCyrus hesitated in his reply. Finally, after a long pause, he answered\nof his own will: \"More wonderful than any have said. She is a woman sent\nof God.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nAT THE GATE\n\n\nIstar went quietly over the plain towards the gate of Bel, by which she\npurposed re-entering Babylon, intending to pass the night in some one of\nthe temples, those refuges for all the outcast paupers of the Great\nCity. As she went, she thought upon Cyrus the king and her talk with\nhim, and also of the prophecy that had been put into her mouth.\n\nWhen she left the conqueror's tent her mind had been at rest. She had\nneither fear nor desire. But now, as she drew near the city gate, and\ncould hear, as from a great distance, sounds of life coming from the\nr\u00e9bit, or market, held outside Nimitti-Bel, she quickened with\nuneasiness and excitement. Coming nearer, she perceived that there was a\ngreat gathering in the mart, and it seemed to her that, over the general\nmurmur of buyers and venders, one single voice was speaking. She did not\nrecognize the tall, white-robed figure standing in the very centre of\nthe throng, gesticulating as he spoke; nor could her ears distinguish\nany of his words. Quietly enough she came along her way, instinctively\nknowing that danger threatened her; while, in the square, Amraphel of\nBel spoke to the gathering crowd of Babylonians and Jews, some of whom\nhe himself had brought, some of whom had been here in any case, all of\nwhom were now waiting for the inevitable return of Istar to the city.\n\nIt was in this wise that Amraphel addressed them:\n\n\"Hear ye, men and women! Listen, and heed the word!\" He paused, while\nthe noise in the market-place grew gradually less. \"Listen and heed, and\nobey my word!\n\n\"Now comes there among you one from the camp of Kurush the conqueror,\nwho, in shame of guilt, hath not been equalled in the Great City. The\nwoman of Babylon, the witch, the disciple of Namtar the plague-demon;\nshe by whose hand Nabonidus and Belshazzar both have fallen; she who for\nso long polluted the holy sanctuary of Istar; she who, in her nameless\nwrath, visits the city with the great death; she who hath lain for days\nin the camp of the conqueror, vainly weaving her spells about his\ndauntless heart; she who hath, in sacrilege, been called Istar of\nBabylon, would now come once more among ye.\n\n\"My people, will ye let her in among your dead in the city? Will ye\nagain receive her that hath wrought this infinite woe? Will ye not,\nrather, in the names of the great gods, drive her forth from the city\ngates with stones and scourges, as from your hearths by night you\nexorcise Namtar her companion?\n\n\"Behold, there comes she among you, even now, black-veiled. In the name\nof Bel, our god, I bid ye drive her from your presence here in Babil\u00fb!\"\n\nHardly comprehending at first the violent words of the high-priest, the\npeople had listened open-mouthed. When, however, they understood that\nshe whom he had designated as the incarnation of all evil was coming\namong them from the camp of the Elamite, there was a quick struggle to\nreach the front rank of the crowd. As yet the Babylonians were moved by\ncuriosity rather than by wrath, for they were a slow people and not\nunreasonable. The Jews, however, as many as were there, were of a\ndifferent temperament, and it was they that began, little by little, to\nraise that ominous, angry murmur that will quicken a mob to violence\nsooner than any speech of a professional anarch.\n\nAmong the throng was Charmides the Greek, come out an hour before to buy\nbarley for his house, and remaining to chat for a time with the cheery\ncountrymen that were unaffected by the depression of the city. Charmides\nhad heard the words of Amraphel with a natural sense of horror, and now\nturned to look incredulously over the plain. There, fifty yards away,\nwas she for whom he and Bazuzu had vainly sought since morning. There\nindeed was she, the tall, slight, black-clothed figure, advancing slowly\ntowards the gate. In obedience to a quick impulse, Charmides ran hastily\nforth from the square and placed himself before her in her path. The\nominous shouts of the mob behind him came clearly to his ears, but he\npaid no heed to them. He was within five feet of her before Istar\nrecognized him from behind her heavy veil. Then immediately she spoke to\nhim, in the poor, cracked voice that contained not a trace of its former\nmelody.\n\n\"Comest thou from the city to meet me, O Greek? Among so many, yet I\nshall not lose my way.\"\n\n\"Lady Istar, turn thou back. Turn away from the gate! Amraphel there\nincites the mob to take thy life. Therefore be warned. Come thou with\nme. I will support you. We will enter the city later by another way.\"\n\nIstar stopped and hesitated a little. She lifted her eyes to look at the\ngreat throng in the r\u00e9bit, and she could read their intent from the\nattitude they took. Then she turned again to Charmides, who would have\ntaken her about the body to help her on in her weakness.\n\n\"Nay, Greek!\" She started back from him. \"Lay not thy hand upon me! My\nvery flesh is accursed! Thou givest timely warning, yet I go up to meet\nthem that hate me. Have I not said the end is near? Seek not to hold the\nblessed freedom from me. Let us go up to meet them at the gate.\"\n\nStartled by the calm determination of her manner, Charmides could find\nno fitting remonstrance for her. Indeed, he knew at once that it were\nuseless to attempt to combat her will. More, he felt it to be\nirreverent. Keeping, then, close at her side, hoping to shield her with\nhis own body from those in the market-place, he walked with her up the\ngradual ascent to the gate. At first their approach was watched with\nmurmurs of disapproval. The angry prejudice of the Jews was beginning to\nextend to the Babylonians also, and momentarily Charmides expected the\nfirst stone. But as she approached something in the bearing of the\nveiled woman stilled the voice of the mob. She was coming among them\napparently without either fear or hesitation. It was perhaps her\nfearlessness that sent the little tremor of shame into the minds of most\nof the company. Amraphel saw this almost instantly, and quickly set to\nwork. There was a slight movement along the face of the mob, and when\nIstar stood within fifteen feet of them she found herself confronted by\na solid line of Jews that looked upon her with a cold impassivity that\nforeboded an evil ending to this strange hour.\n\nSeeing that her way was barred, and by what immovable men, Istar finally\nhalted. She looked about her from side to side, betraying for the first\ntime a little uncertainty of manner. It was as if the guiding spirit\nthat had so far led her was suddenly gone; as if at last she was alone,\nunprotected, mentally and physically, before an inimical world. With a\nlittle gesture of bewilderment she turned to the Greek at her side.\n\n\"Charmides,\" she said, faintly, \"what do they here? Why do they oppose\nmy coming?\"\n\n\"Men of Babylon,\" shouted Charmides, commandingly, \"open your ranks! Let\nthe Lady Istar pass through to the gate of Bel!\"\n\nA low, sullen murmur of refusal rose from the men in the front line. Not\none of them moved. There was not so much as a glance of encouragement\nfor Charmides in his hopeless championship of the woman. Nevertheless\nthe Greek cried again:\n\n\"What right have ye to forbid that she enter the city?\"\n\nThen came a voice from the midst of the throng, a strident voice, and\none harsh with age, known too well both to Istar and to her protector.\n\"The witch of the plague shall enter no more into the city. Long enough,\ncreature of Namtar, hast thou worked destruction among us. Let the demon\nthy master save thee from our wrath!\" And with the last words a piece of\nbroken brick was hurled from out of the throng, striking Istar upon the\nshoulder.\n\nInstantly Charmides sprang in front of her, but, violently trembling,\nshe pushed him back. Quite alone, quite unprotected, she faced the mob,\neven advanced to them a step or two, while she asked, faintly:\n\n\"What is this that ye call me? Servant of Namtar? Witch of the plague?\"\n\n\"Yea verily, wicked one!\"\n\n\"Witch!\"\n\n\"Sorceress!\"\n\n\"Murderess!\"\n\nWith the last word two or three more stones came towards her, one of\nthem striking her upon the knee, another passing just over her head.\n\nIstar drew a long sigh, and for an instant she closed her world-weary\neyes. Thereafter, with a slighter movement than she had used before\nCyrus, she caused the veil to fall from her form, and stood exposed in\nall her pitiable plight before the pitiless mob that had gathered\nagainst her.\n\nInstantly there came a chorus of wonderment and of repulsion, with which\na weak note of compassion was mingled. Charmides, who now saw her face\nfor the first time since the morning after the massacre, started with\nhorror.\n\n\"Behold, the mark of the plague is upon me. How then do ye call me\nservant of Namtar?\" she said.\n\n\"Sorceress! Beneath the veil thou hast transformed thyself! Take thy\ntrue form!\" cried Amraphel from the throng.\n\nAt this accusation a howl of anger suddenly rolled over the childish\nmultitude. At last, almost by accident, they had been successfully\nroused to fury against the helpless creature before them.\n\n\"Thy true shape, witch!\"\n\n\"Thy true shape!\"\n\n\"Fly, if thou canst, from our wrath!\"\n\n\"Pray Namtar to save thee now!\"\n\nAnd then, dropping articulate speech, the mob prepared themselves for\ntheir revenge against the demon's minion.\n\nDrops of sweat rolled down Istar's face. Faint for food and greatly\nsuffering from weariness, she swayed where she stood. Charmides,\novercoming his repulsion, remembering her as she had once been in the\ndays of her great glory, threw his arm about her and supported her.\n\n\"Dogs!\" he cried, angrily, \"the woman is weak and sick of the plague.\nWill ye still keep her from the city wherein she must rest?\"\n\n\"Shall we admit a murderess among us?\" shouted one of the Jews,\nwrathfully.\n\n\"Murderess? What creature have I slain?\"\n\n\"Dost thou deny the murder of thy husband, Belshazzar, on the night of\nthe feast?\" demanded Amraphel from the midst of the throng.\n\n\"Belshazzar! My beloved!--_I?_\" A great sob burst from the lips of the\nwoman. For a moment she could feel again about her the dying arms of him\nwhom she had loved more dearly than godhead. The tears flowed fast down\nher scarred cheeks. Before the wave of grief she bent her head low.\n\n\"Behold, she confesses! She dares not deny! Murderess! Murderess!\"\n\nThe voice of the mob grew deafening; and now bricks and stones came\nforth upon her in a shower. They struck her in many places, bruising her\nhead, her breast, her scantily clothed arms, her broken body. Under the\nblows she cowered like a wounded animal, uttering no sound.\n\n\"Istar, Istar, come away with me! Fly! Here is death if we remain.\nCome!\"\n\nCharmides seized hold of her while the missiles were striking them both\nin great numbers. Then, taking her up bodily, the Greek turned and fled\nrapidly down the hill-slope in the direction of the nearest shelter, a\nbroad palm-grove upon the river-bank. For a few moments Istar was\nhelpless; but he found, to his immense relief, that they were not\npursued. When at last they were beyond danger Istar shuddered and cried\nto be put down. He set her anxiously upon her feet and found that she\ncould walk.\n\n\"If I had but wine to give thee!\" he exclaimed, as he saw her weakness.\n\n\"Nay, Charmides, thou hast saved and greatly helped me. I give thee\nblessing from the heart. And now thou must leave me, that I may go alone\ndown to the river. Fear not. None will accost me. I am well.\"\n\nThe Greek would have protested against letting her go, but that he had\nan unaccountable feeling that a higher force than hers was dominating\nboth of them. Therefore, after a glance into her uplifted face, he fell\nupon his knees before her, and bent his head before the will of the\nAlmighty that was over them. And there, while the sunset shed its light\naround them like a halo, Istar turned away and went forth alone in the\nsunset light, to the grove of palms upon the bank of the quietly flowing\nEuphrates.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nTHE SILVER SKY\n\n\nNever, in all the days of Babylon, had there been an evening more fair\nthan this. At sunset the burning day melted and flowed away, down the\nwestern sky, in a flood of liquid gold. A faint breath of air came over\nthe river from across the distant Tigris, out of the cool hills of Elam,\nthe conqueror's land. On the river-bank rose the palm-trees, casting\ntheir shadows into the softly slipping water; and the turf beneath them\nwas all strewn with sunset gold. To the north lay Babylon, huge and\nblack and silent, her dying thousands shut away behind the vastly\ntowering walls. To the west and south stretched great irrigated fields\nof ripening grain, in the midst of which were many shadufs, with their\npatient buffaloes at the interminable work of drawing water from the\nclay wells. Still farther back were the crumbling brick huts of the\ntillers of the soil. On the edge of the river two long-legged cranes\nstood quietly meditating. Overhead a flock of pelicans wound their slow\nway southward towards the marshes where they dwelt. From the far\ndistance was heard the loud cry of the bittern. Otherwise the land was\nsilent--wrapped in evening prayer.\n\nAlong the river-bank, under the shadowy palms, with the golden light\nglowing about her, walked Istar, musing gently upon many things. Voices\nfrom the infinite addressed her. The iron was leaving her soul. Her mind\nwas transfused with quietude. She ceased to notice or to feel the aching\nof her bruised body. She was holding communion with deeper things, and\nshe moved with her head bent forward and her eyes upon the ground.\nPresently she paused at the brink of the river--the fair, well-flowing\nriver, that held in its pure depths the body of the storm-eyed, her\nbeloved. Its flashing waters encompassed her with glory. Her mortal eyes\ngrew blind with light. Presently, out of the glowing depth, there came\nto her, as once before, a voice--but now a voice most familiar, most\ndear to her ears, most longed-for since its silence. Belshazzar spoke\nfrom the beyond, in the words that Allaraine had written on the temple\nwall, and that had appeared to her again from the river, on the night of\ndeath:\n\n\"Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silver sky waits for thy\nsoul.\"\n\nAnd now in the heart of the woman was no bitterness, no rebellion, only\nknowledge of the truth. And, answering the question of the Lord, spoken\nin the voice of her dead, she whispered, softly:\n\n\"Man and man, as man and God, are bound by those ties of eternal love\nthat made the covenant of Creation. Consciously or unconsciously, all\nliving things must live with this as their law, for they are God's\nchildren, God's brothers, God Himself sent forth to wander for a while\nin time, but in the end returning to their eternal source, which is God.\n\n\"All the sin, all the sorrow of the world, I have known, have suffered.\nYet no loss nor grief can take away the great joy of love, its purity,\nits perfection.\n\n\"I acknowledge the wisdom of the All-Father displayed in His creation.\nLet Him do with me as He will.\"\n\nAs she ceased to speak a blinding, silver stillness wrapped her about\nand held her immovable. From its depths in the far-off heavens there\ncame to her ears sounds such as she had known in the long-ago: the song\nof the infinite, the infinite, unceasing chorus, the wind-choir that\nsings the Creator's hymn.\n\nStill she could see the green fields and the water, and the ferny palms\nabove her head. Still she beheld the broad river running full of pink\nand molten gold. Still the breath of the evening wind came to her lips.\nThe world was all about her; but she was no longer of it all.\n\nHigh over her head, in the unclouded sky, a vast web of shimmering\nsilver was spreading out and out, like a broad, firmly woven veil. It\nscintillated with dazzling light into Istar's upraised and half-blind\neyes, yet it struck them with no pain. It was the silver sky of\nBabylonish dreams opening above her, while the celestial voices sang\never more softly, but ever more beautifully, the pure, swaying harmonies\nof the great hymn of freedom. God's presence lived in the beauty of the\nearthly evening scarcely less than in the splendor of that heavenly one.\nIn the midst of the scene of supernatural wonder, Istar sank to her\nknees, and there remained transfixed before the miracle that came to be\nenacted before her.\n\nFrom out of the silver-spun cloud two figures, at first merely dense,\nopaque bodies of mist, began to descend from the heights, growing\ngradually more and more distinct in form as they came, leaving behind\nthem a silver trail that moved and swayed, fine and threadlike, in the\nair, above them. As they approached her, Istar, in her ecstasy, quickly\nrecognized them both; the one, his floating locks of deepest auburn\nstar-crowned, his trailing garments of changing blue, carrying in his\nhand the sunset lyre, was Allaraine, the archetype of song. The second\nwas more spiritual still, a storm-eyed being with thick, black locks\nuncrowned, clothed in misty white, girdled in silver, bearing in his\nhand a palm-branch of the same shimmering white metal, his face, hands,\nand feet showing transparently pure, while in his back, upon the left\nside, was a mark of brilliant light, glowing with ruby fire, and\nresembling a hallowed wound--the releasing dagger-stroke that had freed\nBelshazzar from Babylon--Belshazzar, beloved of the woman to whom he\ncame again.\n\nSlowly, slowly, to that infinite, sweet chorus, these two descended till\ntheir celestial feet touched earth, and Istar, with joyful greeting,\nrose up and went to meet them. As she held forth both maimed, mortal\nhands, the eyes of Allaraine glowed with sorrow, but Belshazzar's face\nwas alight with the fulness of great joy.\n\n\"We come to thee, O woman honored of God; and thou shalt choose between\nus.\n\n\"I, Allaraine, thy brother, would lead thee back among thy fellows in\nthy great purification to the perfection of rest, of insensibility to\nall creation except God and His word.\"\n\n\"Istar, beloved, through suffering a soul, an immortal soul, hath been\nborn in thee; and thou mayst come forth now to rest a little on the long\npilgrimage that will lead thee finally back into the God whence all\nsouls are sprung.\"\n\n\"Choose, Istar. Choose.\"\n\nIstar turned her eyes to Allaraine and looked upon him long and\nearnestly, and her face grew radiant. Then, most slowly, she moved her\ngaze till it met with that of the great storm-orbs of Belshazzar. And in\nthat look the worn-out body dropped from off her soul, which, clothed in\ngarments of translucent light, began its ascent between the two\nmessengers that had come for her. They passed, all three, above the\nshadowy turf, above the line of waving palms, above the glowing river\nwhich ran its threadlike course from distant Karchemish into the sunset\ngulf; above, finally, the towering black walls of the Great City, and so\ninto the clouds of the silver sky, to which no mortal eye may follow\nthem.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThrough this last hour and the period of her transfiguration, Charmides,\nstill standing at the edge of the grove of palms, had watched the figure\nof Istar upon the river-bank. Rejoicing in the great beauty of the\nevening, he waited peacefully, believing her wrapped in prayer. Nothing\nsaw he of the celestial world that had opened to her, nothing knew of\nthe heavenly messengers that had come. But when her body fell back upon\nthe earth, he, thinking that she had fainted from exhaustion, ran\nquickly to the spot where his eyes had last beheld her. When he came to\nthe place there was nothing there--no trace of the plague-marked form of\nher that had dwelt in the temple of Istar in the Great City. Long he\nsearched there alone in the evening, till, out of the far, blue space a\nvoice, the voice of the woman he had so worshipped, spoke to him:\n\n\"Thou faithful and true, seek for me no more; for that of me which was\nnot is not now. But my spirit shalt thou know to be watching near thee\nalways. Behold, I am returned unto our Father.\"\n\nSo, knowing all things dumbly in his heart, the young Greek obeyed her\nvoice, and, turning slowly away, went forth from the grove of palms, and\nreturned that night alone to his young wife in Babylon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[1] Jowett's translation of Plato's _Statesman_, vol. iii., pp. 562,\n571.\n\n[2] Jowett's translation of Plato's _Phaedo_, vol. i., pp. 407, 408.\n\n[3] 541 B.C.\n\n[4] Herodotus gives it as higher than this, a few writers less, the\ngreatest estimate being three hundred and seventy-five feet, the least\nseventy-five.\n\n[5] \"_Bit_\"--tribe, or family. A general prefix to the surname.\n\n[6] The worship of the goddess Istar began originally in the city of\nErech.\n\n[7] Her archetypal name, Istar being only a cognomen, the name given\nher by the people.\n\n[8] According to the calculations of Babylonish historians.\n\n[9] The fish-god.\n\n[10] The incident of Nabu-Nahid's strange gods is an historical fact.\n\n[11] Fourteen miles.\n\n[12] An historical fact.\n\n\n\n\n  [\n    Transcriber's Note:\n\n    The following is a list of variations in the spelling of personal\n    and place names which have been retained:\n\n    Ag\u00e2d\u00e9 / Agade\n    \u00caa-bani / \u00caa-Bani\n    Lill\u00e2t / Lil\u00e2t\n    Nabu-Nah\u00eed / Nab\u00fb-Nahid / Nabu-Nahid\n    Nabopolassar / Nabopollassar\n    Tiam\u00e2t / Ti\u00e2mat\n    Vul-ram\u00e2n / Vul-Ram\u00e2n\n\n    The Incantation in the Prologue uses the spelling \"archtype\".\n\n    The following is a list of changes made to the original.\n    The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.\n\n    Nabonidus: Or \"Nabu-Nah\u00eed, last native king\n    Nabonidus: Or \"Nabu-Nah\u00eed\", last native king\n\n    right side, oars-shattered, sides still uncrushed, while\n    right side, oars shattered, sides still uncrushed, while\n\n    heave-offerings of oxen and of doves.\n    heave-offerings of oxen and of doves.\"\n\n    Our voyage had been too long already.\n    Our voyage had been too long already.\"\n\n    her out.\n    her out.\"\n\n    Up to this point Theron and his son stoood beside\n    Up to this point Theron and his son stood beside\n\n    \"Y face and form, my Charmides, are beautiful--more\n    \"Your face and form, my Charmides, are beautiful--more\n\n    is never his feeling for any other of her sex. Woman\n    is never his feeling for any other of her sex. Woman's\n\n    \"Dishonor--in the rites of Ashtoreth! Nay. you\n    \"Dishonor--in the rites of Ashtoreth! Nay, you\n\n    it was his home, But it was night before they entered\n    it was his home. But it was night before they entered\n\n    The great mutitude hardly caught his attention. He\n    The great multitude hardly caught his attention. He\n\n    that from the first I have feared She is become no\n    that from the first I have feared. She is become no\n\n    \"Bunantit\u00fbm Bit-\u00cagibi.\"\n    \"Bunanit\u00fbm Bit-\u00cagibi.\"\n\n    thy companion, Rib\u00e2ta of Skumukin?\"\n    thy companion, Rib\u00e2ta of Shumukin?\"\n\n    the bed She gave a little cry of astonishment and\n    the bed. She gave a little cry of astonishment and\n\n    Chaldean kings that had done as much\n    Chaldean kings that had done as much.\n\n    \"Belitsum--lady--what is thy grief?\" He asked,\n    \"Belitsum--lady--what is thy grief?\" he asked,\n  ]","title":"Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":156866}