Sarchedon Part 22

"Produce your witnesses."

Two or three archers belonging to the force that had guarded the working gang of Israelites here stepped forward, and with them, to the prisoner's consternation, the younger son of Sadoc--that fragile boy, in whose defence he had brought down the wrath of Egypt on his own head.

The poor youth had been on horseback since nightfall. Unaccustomed, like his nation in general, to the exercise of riding, he was a pitiable object of soreness, fatigue, perplexity, and alarm. The archers gave their evidence clearly enough. It amounted to little more than the bare facts of the case. Then they dragged the young Israelite into the terrible presence of Pharaoh, pale and faint with mortal fear.

"What needs all this weight of testimony?" exclaimed the prisoner in a loud bold voice. "It is but heaping weariness and vexation on the head of my lord the king. I deny that I have urged a nation to rebel against its rulers. I admit that I opposed by force the violence that would have scourged a helpless child lying in the dust. If this be deadly crime by the laws of Egypt, would that we had given you a milder code when the children of Ashur came of late to seek you with bow and spear. I have spoken. My life is in Pharaoh's hands. Let him take it how and when he will."

The king looked round on his captains and counsellors with a pa.s.sing gleam of animation in his eyes.

"This is a bold fellow," said he. "Which of you would dare speak thus, while looking death in the face so close?"

n.o.body answered; but a murmur went round the circle, to the effect that "Pharaoh lived for ever!"

The king turned to a venerable man who, with the exception of that indispensable official the fan-bearer, stood nearest the throne, and asked him,

"Have these sons of shepherds been numbered according to the royal decree?"

"The king hath spoken," was the subservient reply, while with a low obeisance a roll of papyrus was laid at the royal feet.

The fan-bearer handed it to his lord, who scanned it with an angry frown. "So many!" muttered Pharaoh; "and so poor a tale of work!

Increasing, multiplying, swarming over the land, while they lay it waste like locusts! Sleeping more than they labour, devouring more than they produce, h.o.a.rding substance, no doubt, and having children at their desire. Is Pharaoh's arm shortened, or has my hand waxed faint? I must take order with this sc.u.m of nations, lest at last they outnumber us, spreading through the land to eat it away like a sore. I have reached to them the sceptre of my protection; it is time they should feel the edge of my wrath!"

Round the king's neck hung a small image in gold of Thmei, G.o.ddess of Truth, corresponding in every respect with the statue that towered above his throne. A similar ornament glittered on the breast of the old man whom he addressed, denoting the regent of his kingdom, a magnate second only in power to Pharaoh himself. When such an official possessed the wisdom and courage to oppose the royal decree, for the king's own welfare and that of his people, his granaries were full, his subjects prospered, and, to use their own expression, "the land sung for joy."

Too often, however, he was only the echo of his lord.

"The breath of Pharaoh's nostrils shall consume them," was his answer to the king's outbreak, "even as the wind sweepeth a plague of locusts into the sea."

Again the evil smile pa.s.sed across that weary sallow face. Sensual, selfish, and indolent as was the great ruler of the South, he had yet the political wisdom that foresees a crisis, the subtlety that prevents it, and the resolution that opposes it when it comes. His smile, while it boded no good to the children of Israel, indicated at the same time that he considered his regent an imbecile old man. The facts of the case now laid before him had been detailed to his private ear long before he ascended the judgment-seat, and had been discussed with one of his confidential advisers; a magician of no mean repute, whose keen intellect and scientific knowledge influenced his lord no less than did the startling resources of his art.

This trusted counsellor had pointed out to Pharaoh the impolicy of permitting one of the a.s.syrian nation to remain amongst a people--situated in their very midst--whose increasing prosperity tyranny and oppression seemed powerless to keep down; and the king recognised in the bold out-spoken prisoner now before him such a leader as the Israelites might be glad to obey, should they determine on a general rising to cast off the Egyptian yoke. True, they had neither arms nor horses nor war-chariots of iron; but they were formidable nevertheless in their numbers, their organisation, and their dogged persistence in some strange inscrutable belief. Pharaoh resolved to find out more of this stranger from the enemy's country ere he let him slip through his grasp either by acquittal or condemnation to death.

a.s.suming, therefore, an air of rigid impartiality, the king turned to the Israelitish lad, whose terror caused him, as it were, to wither and shrink under the royal eye.

"You have resisted authority," said Pharaoh, "and created a tumult; but you are young, and the king is merciful. Take him back to his dwelling-place," he added sternly to the archers; "scourge him, and let him go."

Then, while the lad, more dead than alive--dreading, perhaps, his weary ride homeward fully as much as the subsequent punishment--was led away between two bowmen, the king once more addressed himself to Sarchedon,

"a.s.syrian," said he, "your crime, according to our law, must be punished by impalement. Nevertheless, while I inquire farther into your case, I grant you a few days' respite before you die. Remove him, and put him in safe ward. Pharaoh has spoken."

The deep response, "Pharaoh lives for ever!" rose from every quarter of the court, and Sarchedon was hurried out of the royal presence, even as a ragged old peasant hobbled into it to demand justice on his neighbour, who had robbed him of a string of onions and a half-emptied gourd.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CAPTIVE IN THE DUNGEON

A certain rough sympathy for his impending fate seemed elicited from his guards, as they forced Sarchedon through the palace, down a dark pa.s.sage, bricked and vaulted, that led to some remote place of security, unvisited by the light of day.

"You should have held your peace, man," said one, easing a little the belt that bound the prisoner's arms. "To bandy words with Pharaoh is to throw scalding broth in the air, and stand under where it falls. Had you feigned to be stricken dumb with fear, now, not daring to raise your eyes in the face of my lord the king, you might have escaped with the loss of your nose and tenscore stripes on the soles of your feet. But that long tongue of yours has made it a hanging matter, believe me, no less, if not impalement, which is worse."

"Tush, brother!" interrupted his comrade, a comely archer, not unconscious of his sleek dark locks, marked brows, and other personal advantages; "a man can die but once. Better be stuffed and swathed decently in a large cool resting-place, with plenty of room and shade, than limp about in the heat a hideous object, crippled and disfigured for life."

"A man can die but once," repeated Sarchedon stoutly, repressing the shudder that, in this dark downward pa.s.sage, chilled him to the bone. "I had hoped, however, to fall honourably from my war-chariot in the fore-front of battle, rather than hang by the heels like a trapped jackal, to rot and blacken, till my bones are stripped by the birds of prey."

"What matter?" observed the first speaker, accepting with resignation the misfortunes of another. "Men come to the same resting-place, travel the road how they will. Even the Great Sphinxes and the three royal tombs must crumble down at last. It is only Pharaoh who lives for ever."

Thus speaking, he thrust a bunch of onions and a lump of barley-bread into Sarchedon's hands, unbinding them at the same moment while dexterously pushing him through a door, which he shut and bolted on the outside, leaving his own homely meal with the prisoner, whom he thus consigned to solitude and gloom.

The a.s.syrian listened to the retiring footsteps of his escort as a man hanging over an abyss marks the last strands parting of a rope that links him to life and light of day. When they faded into silence, he seemed to taste already the bitterness of death. Unlike the Egyptian, however, that fatalism which sinks without effort to despair was no part of the a.s.syrian's character, and he soon roused himself to examine the strength and quality of his prison-house.

It was a cell of liberal dimensions, sunk deep into the earth, bricked throughout and with vaulted roof, admitting a feeble glimmer from one narrow loophole, which communicated with the pa.s.sage he had left. The more minutely he studied it, the more convinced was he that his dungeon afforded no chance of escape.

He felt the walls on each side, not leaving a single brick untouched; he searched the flooring carefully for some inequality that might give hope of a subterranean pa.s.sage or concealed egress; but in vain. The work seemed even and level, smooth as granite, and no more to be tampered with than the pitiless rock itself.

Wearied at length with his exertions, his ride through the night, and the events of the morning, he made up his mind to die, and in the meantime munched his barley-bread and onions ere he laid him down to sleep.

It seemed that he had scarcely rested an hour before the door of his cell was opened, to be shut again ere he could spring to his feet. Food and wine, however, of the best quality had been left for his refreshment, and to these he did justice, notwithstanding the exigencies of his situation and the prospect of a painful death.

So the time dragged wearily on, the faint streak of light that stole into his dungeon affording the prisoner no means of calculating the days as they pa.s.sed by. His meals, though served regularly, were brought by a shrouded figure that vanished, phantom-like, before he could accost it.

No sound from upper earth penetrated these gloomy regions. It seemed to Sarchedon that he was forgotten of men, and, as he somewhat bitterly reflected, deserted by the G.o.ds.

Could Baal not see him here, sunk surely but a fathom deep below the surface--Baal, in whose service he had so often drawn bow and brandished spear? Nor Ashtaroth, lovely Queen of Light, to whom, young, comely, gallant, he had tendered an adoration not unmixed with something of poetry and romance? Nor any of the Great Thirteen, wheeling aloft in their golden cars? Nor one amongst the countless host of heaven? Was this the reward they vouchsafed their worshipper? and would that other G.o.d, of whom Sadoc spoke, have left him thus to die? He summoned all his manhood, and it failed him; he drew on his courage, and found it but a dogged form of despair. He felt the want of something to lean on, something to trust in, something to help him from without, like a blind man seeking a friendly grasp to guide his steps. He wished he had questioned the Israelite more minutely as to that mysterious creed of his, which taught men they could never be alone nor friendless; that present with them always, but nearest at their greatest need, was a power unseen, unheard, tender, compa.s.sionate, yet irresistible and superior to Fate.

Alas, it was too late now! He turned to the wall, with something of hopeless apathy, and fell to thinking of Ishtar, fingering the while that amulet round his neck which had clung to him through all his troubles, and in which he put some vague superst.i.tious trust.

He felt persuaded it was mysteriously interwoven with his destiny; and if this charm too had played him false, like all else, it must be time to die, since he was indeed ruined and undone.

Thus pondering, he started fiercely to his feet; for in an instant the whole cell seemed ablaze with light, not on fire, but glowing in a mild yellow l.u.s.tre, which faded back to gloom ere his dazzled eyes could distinguish more than the outline of a shrouded figure standing in the midst. Some wild hope shot through his heart that it might be the phantom of his love come to bid him farewell; but a moment later he remembered his sentence, and prepared to confront a messenger from Pharaoh, sent doubtless for the purpose of leading him forth to die.

"I am ready," said the prisoner sternly. "I might strangle you where you stand, before you could summon help; but what would that avail me? You are but doing your duty. Lead on. 'Tis almost worth a life to see daylight once more."

"Life is dear," was the answer, "to the reptile in the mud, no less than to the eagle in the sky. It should be doubly dear to a man of war, who is the bulwark of a host and the favourite of a prince."

Sarchedon started, and looked piercingly at the speaker, whose voice, calm, low, and grave, seemed not entirely strange to his ear; but the cell had again become so dark, he could make out no more than a cloaked form and closely m.u.f.fled face.

"What mean you?" said he. "Did Pharaoh send you here to jest with me before I die?"

"I am indeed sent by Pharaoh," was the answer; "Pharaoh, who, through my lore, can read events pa.s.sing at Nineveh, at Babylon, at Thebes and Memphis, clearly as here in the City of the Cat. Have you never heard, my son, of the magic of the Egyptians?"

"I have _heard_ of it," replied the out-spoken warrior. "But my experience of your people is at bowshot distance, and more than once at point of spear. They are skilful marksmen, I tell you fairly, and st.u.r.dy men of war enough with push of steel. They needed but little magic to help them when it came to downright blows. Yet we drove them before us, we sons of Ashur, as the lion drives the wild a.s.s across the plain."

"The wild a.s.s may yet spurn the lion with her hoof," answered the other.

"But what are sword and spear and human might to those forces we can summon from the world of spirits at our will? Would you not tremble, my son, to behold Typhon or Abitur of the mountains standing here on the floor between you and me?"

"Seeing is believing," was the reply of the stout-hearted a.s.syrian.