Our Boys Part 12

[Footnote 1: The Magi were the Persian priests.]

Otanes and Smerdis, chatting eagerly together, rode on as fast as the crowd would permit, and soon reached one of the gates in the huge walls that defended the city. These walls, seventy-five feet high, and wide enough to allow two chariots to drive abreast, were strengthened by two hundred and fifty towers, except on one side, where deep marshes extended to their base. Beyond these marshes lay the hunting-grounds, and the party, turning to the left, rode for a time over a smooth highway, between broad tracts of land sown with wheat, barley and sesame. Slender palm-trees covered with cl.u.s.ters of golden dates were seen in every direction, and the sunbeams shimmered on the ca.n.a.ls and ditches which conducted water from the Euphrates to all parts of the fields.

Otanes' horse suddenly shied violently as a rider, mounted on a fleet steed, and carrying a large pouch, dashed by like the wind.

"One of the Augari bearing letters to the next station!" exclaimed Smerdis. "See how he skims along. Hi! If I were not to be one of the king's bodyguard, I'd try for an Augar's place. How he goes! He's almost out of sight already."

"How far apart are the stations?" asked Otanes.

"Eighteen miles. And when he gets there, he'll just toss the letter bag to the next man, who is sitting on a fresh horse waiting for it, and away _he'll_ go like lightning. That's the way the news is carried to the very end of the empire of our lord the King."

"Must be fine fun," replied Otanes. "But see, there's the gate of the hunting-park. Now for the lion," he added gayly.

"May Ormuzd[2] save you from meeting one, my young master," said the old servant, Candaules. "Luckily it's broad daylight, and they are more apt to come from their lairs after dark. Better begin with smaller game and leave the lion and wild boars to your father."

[Footnote 2: The princ.i.p.al G.o.d of the Persians.]

"Not if we catch sight of them," cried Otanes, settling his shield more firmly on his arm, and urging his horse to a quicker pace, for the head of the long train of attendants had already disappeared amid the dark cypress-trees of the hunting park. The immense enclosure stretching from the edge of the mora.s.ses that bordered the walls of Babylon far into the country, soon echoed with the shouts of the attendants beating the coverts for game, the baying of the dogs, the hiss of lances and whir of arrows. Bright-hued birds, roused by the tumult, flew wildly hither and thither, now and then the superb plumage of a bird of paradise flashing like a jewel among the dense foliage of cypress and nut-trees.

Hour after hour sped swiftly away; the party had dispersed in different directions, following the course of the game; the sun was sinking low, and the slaves were bringing the slaughtered birds and beasts to the wagons used to convey them home. A magnificent stag was among the spoil, and a fierce wild boar, after a long struggle, had fallen under a thrust from Intaphernes's lance.

The shrill blast of the Median trumpet sounded thrice, to give the first of the three signals for the scattered hunters to meet at the appointed place, near the entrance of the park, and the two young brothers who, attended by Candaules and half a dozen slaves, had ridden far into the shady recesses of the woods, reluctantly turned their horses' heads. No thought of disobeying the summons entered their minds--Persian boys were taught that next to truth and courage, obedience was the highest virtue, and rarely was a command transgressed.

They had had a good day's sport; few arrows remained in their quivers, and the attendants carried bunches of gay plumaged birds and several small animals, among them a pretty little fawn. "Let's go nearer the marshes; there are not so many trees, and we can ride faster," said Otanes as the trumpet-call was repeated, and the little party turned in that direction, moving more swiftly as they pa.s.sed out upon the strip of open ground between the thicket and the marshes. The sun was just setting. The last crimson rays, shimmering on the pools of water standing here and there in the mora.s.ses, cast reflections on the tall reeds and rushes bordering their margins.

Suddenly a pretty spotted fawn darted in front of the group, and crossing the open ground, vanished amid a thick clump of reeds. "What a nice pet the little creature would make for our sister Hada.s.sah!"

cried Otanes eagerly. "See! it has hidden among the reeds; we might take it alive. Go with Candaules and the slaves, Smerdis, and form a half-circle beyond the clump. When you're ready, whistle, and I'll ride straight down and drive it towards you; you can easily catch it then. We are so near the entrance of the park now that we shall have plenty of time; the third signal hasn't sounded yet."

Smerdis instantly agreed to the plan. The horses were fastened to some trees, and the men cautiously made a wide circuit, pa.s.sed the bed of reeds, and concealed themselves, behind the tall rushes beyond. A low whistle gave Otanes the signal to drive out the fawn.

Smerdis and the slaves saw the lad straighten himself in the saddle, and with a shout, dash at full speed towards the spot where the fawn had vanished. He had almost reached it when the stiff stalks shook violently, and a loud roar made them all spring to their feet. They saw the brave boy check his horse and fit an arrow to the string, but as he drew the bow, there was a stronger rustle among the reeds; a tawny object flashed through the air, striking Otanes from his saddle, while the horse free from its rider, dashed, snorting with terror, towards the park entrance.

"A lion! A lion!" shrieked the trembling slaves, but Smerdis, drawing his dagger, ran towards the place where his brother had fallen, pa.s.sing close by the body of the fawn which lay among the reeds with its head crushed by a blow from the lion's paw. Candaules followed close at the lad's heels.

Parting the thick growth of stalks, they saw, only a few paces off, Otanes, covered with blood, lying motionless on the ground, and beside him the dead body of a half-grown lion, the boy's arrow buried in one eye, while the blood still streamed from the lance-wound in the animal's side.

Smerdis, weeping, threw himself beside his brother, and at the same moment Intaphernes, with several n.o.bles and attendants, attracted by the cries, dashed up to the spot. The father, springing from the saddle, bent, and laid his hand on the boy's heart.

"It is beating still, and strongly too," he exclaimed. "Throw water in his face! perhaps--"

Without finishing the sentence, he carefully examined the motionless form. "Ormuzd be praised! He has no wound; the blood has flowed from the lion. See, Prexaspes, there is a lance-head sticking in its side.

I believe it's the very beast you wounded early in the day."

The officer whose laugh had so vexed Otanes, stooped over the dead lion and looked at the broken shaft.

"Ay, it's my weapon; the beast probably made its way to the mora.s.s for water; but, by Mithras![3] the lad's arrow killed the brute; the barb pa.s.sed through the eyeball into the brain."

[Footnote 3: The Persian G.o.d of the sun.]

"Yes, my lord," cried old Candaules eagerly, "and doubtless it was only the weight of the animal, which, striking my young master as it made its spring, hurled him from the saddle and stunned him. See! he is opening his eyes. Otanes, Otanes, you've killed the lion!"

The boy's eyelids fluttered, then slowly rose, his eyes wandered over the group, and at last rested on the dead lion. The old slave's words had evidently reached his ear, for with a faint smile he glanced archly at Prexaspes, and raising himself on one elbow, said:

"You see, my lord--even with a bow and dagger!"

MARY J. SAFFORD.

DO YOU KNOW HIM?

[Ill.u.s.tration: COULDN'T BEAR TO BE LAUGHED AT.]

There was once a small boy--he might measure four feet; His conduct was perfectly splendid, His manners were good, and his temper was sweet, His teeth and his hair were uncommonly neat, In fact he could not be amended.

His smile was so bright, and his word was so kind, His hand was so quick to a.s.sist it, His wits were so clever, his air so refined, There was something so nice in him, body and mind, That you never could try to resist it.

THE WEAVER OF BRUGES.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The strange old streets of Bruges town Lay white with dust and summer sun, The tinkling goat bells slowly pa.s.sed At milking-time, ere day was done.

An ancient weaver, at his loom, With trembling hands his shuttle plied, While roses grew beneath his touch, And lovely hues were multiplied.

The slant sun, through the open door, Fell bright, and reddened warp and woof, When with a cry of pain a little bird, A nestling stork, from off the roof,

Sore wounded, fluttered in and sat Upon the old man's outstretched hand; "Dear Lord," he murmured, under breath, "Hast thou sent me this little friend?"

And to his lonely heart he pressed The little one, and vowed no harm Should reach it there; so, day by day, Caressed and sheltered by his arm,

The young stork grew apace, and from The loom's high beams looked down with eyes Of silent love upon his ancient friend, As two lone ones might sympathize.

At last the loom was hushed: no more The deftly handled shuttle flew; No more the westering sunlight fell Where blushing silken roses grew.

And through the streets of Bruges town By strange hands cared for, to his last And lonely rest, 'neath darkening skies, The ancient weaver slowly pa.s.sed;

Then strange sight met the gaze of all: A great white stork, with wing-beats slow, Too sad to leave the friend he loved, With drooping head, flew circling low,

And ere the trampling feet had left The new-made mound, dropt slowly down, And clasped the grave in his white wings His pure breast on the earth so brown.

Nor food, nor drink, could lure him thence, Sunrise nor fading sunsets red; When little children came to see, The great white stork--was dead.