Chapter XXII: Book II: The Great City (14)

In many a house and hovel in the Great City a similar scene was enacted to-night. Yet there could not be one more deplorable than this. She who raved upon the bed of straw in the heart of the most poverty-stricken quarter of Babylon--from what things was she descended? One by one she had lost everything that had made her life wonderful. Now the last, that attribute that she had left uncounted because it seemed to her indestructible, was going from her. In the next five days of this horrible sickness her beauty fled away, and she was left a thing dreadful for mankind to look upon.

By the second day of her attack, the mental disturbance had increased till the intervals of her sanity entirely disappeared. On the morning of the third day began those violent constrictions of the heart that caused unspeakable agony and brought her to the brink of the black abyss. By this time, also, the enlargement of glands, or buboes, the dominating symptom of the plague, had become frightful to see. Her eyes were suffused with a thick, white matter. Upon her body came forth great carbuncles. On the fourth day dark spots, patches like black bruises, and long, livid stripes, appeared upon her fair skin. The fever, now at its height, burned itself out in a day, and Istar fell into a cold and quiet stupor, the first stage of death. Her lips were black. Her eyes had closed. Her body had become something from which Beltani shrank at sight, and old Bazuzu touched only because of his great pity for the woman. Also at this time Istar's veil of hair, which had been wont to conceal her under its silken meshes, fell out in great masses and was burned by Beltani as a sacrifice before the demon of the plague.

Beltani's prayers to Namtar, however, had lost their sincerity, for the old woman could not in her heart wish Istar to live in her terrible disfigurement. Istar herself did not yet know what she had become. But unless, as seemed most probable, she died, there must soon come a time when she would discover, when she would see people shrink away from contact with her, yet turn to stare after in that fascination that a dreadful sight draws forth. Out of pure reverence for what Istar had been, Beltani attended her faithfully. Every herb and medicine and charm within her means and known to her she used to mitigate the sores, and to make the after-scars less terrible. Yet she, and Bazuzu also, felt that death were now the greatest boon for the woman.

Death did not come. In spite of her stupor and her low temperature, the fatal eighth day passed, and on the morning of the ninth Istar lived and was better. She regained a dim consciousness, and the strength to ask for food, which was given her in minute quantities, as also milk and wine. For forty-eight hours she hovered on the brink of reawakening; and then, finally, she found herself.

On the morning of the fifteenth of the month Istar opened her eyes in the early dawn. She was alone. On the other side of the room, upon her pallet, Beltani lay in a heavy sleep. Bazuzu was outside in the square. Istar moved her hand and sighed. She felt life coursing through her veins, and remembered the past week with only a vague, nightmarish sense of oppression. The air of the morning, hot as it was, had in it the gathered sweetness of the long, starry hours. She breathed it with joy; and for a moment forgot the sorrow that must be hers perpetually. Presently, with an old and habitual gesture, she lifted her hand to her head to push away her hair. And her hand touched the head. There was no hair upon it. Rather, two or three thin strands hung about her ears. Otherwise she was bald.

The heart of Istar gave a peculiar throb. She held up both hands before her eyes; and, as she saw them, she herself shrank. The hands, those fragile hands, the fair, white wrists, the arms, were spotted and streaked and swollen and hideously scabbed. She touched her cheek and found raw flesh upon it. She tore the covering from her neck. It was the same. Everywhere--everywhere, from head to foot, over her whole body--she was accursed. It was the plague--the plague! Istar tottered to her feet and uplifted her eyes. Poor, weak eyes! Yea, she was all but blind. With one low, wailing cry the afflicted one let herself slowly down, till she lay prone upon the kindly floor that did not hesitate to receive her. And there, through time and the day-dawn, she wept out the burden of her soul. But of the future and its inevitable suffering she could not think. As yet the way was too dark, too incomprehensible to her.

There upon the floor, motionless, Bazuzu found her two hours later. For long minutes he stood over her, helpless, pitying, knowing that there was no comfort to bring. But his heart was full as he felt the abandon of her attitude. Presently, kneeling at her side, he laid a horny hand gently upon one of her shoulders. And from his fingers a message of mute sympathy went forth to her. When she could bear that he should look upon her she lifted her head and opened her half-closed eyes to him. Then she spake, quietly, but with authority:

"Let my veil be brought, that I may put it upon me."

From the corner where it had lain, carefully folded by Beltani, Bazuzu brought it to her--the soft, black, silver-shot covering of her happiness. In silence he watched the woman put it on, wrapping it about her so that her head, her face, her arms, her form, were completely shrouded. Then, from behind the veil, she spoke:

"Let no man evermore seek to behold me in my disfigurement. Behold, no longer am I Istar, but a wanderer over the face of the earth. I go forth from this house of friendliness. The voice of the great God bids me follow out my life in desert places, in the lands of my enemies."

Bazuzu, from her words still believing her more than mortal, bent his head in silent acceptance of her desires. She took two or three quiet steps to the door, and then, when he had thought her gone, turned again, and softly said:

"Thou, Bazuzu, and thy mistress, and the young Greek whose house this is, take what thanks I have to give thee, and the blessing of All-Father for thy mercy to me, an outcast. Gold have I none, nor riches of any sort in payment for your labor. But from my heart I bless thee for thy compassion."

Then, like a shadow, she glided out at the door, across the deserted square, down to the canal of the New Year, and along its bank, out into the city. Through the long morning she moved through the streets, accosting no one, stared at by the multitude, but unaddressed. Her miserable body burned and ached. The sun poured down its blue-hot rays upon her head. Muffled as she was in the veil, she was like to suffocate for air to breathe, yet she would not expose herself to the gaze of human beings. It was noon when she entered the square of the great gods and passed the door of the temple of Nergal, looking with weary eyes into its vast and cool interior. At some distance within was a group of priests, Sangû, Enû, and Barû, men of importance in their several stations. These the plague-stricken eyes of the woman failed in the dim light to see. But she was startled suddenly by the appearance in the door-way of one of them, who, catching a sight of her, had run quickly forward, and now stood eagerly staring at her form. She did not draw back from the look, and presently the priest spoke:

"Thou that standest shadow-like before me--art thou she whom they called Istar of Babylon?"

"I was Istar of Babylon," came the gentle voice.

"_Was!_ Comest thou from Ninkigal?" The priest started back from her, turning a little pale.

"Nay. Still I live; yet now am nameless."

"Thou hast dwelt as a goddess in the temple of Istar? Thou hast lived in the palace of the king as the wife of Belshazzar?"

Istar bent her head.

"Enter, then, into the temple, that I may speak with the others here before you." He motioned her to pass into the building, and, obediently, Istar entered it. She stood at a little distance, while he that had accosted her returned to the group of his companions and spoke with them. In a few moments they summoned Istar to their midst. She came quite close, and they eyed her in silence for a little while. Then one said:

"Ay. It is Istar of Babylon. I saw her thus from afar on the night of the feast of Tammuz."

"She is well found. Istar, for eight days hast thou been sought throughout the Great City. Kurush, the conqueror, demands thy presence before him. He has heard of thee and thy beauty, and the strange things thou art said to know; and he would have beheld thee on the day after the taking of the city. But we have searched for thee in vain. Where hast thou hidden?"

"I fulfilled my days. I will go now, if he wills, before the great conqueror. Haste were best, for the time to the end is not now long."

The priests looked at each other uncertainly. Her words had in them a ring of prophecy. They consulted for a little among themselves, till Istar herself made all things easy for them:

"Let a swift runner be sent to the camp of Cyrus, and let the great king be told that, one hour after the departure of the messenger, I come to him. In that hour I will rest here in the temple, for I am weak in body. Then ye may lead me out by the gate of Bel to the camp of the conqueror, and there shall ye leave me. From that camp let no man follow me forth. Now have I spoken."

And the priests heard the words of Istar and found them to be good; and that which she had commanded was done.

XXI

KURUSH THE KING

The camp of the invading army lay spread over the sun-burned plain like a camp of the dead. There was hardly a sign of life round any of the many-colored tents. The very horses and pack-mules, tethered in a herd in the midst of the desert of dry grass, lay for the most part panting with heat, pining, no doubt, for the distant, breezy hills of fair Iran and the snowy highlands of Media, where they had been born and bred. Those of the soldiers not quartered inside the city lay under the shadow of their tents, hardly caring to exert themselves to speak, sleeping if they could, drinking as much as was to be had if they could not. Almost the only person abroad in the noontide was the commander himself, who, with one companion, was going through the camp, making one of his impromptu examinations of his men and their armament. Hardened as he was by years of campaigning in strange countries, Cyrus to-day found Babylon as unbearable as any one. His body was damp with sweat, and his breathing, as he walked, was audible. The blue quiver of heat that came from the great desert near by made his eyes bloodshot, and caused him to see with no little difficulty. Still, remonstrate as he would, the white-robed man that walked with him succeeded only in making Cyrus more thorough and more lingering at his task.

The commander's two sons, however, had not the energy of their father. They lay on divans in the royal tent, Bardiya, the younger and more favored of the two, strumming idly on a musical instrument; Cambyses, content to be still, drinking bowl after bowl of a concoction supplied by a slave, pausing occasionally in the bibulous process to curse at the flies and winged insects that swarmed about him. Presently, looking over at his brother, who for the moment had ceased to play, he asked, civilly:

"In thy pilgrimage of yesterday, Bardiya, didst discover any cool spot in the city yonder?"

Bardiya drew himself together with a little gesture of disgust, and his brother's features broadened with a grin. "Babylon is city of filth, of disease, of death. Thousands within it die of the plague. Those that sicken and those that are dead lie alike in the open streets. There is no relief. The very river runs like molten metal. On the pavement bricks the flesh of a slain animal could be roasted to a turn. I go no more to Babylon."

Cambyses laughed. "And her whom you sought, Bardiya--she loved you not?"

Bardiya, highly displeased at the tone, replied: "She is not in the city; or, if she is, no man knows where she lies hid. Some say that she ascended to the silver sky with the spirit of Bel-shar-utsur, who was her husband. Again they tell me she was murdered with the other women in the temple of Bel-Marduk, on the night we took the city. Howbeit, no man really knows whether or not Istar of Babylon still lives."

Cambyses laughed again. "Istar of Babylon! A myth! She lives no more than any other god. Think you the great Ahura comes down among men, a man?"

But Bardiya's faith would not be shaken, and he had begun an elaborate protestation, when the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Cyrus, returning from his round with Amraphel of Bel at his side. At the entrance of their father the young men rose and saluted him with a respect that was the more marked because both of them utterly ignored the presence of the high-priest.

Amraphel's bearing was a curious contrast to that of the conqueror. It was replete with affectation and bombastic dignity, and whatever mortification he felt at the want of recognition shown him by Cyrus' sons, was manifested only by an increased loftiness of carriage.

The king seated himself in an ivory chair before a little stone table that stood in the centre of the tent, and he motioned Amraphel at the same time to a stool at his side. No sooner was he seated than the priest began to speak upon what was evidently a continued subject, already much discussed. And though his tone was in itself sufficiently self-satisfied, the terms in which he spoke were exceedingly unlike those that he had been accustomed to use to the whilom king of Babylon. Where once had been unutterable arrogance and supercilious disdain of everything, was now eager flattery, cajolements, toadyism, and unceasing assurances of devotion. In the Elamite of plebeian parentage, Amraphel had found a none too complacent master.

"And does my lord the king think his city ill-governed, that he is not content to remain in safety outside its unhealthy walls? Nay, great Kurush, thine every command, to the least of them, is given there by me, and strictly obeyed by those in office under me. As I have said, the city is loyal to you, through my teachings."

Cyrus bit his beard impatiently. "It is not that I fear lest my commands be disregarded. You I hold responsible for their fulfilment. It is that I would better know what commands to give. Here am I, native of another land, ignorant of Babylonish ways, of Babylonish needs, knowing no one street, no temple in all the city, striving to govern it from this camp outside the walls. It is folly, priest!"

"Nay, most mighty king. What the people need, I know. What they want shall be given. Fear not--"

"_Fear not!_" Cyrus turned on him with such a look that the high-priest started in confusion and shrank away a little, while from his corner Cambyses laughed harshly; but Bardiya scowled at the presumption of the priest. At sound of the laugh Amraphel flushed with anger; and Cyrus, controlling himself again, observed, in a gentler tone:

"Yesterday Bardiya, my son, went into the city yonder; and his story of those that perish of the plague is grievous."

"The young prince, the son of my lord, came into the city!" exclaimed Amraphel, in chagrin. "Why, then, sought he me not in my house?"

"For the reason that he sought another and a fairer than thou, good Amraphel," replied Cambyses, in a highly impertinent tone.

"Whom didst thou seek, prince?" asked the priest, turning to Bardiya.

"Her whom they call Istar of Babylon."

"Ah! Where didst thou learn that name?"

"It is to be heard through all the east--and west--and north. No man but knows of the living goddess of Babylon. Yet within the walls of her city I found her not, nor any that could tell me where she dwelt. _Is_ there such an one, Amraphel?"

"Now is it seven days since I sent asking that she be brought to me, or that I may have permission to go before her," observed Cyrus, thoughtfully. "Yet hath she not come, nor have I had any word from her."

"There was indeed an Istar of Babylon, who was wedded to Belshazzar, the dead tyrant. And her beauty, were it famed at all, were rightly famed over all the world. Yet was she no goddess: rather a sorceress, a witch, a demon, most wicked, most impure. Since the night of the taking of the city she hath been seen by no man. She it was, no doubt, that murdered Belshazzar the king, whom my lord commanded to be saved from death and to be brought before him. Now, doubtless, she hath taken his spirit with her down to her kingdom, down to Mulge, where she and he feast by day upon the dust of the dead, and by night upon the blood of living beings; for they are vampires. Yea, verily, Istar of Babylon is no more, O king."

There was a little silence. Amraphel's words had been spoken with every appearance of sincerity; and the idea that he presented was sufficiently weird to appeal to the lively imaginations of the Elamites. Bardiya gave a little sigh, and Cambyses and his father were for a moment lost in thought, when the party was broken in upon by a man that appeared suddenly in the door-way of the tent, and, seeing Cyrus and the high-priest together, bent the knee before them and asked permission to speak. He was a runner, or messenger, from the city, and as such his unceremonious entrance was pardonable--nay, customary.

"What wouldst thou, swift one?" demanded the king, good-humoredly.

"May the lord king of the city live forever! I am come with word from her that is called Istar of Babylon, whose presence before thee thou hast desired. Behold she follows me hither in one hour; and she sends her greeting to the great conqueror."

Cyrus, with a mixture of surprise and amusement, glanced at the priest, who was a fair picture of uneasiness.

"Say, runner," asked the king, teasingly, "the Lady Istar, did she rise before thee out of the ground from the land of Ninkigal? Came she forth before thine eyes? Or art even thou, perchance, a ghost?"

The man looked his bewilderment at the king, and this time Bardiya himself roared with laughter.

"The Lady Istar is living. The message was given me by a priest of Nergal, who comes to conduct the lady before thee. I know no more, O king!"

"Then take thy leave, fellow," cried Cyrus, tossing him a shekel from his girdle, and smiling as the man prostrated with lightning-like rapidity and was up and gone from the tent like an arrow from the bow, ere Amraphel had time to speak.

Now the high-priest rose, and, with an air of angry dignity, demanded permission to retire. Cyrus gave it willingly enough, for the man wearied him, and continually angered him by his presumption. Thus, then, a moment later, the high-priest was mounting his chariot at the edge of the camp, and might presently have been seen rolling swiftly away in the direction of the gate of Bel.

Cyrus and his sons were left alone till the coming of her whose name had so long been familiar to them. At the end of half an hour Bardiya rose from his place, straightened his tunic, and went over to the door of the tent to look out upon the plain in the direction of the city. Cyrus and Cambyses were eating their delayed noon meal; but the younger man, whose vein of romance was marked, refused food, and stood here alone, looking out over the parched fields. From time to time his father asked if anything were to be seen of their promised visitor; and always came the reply:

"Neither chariot nor litter do I see."

Then finally, as all three of them grew impatient at the delay, the youth added: "But there are, near at hand, a company of priests on foot, and in their midst is some one clad in black. They come towards our tent. Perhaps--"

Cyrus came over and stood at his shoulder. "I think it is the woman," he said. And he was right.

The three of them, the great king in the centre, Cambyses on the right hand, Bardiya on the left, stood in the door-way of the tent as the little band of white-robed priests came up to them. There was a slow, sinking reverence on the part of the attendants, and from their midst came forth a tall, slight figure muffled in the silver-shining veil. Seeing her, the conqueror and his sons all three inclined their bodies, and then Cyrus stretched out his hand.

"Istar of Babylon, we give you greeting in the name of Elam and Media, and we bid you welcome to this tent of the plain."

Istar bent her head, acknowledging the courtesy, but denied her hand to him that mutely asked it. Turning slightly, she dismissed the priests, who, remembering her commands, accepted the gesture and departed from her reluctantly.

Then Istar entered the tent and took the chair that Cambyses hastened to place for her. Cyrus also seated himself, but the young men stood. Now that speech seemed demanded of him, the great king looked a little uncertain of himself. He glanced at the concealing veil which the woman still kept close around her, and he longed greatly to ask for a sight of the far-famed face. Yet that was a request that he dared not make. Istar, however, read his mind without difficulty, and let her head sink sorrowfully upon her breast. It seemed to her at last that her cup of bitterness was full; and she whispered a little prayer into the silence. Cyrus caught three or four of her low words, and these gave him an opening for speech.

"You speak to the gods. Is it with the gods of Babylon that you hold communion, lady?"

"There is no god but God, great king; and Him, in their hearts, all men must worship."

Cyrus looked slightly puzzled, and his curiosity was stronger than ever. Yielding to an impulse, he leaned over, asking: "Istar of Babylon, who art thou?"

Istar glanced round her. "Let thy sons depart, that we may be alone," she said, in a quiet command.

Cyrus made a gesture that the young men dared not disobey, and, however much against their wills, they quickly left the tent. In departing, Bardiya let fall the curtain at the door, so that the king and the king's visitor were alone in the pleasant half-light. Then Istar spoke: "Thou hast asked what I am, O king. Tell me first who art thou, and thereafter I will answer thee."

"I am Kurush, an Achæmenian."

"And I am Istar, a woman, sent of God to be punished on earth."

"Unveil thyself, woman. Let me behold that face that the world has worshipped."

Istar rose. She was trembling slightly in her great shame. Yet there was no hesitation in her movements. With a dexterous twist she flung off her veil and stood revealed before the conqueror in all her unspeakable ugliness.

Cyrus let a cry escape him. "Thou! Thou art not Istar of Babylon!"

She folded both hands across her breast and her dim eyes closed. "I am Istar of Babylon," she said, softly.

After the shock of first seeing her, the king had looked away. Now, as she stood there before him, mute and motionless, he struggled with himself to let his eyes return to her without outward betrayal of his feeling. When finally he looked again his brown orbs were clear and calm, and he showed no sign of repulsion. For one, two, three minutes he looked upon her face till, in spite of the frightful complexion, he began to perceive its fundamental beauty. Of her eyes, only, he could not judge. They were swollen, red, matterated, nearly closed. Otherwise he knew from what he saw that she had once been rarely beautiful. Only--always--she was hideous now--hideous beyond belief.

Knowing well his mind, how she revolted him, how strong was his desire to leave her presence, Istar still stood before the great king. It was her final mortification, and even her going forth from the temple of Bel under Amraphel's lash had not been so terrible to her as this. Yet now, by degrees, as if a magnetic current passed between them, some understanding of what she underwent came home to the warrior. Compassion and pity took the place of horror. His face grew very gentle, and, moving to Istar's side, he laid one hand on her cotton-clad shoulder.

"Istar, thou hast greatly suffered. Is it not so?"

She shrank back from his touch as if she knew all that the move had cost him. But the question she answered freely, without hesitation.

"I have suffered, yea, by day and by night, for many months. I doubted the wisdom of the Lord, and I am punished. I became mortal. I loved; and that that I loved more than myself death hath taken from me. Fame, honor, riches, purity, love, and beauty are gone. Nothing now remains. The end draws near. From afar I hear the voice of my beloved calling me.

"Thou, O king, great king, lord of the gate of God, art at the zenith of thy glory. Thy greatest victory is won. Thy time here is not much longer. After thee come two that shall dispute the throne, and they shall fare forth from the world in the bloodshed of murder and self-murder. After them cometh one greater than either, that shall enter Babylon from another country. For him the sun grows golden. He shall put down usurpers from his seat; and for a little while shall hold and rule the kingdom with a strong and mighty hand. And then--I see the city slowly sink--under the weight of time. One more conqueror she shall know: a youth of iron from a land of gold. And he shall set the world aghast with his conquests; but he shall find his tomb there within the Great City of his conquering. After him the East grows black. The rose shall wither unseen upon her tree. Even to the banks of the great river blow thick the desert sands. Walls and palaces shall crumble away. And upon the broken stairs of the tower of Bel a jewel of great price lies for many centuries unheeded in the universal desolation. And for centuries, Achæmenian, thou shalt sleep, ere thou art known again as king of Babylon--the city of my lord."

With the ending of her vision Istar smiled slowly upon him that watched her with troubled eyes. As the spell passed she trembled, and, stooping, picked up the veil that lay about her feet. Cyrus moved forward as if he would have stopped her.

"Speak on! Let me hear again that that thou hast foretold. Such prophecy as this no seer of my court hath ever made."

But Istar's fire was gone. The light in her face died away, and in its death Cyrus read her answer to his plea. Then she wrapped herself again in the covering that hid her plight, and from it, as from behind a mask, she spoke again:

"Thou, O Cyrus, who hast beheld me in mine ugliness, must carry with thee the memory of it forever. Yet know that Istar of Babylon hath humbled herself before thee as before no living man. My king is dead. In his place, by reason of thy gentleness and justice, I hail thee lord of Chaldea and of Babylon." And thereupon, before Cyrus understood what she did or could prevent the act, Istar knelt at his feet and touched them, the right and the left, with her forehead, in the manner of the day.

With a quick exclamation Cyrus lifted her up; but she spoke gently to him, saying:

"That that was written have I done. Censure me not. I but obeyed my law. Now fare thee well, O king. The end cometh, and I go forth to meet it."

"Nay, Istar--hold! One question more! Thou, his wife, art accused of the murder of the king of Babylon, whom I commanded to be brought before me living and unhurt from the feast in the temple. How dost thou answer this accusation?"

"Who hath accused me of the deed?"

"The priest of Bel."

"Amraphel?"

"Yea."

"Then I ask thee only why I should have killed him that my soul loves as it loved not God?"

"Knowest thou, then, the murderer?"

"He that accused me shall, in God's time, answer to that charge. But thou, Cyrus, see that thou punish him not. Thy hands are red with the blood of many slain in battle; and shall the slayer accuse the slayer? Now speak no more to me. I return again to the city."

In spite of her last bidding, Cyrus, slightly angered by her perfect assurance, would have spoken again, had he not found it to be a physical impossibility. It was in his heart to accuse her of his own accord of the death of Belshazzar. Yet he could not voice the thought. As she left the tent he moved after her to the door-way, whence he could look over the plain to the walls of the city. He saw the black-robed figure glide unaccosted through the camp and beyond it, in the direction that Amraphel had taken more than an hour before. And as he watched her Cyrus felt a great reverence spring up in his heart, and in the after-wonder at her bearing and her words he forgot how she had looked. And presently, as he stood there lost in thought, Bardiya came to his shoulder, asking, softly:

"My father, is she all that men have said?"

Cyrus hesitated in his reply. Finally, after a long pause, he answered of his own will: "More wonderful than any have said. She is a woman sent of God."

XXII

AT THE GATE

Istar went quietly over the plain towards the gate of Bel, by which she purposed re-entering Babylon, intending to pass the night in some one of the temples, those refuges for all the outcast paupers of the Great City. As she went, she thought upon Cyrus the king and her talk with him, and also of the prophecy that had been put into her mouth.

When she left the conqueror's tent her mind had been at rest. She had neither fear nor desire. But now, as she drew near the city gate, and could hear, as from a great distance, sounds of life coming from the rébit, or market, held outside Nimitti-Bel, she quickened with uneasiness and excitement. Coming nearer, she perceived that there was a great gathering in the mart, and it seemed to her that, over the general murmur of buyers and venders, one single voice was speaking. She did not recognize the tall, white-robed figure standing in the very centre of the throng, gesticulating as he spoke; nor could her ears distinguish any of his words. Quietly enough she came along her way, instinctively knowing that danger threatened her; while, in the square, Amraphel of Bel spoke to the gathering crowd of Babylonians and Jews, some of whom he himself had brought, some of whom had been here in any case, all of whom were now waiting for the inevitable return of Istar to the city.

It was in this wise that Amraphel addressed them:

"Hear ye, men and women! Listen, and heed the word!" He paused, while the noise in the market-place grew gradually less. "Listen and heed, and obey my word!

"Now comes there among you one from the camp of Kurush the conqueror, who, in shame of guilt, hath not been equalled in the Great City. The woman of Babylon, the witch, the disciple of Namtar the plague-demon; she by whose hand Nabonidus and Belshazzar both have fallen; she who for so long polluted the holy sanctuary of Istar; she who, in her nameless wrath, visits the city with the great death; she who hath lain for days in the camp of the conqueror, vainly weaving her spells about his dauntless heart; she who hath, in sacrilege, been called Istar of Babylon, would now come once more among ye.

"My people, will ye let her in among your dead in the city? Will ye again receive her that hath wrought this infinite woe? Will ye not, rather, in the names of the great gods, drive her forth from the city gates with stones and scourges, as from your hearths by night you exorcise Namtar her companion?

"Behold, there comes she among you, even now, black-veiled. In the name of Bel, our god, I bid ye drive her from your presence here in Babilû!"

Hardly comprehending at first the violent words of the high-priest, the people had listened open-mouthed. When, however, they understood that she whom he had designated as the incarnation of all evil was coming among them from the camp of the Elamite, there was a quick struggle to reach the front rank of the crowd. As yet the Babylonians were moved by curiosity rather than by wrath, for they were a slow people and not unreasonable. The Jews, however, as many as were there, were of a different temperament, and it was they that began, little by little, to raise that ominous, angry murmur that will quicken a mob to violence sooner than any speech of a professional anarch.

Among the throng was Charmides the Greek, come out an hour before to buy barley for his house, and remaining to chat for a time with the cheery countrymen that were unaffected by the depression of the city. Charmides had heard the words of Amraphel with a natural sense of horror, and now turned to look incredulously over the plain. There, fifty yards away, was she for whom he and Bazuzu had vainly sought since morning. There indeed was she, the tall, slight, black-clothed figure, advancing slowly towards the gate. In obedience to a quick impulse, Charmides ran hastily forth from the square and placed himself before her in her path. The ominous shouts of the mob behind him came clearly to his ears, but he paid no heed to them. He was within five feet of her before Istar recognized him from behind her heavy veil. Then immediately she spoke to him, in the poor, cracked voice that contained not a trace of its former melody.

"Comest thou from the city to meet me, O Greek? Among so many, yet I shall not lose my way."

"Lady Istar, turn thou back. Turn away from the gate! Amraphel there incites the mob to take thy life. Therefore be warned. Come thou with me. I will support you. We will enter the city later by another way."

Istar stopped and hesitated a little. She lifted her eyes to look at the great throng in the rébit, and she could read their intent from the attitude they took. Then she turned again to Charmides, who would have taken her about the body to help her on in her weakness.

"Nay, Greek!" She started back from him. "Lay not thy hand upon me! My very flesh is accursed! Thou givest timely warning, yet I go up to meet them that hate me. Have I not said the end is near? Seek not to hold the blessed freedom from me. Let us go up to meet them at the gate."

Startled by the calm determination of her manner, Charmides could find no fitting remonstrance for her. Indeed, he knew at once that it were useless to attempt to combat her will. More, he felt it to be irreverent. Keeping, then, close at her side, hoping to shield her with his own body from those in the market-place, he walked with her up the gradual ascent to the gate. At first their approach was watched with murmurs of disapproval. The angry prejudice of the Jews was beginning to extend to the Babylonians also, and momentarily Charmides expected the first stone. But as she approached something in the bearing of the veiled woman stilled the voice of the mob. She was coming among them apparently without either fear or hesitation. It was perhaps her fearlessness that sent the little tremor of shame into the minds of most of the company. Amraphel saw this almost instantly, and quickly set to work. There was a slight movement along the face of the mob, and when Istar stood within fifteen feet of them she found herself confronted by a solid line of Jews that looked upon her with a cold impassivity that foreboded an evil ending to this strange hour.

Seeing that her way was barred, and by what immovable men, Istar finally halted. She looked about her from side to side, betraying for the first time a little uncertainty of manner. It was as if the guiding spirit that had so far led her was suddenly gone; as if at last she was alone, unprotected, mentally and physically, before an inimical world. With a little gesture of bewilderment she turned to the Greek at her side.

"Charmides," she said, faintly, "what do they here? Why do they oppose my coming?"

"Men of Babylon," shouted Charmides, commandingly, "open your ranks! Let the Lady Istar pass through to the gate of Bel!"

A low, sullen murmur of refusal rose from the men in the front line. Not one of them moved. There was not so much as a glance of encouragement for Charmides in his hopeless championship of the woman. Nevertheless the Greek cried again:

"What right have ye to forbid that she enter the city?"

Then came a voice from the midst of the throng, a strident voice, and one harsh with age, known too well both to Istar and to her protector. "The witch of the plague shall enter no more into the city. Long enough, creature of Namtar, hast thou worked destruction among us. Let the demon thy master save thee from our wrath!" And with the last words a piece of broken brick was hurled from out of the throng, striking Istar upon the shoulder.

Instantly Charmides sprang in front of her, but, violently trembling, she pushed him back. Quite alone, quite unprotected, she faced the mob, even advanced to them a step or two, while she asked, faintly:

"What is this that ye call me? Servant of Namtar? Witch of the plague?"

"Yea verily, wicked one!"

"Witch!"

"Sorceress!"

"Murderess!"

With the last word two or three more stones came towards her, one of them striking her upon the knee, another passing just over her head.

Istar drew a long sigh, and for an instant she closed her world-weary eyes. Thereafter, with a slighter movement than she had used before Cyrus, she caused the veil to fall from her form, and stood exposed in all her pitiable plight before the pitiless mob that had gathered against her.

Instantly there came a chorus of wonderment and of repulsion, with which a weak note of compassion was mingled. Charmides, who now saw her face for the first time since the morning after the massacre, started with horror.

"Behold, the mark of the plague is upon me. How then do ye call me servant of Namtar?" she said.

"Sorceress! Beneath the veil thou hast transformed thyself! Take thy true form!" cried Amraphel from the throng.

At this accusation a howl of anger suddenly rolled over the childish multitude. At last, almost by accident, they had been successfully roused to fury against the helpless creature before them.

"Thy true shape, witch!"

"Thy true shape!"

"Fly, if thou canst, from our wrath!"

"Pray Namtar to save thee now!"

And then, dropping articulate speech, the mob prepared themselves for their revenge against the demon's minion.

Drops of sweat rolled down Istar's face. Faint for food and greatly suffering from weariness, she swayed where she stood. Charmides, overcoming his repulsion, remembering her as she had once been in the days of her great glory, threw his arm about her and supported her.

"Dogs!" he cried, angrily, "the woman is weak and sick of the plague. Will ye still keep her from the city wherein she must rest?"

"Shall we admit a murderess among us?" shouted one of the Jews, wrathfully.

"Murderess? What creature have I slain?"

"Dost thou deny the murder of thy husband, Belshazzar, on the night of the feast?" demanded Amraphel from the midst of the throng.

"Belshazzar! My beloved!--_I?_" A great sob burst from the lips of the woman. For a moment she could feel again about her the dying arms of him whom she had loved more dearly than godhead. The tears flowed fast down her scarred cheeks. Before the wave of grief she bent her head low.

"Behold, she confesses! She dares not deny! Murderess! Murderess!"

The voice of the mob grew deafening; and now bricks and stones came forth upon her in a shower. They struck her in many places, bruising her head, her breast, her scantily clothed arms, her broken body. Under the blows she cowered like a wounded animal, uttering no sound.

"Istar, Istar, come away with me! Fly! Here is death if we remain. Come!"

Charmides seized hold of her while the missiles were striking them both in great numbers. Then, taking her up bodily, the Greek turned and fled rapidly down the hill-slope in the direction of the nearest shelter, a broad palm-grove upon the river-bank. For a few moments Istar was helpless; but he found, to his immense relief, that they were not pursued. When at last they were beyond danger Istar shuddered and cried to be put down. He set her anxiously upon her feet and found that she could walk.

"If I had but wine to give thee!" he exclaimed, as he saw her weakness.

"Nay, Charmides, thou hast saved and greatly helped me. I give thee blessing from the heart. And now thou must leave me, that I may go alone down to the river. Fear not. None will accost me. I am well."

The Greek would have protested against letting her go, but that he had an unaccountable feeling that a higher force than hers was dominating both of them. Therefore, after a glance into her uplifted face, he fell upon his knees before her, and bent his head before the will of the Almighty that was over them. And there, while the sunset shed its light around them like a halo, Istar turned away and went forth alone in the sunset light, to the grove of palms upon the bank of the quietly flowing Euphrates.

XXIII

THE SILVER SKY

Never, in all the days of Babylon, had there been an evening more fair than this. At sunset the burning day melted and flowed away, down the western sky, in a flood of liquid gold. A faint breath of air came over the river from across the distant Tigris, out of the cool hills of Elam, the conqueror's land. On the river-bank rose the palm-trees, casting their shadows into the softly slipping water; and the turf beneath them was all strewn with sunset gold. To the north lay Babylon, huge and black and silent, her dying thousands shut away behind the vastly towering walls. To the west and south stretched great irrigated fields of ripening grain, in the midst of which were many shadufs, with their patient buffaloes at the interminable work of drawing water from the clay wells. Still farther back were the crumbling brick huts of the tillers of the soil. On the edge of the river two long-legged cranes stood quietly meditating. Overhead a flock of pelicans wound their slow way southward towards the marshes where they dwelt. From the far distance was heard the loud cry of the bittern. Otherwise the land was silent--wrapped in evening prayer.

Along the river-bank, under the shadowy palms, with the golden light glowing about her, walked Istar, musing gently upon many things. Voices from the infinite addressed her. The iron was leaving her soul. Her mind was transfused with quietude. She ceased to notice or to feel the aching of her bruised body. She was holding communion with deeper things, and she moved with her head bent forward and her eyes upon the ground. Presently she paused at the brink of the river--the fair, well-flowing river, that held in its pure depths the body of the storm-eyed, her beloved. Its flashing waters encompassed her with glory. Her mortal eyes grew blind with light. Presently, out of the glowing depth, there came to her, as once before, a voice--but now a voice most familiar, most dear to her ears, most longed-for since its silence. Belshazzar spoke from the beyond, in the words that Allaraine had written on the temple wall, and that had appeared to her again from the river, on the night of death:

"Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silver sky waits for thy soul."

And now in the heart of the woman was no bitterness, no rebellion, only knowledge of the truth. And, answering the question of the Lord, spoken in the voice of her dead, she whispered, softly:

"Man and man, as man and God, are bound by those ties of eternal love that made the covenant of Creation. Consciously or unconsciously, all living things must live with this as their law, for they are God's children, God's brothers, God Himself sent forth to wander for a while in time, but in the end returning to their eternal source, which is God.

"All the sin, all the sorrow of the world, I have known, have suffered. Yet no loss nor grief can take away the great joy of love, its purity, its perfection.

"I acknowledge the wisdom of the All-Father displayed in His creation. Let Him do with me as He will."

As she ceased to speak a blinding, silver stillness wrapped her about and held her immovable. From its depths in the far-off heavens there came to her ears sounds such as she had known in the long-ago: the song of the infinite, the infinite, unceasing chorus, the wind-choir that sings the Creator's hymn.

Still she could see the green fields and the water, and the ferny palms above her head. Still she beheld the broad river running full of pink and molten gold. Still the breath of the evening wind came to her lips. The world was all about her; but she was no longer of it all.

High over her head, in the unclouded sky, a vast web of shimmering silver was spreading out and out, like a broad, firmly woven veil. It scintillated with dazzling light into Istar's upraised and half-blind eyes, yet it struck them with no pain. It was the silver sky of Babylonish dreams opening above her, while the celestial voices sang ever more softly, but ever more beautifully, the pure, swaying harmonies of the great hymn of freedom. God's presence lived in the beauty of the earthly evening scarcely less than in the splendor of that heavenly one. In the midst of the scene of supernatural wonder, Istar sank to her knees, and there remained transfixed before the miracle that came to be enacted before her.

From out of the silver-spun cloud two figures, at first merely dense, opaque bodies of mist, began to descend from the heights, growing gradually more and more distinct in form as they came, leaving behind them a silver trail that moved and swayed, fine and threadlike, in the air, above them. As they approached her, Istar, in her ecstasy, quickly recognized them both; the one, his floating locks of deepest auburn star-crowned, his trailing garments of changing blue, carrying in his hand the sunset lyre, was Allaraine, the archetype of song. The second was more spiritual still, a storm-eyed being with thick, black locks uncrowned, clothed in misty white, girdled in silver, bearing in his hand a palm-branch of the same shimmering white metal, his face, hands, and feet showing transparently pure, while in his back, upon the left side, was a mark of brilliant light, glowing with ruby fire, and resembling a hallowed wound--the releasing dagger-stroke that had freed Belshazzar from Babylon--Belshazzar, beloved of the woman to whom he came again.

Slowly, slowly, to that infinite, sweet chorus, these two descended till their celestial feet touched earth, and Istar, with joyful greeting, rose up and went to meet them. As she held forth both maimed, mortal hands, the eyes of Allaraine glowed with sorrow, but Belshazzar's face was alight with the fulness of great joy.

"We come to thee, O woman honored of God; and thou shalt choose between us.

"I, Allaraine, thy brother, would lead thee back among thy fellows in thy great purification to the perfection of rest, of insensibility to all creation except God and His word."

"Istar, beloved, through suffering a soul, an immortal soul, hath been born in thee; and thou mayst come forth now to rest a little on the long pilgrimage that will lead thee finally back into the God whence all souls are sprung."

"Choose, Istar. Choose."

Istar turned her eyes to Allaraine and looked upon him long and earnestly, and her face grew radiant. Then, most slowly, she moved her gaze till it met with that of the great storm-orbs of Belshazzar. And in that look the worn-out body dropped from off her soul, which, clothed in garments of translucent light, began its ascent between the two messengers that had come for her. They passed, all three, above the shadowy turf, above the line of waving palms, above the glowing river which ran its threadlike course from distant Karchemish into the sunset gulf; above, finally, the towering black walls of the Great City, and so into the clouds of the silver sky, to which no mortal eye may follow them.

* * * * *

Through this last hour and the period of her transfiguration, Charmides, still standing at the edge of the grove of palms, had watched the figure of Istar upon the river-bank. Rejoicing in the great beauty of the evening, he waited peacefully, believing her wrapped in prayer. Nothing saw he of the celestial world that had opened to her, nothing knew of the heavenly messengers that had come. But when her body fell back upon the earth, he, thinking that she had fainted from exhaustion, ran quickly to the spot where his eyes had last beheld her. When he came to the place there was nothing there--no trace of the plague-marked form of her that had dwelt in the temple of Istar in the Great City. Long he searched there alone in the evening, till, out of the far, blue space a voice, the voice of the woman he had so worshipped, spoke to him:

"Thou faithful and true, seek for me no more; for that of me which was not is not now. But my spirit shalt thou know to be watching near thee always. Behold, I am returned unto our Father."

So, knowing all things dumbly in his heart, the young Greek obeyed her voice, and, turning slowly away, went forth from the grove of palms, and returned that night alone to his young wife in Babylon.

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Jowett's translation of Plato's _Statesman_, vol. iii., pp. 562, 571.

[2] Jowett's translation of Plato's _Phaedo_, vol. i., pp. 407, 408.

[3] 541 B.C.

[4] Herodotus gives it as higher than this, a few writers less, the greatest estimate being three hundred and seventy-five feet, the least seventy-five.

[5] "_Bit_"--tribe, or family. A general prefix to the surname.

[6] The worship of the goddess Istar began originally in the city of Erech.

[7] Her archetypal name, Istar being only a cognomen, the name given her by the people.

[8] According to the calculations of Babylonish historians.

[9] The fish-god.

[10] The incident of Nabu-Nahid's strange gods is an historical fact.

[11] Fourteen miles.

[12] An historical fact.

[
Transcriber's Note:

The following is a list of variations in the spelling of personal
and place names which have been retained:

Agâdé / Agade
Êa-bani / Êa-Bani
Lillât / Lilât
Nabu-Nahîd / Nabû-Nahid / Nabu-Nahid
Nabopolassar / Nabopollassar
Tiamât / Tiâmat
Vul-ramân / Vul-Ramân

The Incantation in the Prologue uses the spelling "archtype".