Semiramis: A Tale of Battle and of Love. Edward Peple
raised her head and clenched her outflung hands. "Oh, if I but once might sing a battle-song! To struggle—to fight—!"
Menon checked her with a rich, full-throated laugh that echoed to the temple's dome.
"Fight?" he asked. "In the name of all the gods, fight whom?"
She gave no heed to his merry tone, for the spark had caught, the flames were lit, and the fuel needs must burn.
"Poof! I care not, so it be a foe—a foe who will stand and scorns to fly!" Again she raised her arms, her rich voice shrill in its pitch of feverish desire: "To drive a chariot and lash its steeds through hedges of swords and spears! To drink of the wine of war! To conquer and to reign—a queen! And see!" she cried, as she caught her flame-hued hair, "this will I cut away, that none may know me for a maid. Then, then wilt thou suffer me to follow as a youth who is in thy train. Speak, lord, I wait."
Menon smiled and shook his head, for a maiden's path, he told her, was not amidst the perils of the field; but she took his cheeks in both her palms and bent till her breath was mingled with his own.
"Nay, once," she pleaded, in her haunting, liquid tone, "one little war—no more! Ah, Menon, sweet, thou will let me go?" Lower she bent and leaned upon his lips, while her strange eyes burned their passion into his, her fair arms clinging in a love caress. "Menon! Menon!"
He trembled, for his heart cried out aloud and longed to give this maid whatever she asked; and she held him closer still, murmuring into his ear as her mother, Derketo, might have whispered when she lured the steps of men from their level paths.
"Heed me," she pleaded low, and brushed his cheek with the velvet of a softer curve, "didst thou not will to tax my father of the Pearl of Syria? What then? Wouldst leave me in thy home—alone—to yearn for a loved one far afield, to weep, to listen for his footstep through the weary night? Nay, Menon, that were cruelty, and thou art kind."
A shadow settled on the Governor's brow. He arose and paced the temple's floor, his hands locked tight behind his back. Grim duty called his name, and it came to him that the scepter of Assyria was thrust between his heart and the woman for whom it beat alone.
"What troubleth thee, my lord?"
For a space he answered naught, but kept to his thoughtful pacing to and fro.
"Maiden," he began at last, "there are matters of state which come to pass, and a woman may not understand, by reason of their strange complexities."
The girl looked up, with a sparkle in her eye which warred with a sense of vague misgiving in her heart.
"Perchance, my lord, the tongue of a learned Governor is happily of that turn which maketh such matters simple, even to a woman's foolish mind. I pray thee try."
Menon laughed, then began to tell his trouble as best he might, though the task now seemed more weighty than the sealing of a truce; and rather far would he have faced Boabdul's scimitar than the eyes of this red-haired girl who watched him, hanging on his utterance.
"King Ninus," said he, "hath sent me messengers who on yesterday were come. They bear me a scroll wherein my master is pleased to laud my deeds with flatteries and praise. At his command have I taxed thy people till the very grass blades wilt, and thereby won the enmity of all the land; yet the King is glad, for because of me he receiveth vast stores for the building of his city. In reward"—here Menon faltered, turned away his eyes and looked upon the floor—"in reward he offereth me his daughter's hand—Sozana—when the walls and palaces of Nineveh shall be."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis. "Ah! I see!" She crouched upon the temple steps, one knee clasped tight within her arms, her pink chin resting on it thoughtfully. "Go on, my lord."
"This offer," continued Menon, scowling as he spoke, "is a fruit of bitterness upon my tongue, for the maid is loved by my best of friends—Memetis—an Egyptian Prince whom Ninus holdeth hostage at his court lest his nation rise to—"
He stopped, for Semiramis had checked his speech with a cold command.
"Nay, let Memetis rest! What manner of maid may this Sozana chance to be?"
"She is dark and slight," the Governor answered slowly, "of a trustful nature, gentle in her ways, and kind." The girl beside him laughed, yet merriment was not its tone; and Menon blundered on: "As children we played together, she and I—a saucy little rogue of mirth and song—a child, for whom I'd cut away my hand rather than bring a pang of suffering."
"So," said Semiramis, in a whispered drawl, "so the Princess is fair to look upon. I did divine as much. Well? Well, my lord?"
"And now," sighed Menon, "the King would cause this pretty child to stifle love and wed where she hath no will."
"Not so," declared Semiramis, with a snap of her firm white teeth. "Be warranted, my lord, the jade hath put him up to it. What! Hath she not seen thee? Hast thou not beguiled her with thy, craftful wiles? How should it, then, be otherwise?"
Again the lake-nymph laughed, ungently, and with a shrill, derisive ring.
"Nay!" said Menon. "Nay! She yearneth not for me, nor do I yearn for her. In secret is she betrothed unto Memetis whom she loveth utterly; and should I bow to the King's desire, t'would bring a hurt to her whom I took to wife, and to him whose happiness I hold more dearly than mine own."
Once more the Assyrian paused and gazed in trouble through the temple's door. In the waters of the lake he seemed to see the faces of his monarch and his friends, the King, with a smile upon his bearded lips; Memetis, sad and silent in reproach, and sweet Sozana, wondering at a grief too deep for tears.
"Then why," asked Semiramis, quivering as she spoke, "then why, in the name of Bel and Moloch, wouldst thou do this wicked thing?"
The Governor stood before her, cast in gloom, and answered sullenly:
"The offer of the King is the King's command, and once, once only, may a subject thwart his will."
"Ah!" breathed Semiramis once again. "Ah, I see! Moreover, I do perceive that Menon hath a mighty leaning to this maid of Nineveh, who is dark and slight, of a trustful nature, gentle in her ways, and kind. Nay, shake not thy head, deceitful one. Shammuramat is not a fool. What, then, remaineth for my lord to choose?"
Menon sighed, but answered naught, while she sat and watched him pacing in his deep unrest. Presently she spoke again, slowly, softly, yet the tone was cold:
"I have marked, my lord, that those of smallest mind demand the longest span of time in making up the same. The wise man acteth! His love and greed he weigheth not in the selfsame scale. What! Hath the mighty Governor still to choose?"
The Assyrian leaned against a pillar of the temple, gazed gloomily before him, and brooded on the mandate of the King. The warrior within him whispered at his ear, calling, pleading, as with a trumpet's blast. Another voice there was, that told of a love of power—of the joy in ruling over weaker men—and Menon's place was beside the King. They dragged him, these voices, as with a chain of bronze, yet his heart cried out Shammuramat! With her he could dwell in peace for all time, an outcast from his land, a wanderer, in want and poverty—a worshipper who died content in the glory of her smile. And yet—
"Is my lord still praying to his gods of guile, or doth he slumber because of weariness—and me?"
The troubled Governor did not note a certain purring in her tone, nor the gleam of her eye, while she crouched as the leopard crouches, noiseless, ready for its spring.
"By the great lord Asshur," Menon muttered between his teeth, "my wits are tried and grievously." He shook himself and turned with his winning smile. "Can the friend of the good witch Schelah lend aid to one who is vexed in spirit and in mind?"
"Yea!" cried Semiramis, springing to her feet in a gust of fury. "Yea!" Her eyes flamed hotly, and her fingers clenched till the nails bit deep into her palms. "Go, thief of kisses! Go, when thou hast scorched my country bare with tax! Go back to thy maid of Nineveh—this whining jade whose sire is but a savage and a fool! Yet tell her this—thou hast