Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy. Margaret Horton Potter
side of the shoulders had become wings of silver, and the patch of gold low on the right was a lyre, ready-strung. The vision was complete. Charmides, now but half sensible, scarcely noting the cool breath of the descending night, watched and thirsted for what he knew must come.
He had not long to wait. As the first, faint star came out into the evening, the heavenly figure moved, floating in stately swiftness upon his outstretched wings towards the wormlike caravan that crawled across the sands. And as he moved he lifted the lyre, drawing his hand across its strings. Charmides gave a faint gasp. It was as if his body had been plunged into a running stream. Allaraine's music swept across his senses, now in the faintest, long-drawn vibration, that drew the soul to one's lips and let it hang there, seeking to follow the flight of the sound; now in broad chords that swept like the storm-wind over the plain; again, melting into melody that bore one to the shore of the sunlit sea. The Heavenly One played on while the shepherd, in helpless ecstasy, lay back, unnerved and numb, held to the camel only by the thongs with which Hodo had bound him there. It was a long time, though how long the rhapsode could not tell, before he was roused by a warm thrill, to find that the bard of the skies floated beside him, one of the effulgent wings spreading out over his body, the light from it bathing his whole figure in a stream of strength-giving fire. And even in his amazement Charmides wondered why he heard no sound from any member of the caravan. All was still around him. Star-spangled darkness was over them all. The moon had not yet risen. Hodo was nodding on his camel, and many of the traders were in their first sleep. Only he, only the Charmides whom they had thought dying, was awake to welcome the messenger of the gods that honored them by his coming. The Greek, lying under the shadow of the silver wing, felt that a prayer or some other fitting acknowledgment of the presence should be made. So he struggled to an upright position and raised his face to that of the god. Slowly the star-crowned head turned to him, and a pair of deeply glowing eyes, filled with benign pity, and great with suffering, looked upon the youth. Charmides' lids fell shut in sudden, ecstatic terror, and, while his head was bent, he felt upon his hair the touch of the god. Instantly he fell back. Then, once upon his left eye and once upon his right, came the imprint of the divine mouth. With the kisses blackness rolled over him. His spirit slept.
Morning, clear, cloudless, infinitely stifling, swept over the desert. Hodo, who had drowsed through the night, lifted his head and looked about him, trying to define the sense of weight at his heart. He realized it presently, and, reluctant with fear, turned and looked behind him. Yes. The dread was justified. Charmides lay white and limp upon his camel. They must bury him that day under the yellow sand of this godless waste. Hodo's crooked little face screwed up spasmodically. Then he gave the long, quavering cry that meant, "Halt the caravan." With some little difficulty the camels were reined up, and all watched Hodo make the dismount and run to the side of the animal on which the Greek was bound. Then they understood; and a long, low, minor wail, the greeting to death, rose from every throat. It stopped with extreme suddenness when Hodo gave a sudden shout of amazement. Every trader saw Charmides suddenly sit up, and a few directly behind heard his voice, stronger than for a week past, cry to his friend a Phœnician greeting.
"Charmides is not dead!" shouted the leader, in unmistakable delight. "It is a miracle! He is well again! The fever is gone!"
The rhapsode smiled, and spoke his thanks to Hodo for all the past care; but of how he had been made well he said not a word, for he knew that the miracle had been for him alone. At the noon halt the merchants one by one came up to him, pressing his hand to their breasts and giving every expression of friendly joy at his recovery. And fully recovered he was, indeed. During the succeeding days his fever did not return; nor did the long hours of the march tire him as hitherto. He returned now to the tent that he had at first occupied; and, as he ate and slept with his Babylonish comrades, he tried again, with more success, to acquire a few phrases in the new tongue. He found his companions willing and patient teachers. And, truly, patience was necessary. The lips that could so aptly form the melodious syllables of the most beautiful of languages were awkward beyond belief at mouthing out the thick words and strangely constructed phrases of the Semitic tongue.
In the days that followed his recovery Charmides passed the hours of the march in profound reveries, which, as the days went by, became troubled. One afternoon, after long deliberation, he made his way to Hodo's tent. That little fellow was sitting cross-legged on a rug, drinking khilbum from a bronze cup, and blinking thoughtfully at the stretch of yellow sand before him. Hodo gave cordial greeting to the Greek, proffered him wine, and then sank once more into silence. Charmides disposed of his beverage at a draught, and, after a little hesitancy, looked at his companion and asked:
"Hodo, how many gods do thy people worship?"
The Babylonian looked up quickly. "Twelve—of the great gods, without Asshur, whom the Assyrians brought among us, besides many demons, many spirits, and Mulge and Allât of the under-world. Why do you ask?"
"Because I would learn which it is among your gods that is winged with silver, crowned with stars, dressed in a purple vesture, and carries in his right hand a lyre of gold."
Hodo screwed his face into a puzzled knot. "Stars—wings—purple vesture—lyre—I do not know. Never have I heard that any of the gods carried a lyre. It is not an instrument much known to us. In the sacred scriptures Bel is said to carry a staff, and I have seen him on the walls of the temple with wings. So also Namtar flies. But the rest—how do you know these things?"
"This god appeared to me in a dream," replied the rhapsode.
Hodo found nothing to say to this, and Charmides also was silent. The Babylonian refilled their wine-cups, and, after they had been emptied, the Greek rose and left the tent, unsatisfied, yet deterred by an indefinable feeling from talking further on the subject of the vision.
So the weeks went by, and the moon waned and grew young again, until, upon the twenty-first day after leaving Damascus, they were but forty-eight hours out of the Great City. That afternoon, just after the start was made, when the camels, after more water than usual, were moving briskly over the sand, Charmides' eyes, wandering to the distant horizon, encountered something that set his heart wildly throbbing.
"Hodo! Hodo!" he shouted. "It is the city! Look! The Great City!"
From Hodo, in front, there came, after a minute's look, a ringing laugh. "Yes, it is the ghost of the false city. We see it often here in the desert, as we see lakes and trees that are not. Truly it is a strange thing."
Charmides heard him incredulously. Before his eyes was certainly a vision of mighty walls, and square towers, and gates, and many-roofed palaces outlined against the heat-blurred sky. They kept their places, too, seeming to grow more and more distinct as the caravan proceeded. The rhapsode closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still there. Yes, he could now see the groups of palm-trees and faint outlines of olive foliage around the walls; and presently, when a broad, blue river was to be seen winding its way from east to west through the plain, Charmides turned on his camel and called to Tirutû behind:
"Is not yonder city indeed Babylon, Tirutû?"
But the trader smiled and slowly shook his head, and Charmides, half angry and wholly unconvinced, turned again to the sight that entranced him. Clear and straight, for ten minutes more, it stood out against the sky. Then, of a sudden, the city vanished in one quiver, and, where it had been, only the dark horizon-line, straight and unbroken, stretched away as usual. Charmides was sad that the dream had vanished; but he could laugh at himself when Hodo turned to look at him with good-natured amusement. Still, the picture remained with him, and came to seem, in after years, his first impression of the far-famed city that was to be his home.
The march that night was more rapid than usual, and the halt next day not made till the heat was past bearing. At the noon meal mirth ran high, and wine and water were drunk with an abandon possible only to men who had for three weeks practised a cruel restraint. Twenty-four hours more would bring them to Babylon, and already they were on the borders of civilization and fertility.
On this day Charmides sat apart from his companions, feeling no desire to join in their loud joy. When finally the company lay down to rest, the Greek felt that sleep was impossible for him, and he went off alone to the