IX
BABYLON BY NIGHT
Baba's departure into her new life left an unexpectedly large gap in thehousehold of the tenement. The child's personality had been very strong;and though she had been little heard, little seen even, she had beenmuch felt. Charmides especially found this true. He had always believed,when he played and sang for himself at home, that Ramua's presence hadgiven him the support of understanding and sympathy. He was scarcelywilling to admit, even to himself, that, in the absence of Baba, thepleasure of improvisation had materially lessened. Baba's action ingoing to Ribata he still misunderstood. But as time passed and the wantof her was as strong as ever, she came gradually to assume in his mind aplace that she had dreamed of filling but had never hoped to attain.
Though Baba was at liberty to visit her home, if she chose, during thefour or five hours at mid-day, when her lord would never demand herpresence, she had the strength to withstand the temptation, knowing thatby such visits her unhappiness would be greater than ever. Herhomesickness was pitiable enough. She managed to conceal it from theeyes of the curious very well. Her tears would never flow when any onewas near. But by day and by night the iron entered into her soul; and asday followed day, the weight of the hours past, and yet more the presageof those to come, crushed her spirit with a merciless slowness. Baba wastoo young to realize the healing power of time, how it bearsforgetfulness on its kindly wings, how its shadow becomes finally ashield by which the keen daggers of remembrance are blunted and turnedaside. She did not know that the human soul can suffer only so far. Hercapacity seemed infinite. She appeared to have entered into an eternallydreary land, the boundless valley of shadow. She wept till tears weregone. Day renewed the misery that night confirmed. Finally, when she hadcome to dream wildly of death as the one desirable thing, the limit ofher unhappiness was reached and the tide turned. The beginning of thechange for the better was made by the appearance of Zor, her belovedgoat, who had mourned for her mistress so continually that life in theneighborhood with her became impossible, and finally Bazuzu carried thecreature to the gates of Ribata's palace, and commanded the magnificentslaves of the portal to carry it instantly to the Lady Baba. The LadyBaba being, at the moment, an unconscious but none the less real powerin my lord's household, Bazuzu was obeyed with alacrity, and the eunuchthat led the animal into the court-yard, where Baba lay alone upon hercushions, could only stand in open-mouthed astonishment to see that ladyrun forward, screaming with delight, throw her arms about the animal'sneck, and clasp it to her heart with a warmth that my lord had neverdiscovered in her.
Zor herself baaed with joy; and, having completely forgotten theanything but affectionate parting of two weeks before, put her nose toher mistress' cheek and loudly sounded her pleasure.
Baba always remembered this meeting as the first ray of light in hergloomy existence. Little by little, now, the luxury of her new homebegan to grow more worthy in her eyes, when she contrasted it with thesqualor of her childhood's home. Little by little, as the feeling ofsilken garments became more familiar, she lost the craving for her rags,and the hair that could fall in unrebuked tangles round her face. Thecourts, the halls, and the rooms of Ribata's beautiful abode, no longerlooked vast, barren, and tomblike to her eyes. Ribata himself was not anobject of terror now. He had always been gentle, always kind, with her.This, long ago, she had begun to realize. And now, at length, a visit tothe tenement began to seem possible--desirable. Bazuzu, indeed, had cometo see her more than once, to bring her her mother's love, and to saythat she and Ramua would see her as soon as she could come. Ramua wasvery busy and very happy. Her wedding with Charmides was to becelebrated before the first rains of Tasritu (September), and it was nowwell along in Ululu, the last of summer. Baba heard the news withoutsurprise, but determined to wait till the knot was tied before she wentback to see her home.
The time came soon enough. It was not quite three months after theGreek's first sight of the Great City that he took up that city as hisabode for life, bound to it by every tie that can bind a man to hishome. Throughout his wedding-day, with its quaint ceremonies and itshigh feasting, Charmides' mind was upon his mother and her distant land.Could she only know his wife, see her for an hour, behold her prettygentleness, and read her great love for him, Charmides felt that Heraiawould rejoice with him. But, as it was, through this, the most importantday of his life, the youth was rather silent and grave, save when Ramualooked at him with her shy, inquiring smile.
The wedding ceremony was long and fatiguing. It meant prayer andpurification in the morning before the assembled images of the gods.Then there was the procession to the nearest temple, the signing ofcontracts, the giving of Ramua's hard-won dower by Beltani, andCharmides' reverent pledge to support, protect, and cherish his wife solong as she should remain faithful to him. Then his wrist and hers werebound together with a woollen cord, a prayer was chanted, there was agreat blare of trumpets and clashing of cymbals, a public proclamationthat Charmides had taken unto himself Ramua, the daughter of Beltani ofthe tenement of Ut, and then, at last, the sacrifice. The chief portionof the animals slaughtered was carried to the house of the bride for thewedding feast, which lasted as long as the food held out.
Not till early evening did Charmides find himself alone. The guests haddeparted, and Ramua and her mother were up-stairs in the little roomthat Charmides had taken for Ramua and himself on the top floor of thetenement. The Greek seated himself on a stool in the door-way of theliving-room, watching the sunset, that poured, a river of living gold,over the lane and square before him. The thought of Sicily and hisfamily there was with him still; and he tried, for a little while, to bealone by the sea with his parents and his brother. With all his soul heprayed to Apollo for happiness in the new life, for forgiveness of anypast wrong, for a blessing for his wife, and a continuous renewal oftheir love for each other. Then between him and Ramua came the thoughtof little Baba. Her life was dishonorable, despicable, in his eyes; yetit was she that had saved him either from a great crime or the loss ofthat that was dearest to him. Did she know of her sister's wedding? Ifshe knew, why had she not come to it? There was no telling. But, in anycase, he thought of her very kindly to-night, as he sat alone with thegathering dusk.
Charmides' head was bent with abstraction and he was no longer lookingat the square before him. Presently a four-footed creature ran againsthis knee and laid its head there. He looked up quickly, to find Zor athis side and Baba in the square. She came towards him through thetwilight like a wraith, in her trailing, silken garments, with her hairpiled up on her small head in a crown of black braids fastened withwrought golden pins. Beneath the dark hair her face looked very pale andpointed. It was infinitely different from the face he had known. Therewas no longer anything of the child in it. The elf-look was gone. In itsplace was an expression of gentle weariness, of patience, oflong-suffering that affected the Greek strangely. As she came closer helooked her full in the eyes, and, with one of his old, shining smiles,held out both hands to her.
Baba had steeled herself to meet any greeting, but this was the one thatcame nearest to breaking down her self-control. She managed to answerthe look steadily; and no one, least of all Charmides, could havedreamed how her heart was bleeding. She gave him her hands, and he sawwhat she carried in one of them.
"For Ramua's bridal," she said, placing on his knee a long, golden chainof Phoenician workmanship. It was far more valuable than anything Ramuahad dreamed of possessing; and Charmides, examining the fine work on themetal links, said so to her.
Baba dropped her eyes. "It was from my lord to me," she said. "But it ismy hand that brings it to Ramua. Thou wilt let her wear it--forme--Charmides?" The tone was doubtful.
Much as he might not have desired it, the Greek could not refuse her."Ramua is above. Go thou and make thy costly gift to her thyself, Baba."
Baba bent her head, accepting the dismissal with the unquestioningobedience that she had had instilled into her all her life through.While she mounted to her
sister, to hear the tale of that sister'sperfect happiness, Charmides sat him down again, the current of histhoughts quite changed; his dreams all of the new life, no longer of theold.
One week and then another passed away. The rains had come upon the land,and all Babylon rejoiced that the fiery summer was over. Wonderful andterrifying were these rains. Sometimes, for six hours at a stretch, theskies would open wide, and all the waters of the upper air descend uponthe earth in such floods that, by the time they had passed away, andRaman and his demons ceased to scourge the souls in Ninkigal, Babylonwould lie quivering in mud, her brick huts melted into shapelesspuddles, her drains overflowing with water and refuse, her river tearingalong through its high-bricked banks, threatening to inundate allChaldea, from Cutha to the gulf. And yet--one short day of sunshine andthe A-Ibur and all the squares were dry again; the canals flowed soberlybetween their banks; the troops of beggars, children, and dogs came outfrom their lurking-places, and homeless ones gathered their scantfurniture out of the muddy ruins and began the yearly task of rebuildingtheir unstable homes.
The days were growing short, and Charmides, whose work at the templeoccupied more time than formerly, while his salary had correspondinglyincreased, frequently walked home at the very end of twilight. Oneevening, during the first days of Arah-Samma (October), the young Greek,who had been detained by a special sacrifice in honor of the full moon,was wending his way homeward by its light. His steps were slower thanusual and betrayed the reluctance that he felt. His mood was arbitrary.For the first time since his marriage, for the first time in his life,perhaps, Charmides felt a great craving for masculine society. The ideaof the eternal supper with Ramua and her mother, the evening spent inhearing his wife discourse upon effeminate matters, or in poetry of hisown making, palled upon him. Were there a single man in all this citywhom he could call comrade, Ramua might have waited for him in vainto-night. So at least thought Charmides, as he loitered along inchildish ill-humor; and either Sin or Apollo must have read his heart.Presently, as he came to a turn in the way, he espied, just emergingfrom a door on the left, a whilom familiar figure, bandy-legged,crook-shouldered, with spotless white cap and tunic, and a walk by whichhe would have been recognized at the end of the world. Withoutperceiving Charmides, he turned towards the south. But the Greek, hisheart leaping with pleasure, darted forward and grasped the littlefellow by the shoulder.
"Hodo!" he cried, in Phoenician. "Hodo! Dost thou forget me?"
"By Nebo, my little Greek!" shouted Hodo, blinking violently once ortwice, and then opening his eyes wide with delight. "Well, my Greek!Still in Babylon? And how? And where? I will turn my steps in the way ofthy going."
"They go in mine already. Come you home with me, Hodo, and greet mywife."
"Wife--_wife_! Horns of Bel! Why, Greek, thou art the wonder of myheart! 'Home'--to thy 'wife'! Who may she be? Thou hast not won thegoddess over?"
Charmides flushed, but did not lose his temper. "Come you home and eatof my bread, and behold the light of Ramua's eyes."
"Oh, ay. Give you thanks. I will in happiness break bread with you.Then, later, come you out with me where I am going--to the temple of thefalse Istar. Let us behold the witches who wander abroad; the vulturesthat snatch at the bodies of the fallen in the pale beams of Sin; andthe vampires and ghouls that haunt the Great City by night. The LadyRamua will sleep soundly enough for this only time."
Charmides laughed blithely. "Verily, 'tis what I would do, Hodo. Babylonby day I know all too well. But Babylon by night--often have I heard ofthe Igigi and the bat companions of Mulge. Together we shall beholdthem. Now yonder is the tenement of Ut, wherein I dwell."
"Aha! Near to Ribata's palace. Is thy wife awaiting thee?"
"It is Ramua in the door-way there, with the jar upon her head."
"By Nebo and Bel, a slender lass!"
As the two men arrived at the door Charmides introduced his wife to hisfriend; and Ramua, for Charmides' sake, greeted the grotesque littlecreature with cordial if modest hospitality. Beltani hurried forth topurchase a river-fish from the nearest vender, and this was hastilycooked for supper, along with the usual sesame. These things, and themilk, figs, and dates, they ate in-doors; for, though the moon stillshone brightly, none could say that in fifteen minutes a hurricane mightnot be raging. Raman was fickle, and, in the rainy season, he was thesupreme god of the skies.
Hodo seated himself delightedly at Charmides' table. Here, indeed,thought he, was a miracle: that a fellow scarcely attained to manhood,ignorant of every detail of the life and the language of a people alsonew to him, should have entered the gates of the greatest city in theworld, and in four months find himself master of a household, earning acreditable income, and should at the same time have won for a wife oneof the most delightful young women that the little Borsipite had everseen. Ramua, in fact, with one long-lashed glance, had completelyconquered him. The crooked little man forgot his food in the interest ofobserving what went on around him; and only by the noble efforts ofBeltani was the conversational ball kept moving, however fitfully andunevenly. Ramua, shy and a little nervous at this first tax on her youngmatronhood, said almost nothing, but managed that Bazuzu should keepevery plate and cup filled without putting too severe a strain on thediminutive larder. It never occurred to Charmides to watch the food, norto be in the least ashamed of their open poverty. His Greek nature wastoo primitive for that. He was decidedly sorry when the meal came to anend, and Ramua, making the proper salutations, followed her mother intothe inner room, leaving Charmides and the guest to divert themselves asbest they might.
"Thy wife--does she dance?" inquired Hodo, hopefully, when they werealone.
Charmides shook his head. "No. Had she the aptitude, I should forbid it.A dancing-woman is not for a man's wife."
Hodo sighed, nodded, and seated himself resignedly, while Charmidesmoved over to the door and looked out upon the night. Presently hedarted out and up the stairs, to return a moment later wrapped in avoluminous cloak of dark stuff: an article never unacceptable at thistime of year. Re-entering the room, he turned eagerly to his friend.
"Come, Hodo! Now let us go forth into the city, up to the temple of thefalse Istar. For I am ignorant of all that happens within it at night.Demons and witches I have never beheld. Come you and show them to me.Rise up and come!"
The trader obeyed these suggestions with alacrity, there being nofurther prospect of seeing Ramua that night. Before leaving the house,however, Charmides went to her to explain whither he was going, lest shemight lie awake for him. Like a dutiful wife, she made no protest;though had he chosen, Charmides might have read in her eyes her littlesense of disappointment and depression. However, Charmides did notchoose. Hurrying quickly out of the house, he and Hodo crossed thesilent square and reached the bank of the canal, across which, at alittle distance, rose, like a huge shadow, the great palace ofBit-Shumukin, where the tiny windows set high in the bright-coloredwalls were marked in blotches of pale light.
Down in this quarter of the city the streets were deserted. Stillnesslay over everything. The moonlight made a fairy day, that hid all theblemishes, the filth, the ruinous rubbish-heaps, and so beautified thethings that were shapely that one might have been walking through a cityof the silver sky. But the heavens were not perfectly clear. As the twowalkers finally arrived upon the A-Ibur-Sabu a heavy cloud suddenly hidSin from their sight, and a faint growl of thunder rolled out of themists, coming to their ears as from a great distance. Charmidesstraightened up, muffled himself a little closer in his cloak, andturned to Hodo.
"Where find we the second Istar?" he asked, crisply.
Hodo looked at him with a little smile. "Charmides is changed since thatday that he took part in the rites of Ashtoreth," he observed, turningtowards the north.
In the darkness the Greek frowned. It was the one incident in his lifeof which he could not bear to be reminded. And this--was this to put himback into that day? It was only with an effort that he shook off asudden reluctance; b
ut it passed as the moon suddenly shot a stream oflight forth from the cloud, and he looked about him. They were wellalong the A-Ibur, just opposite the royal granaries. So much the Greekrealized. But otherwise the street had a most unfamiliar appearance.Many, many people were abroad in it: shadowy, dark-flitting forms,whether of men or of women it would have been hard to say. Cries, vagueand incomprehensible to Charmides, yet each with its peculiarsignificance among frequenters of the streets by night, came weirdly outof the shadowy darkness. At short intervals on each side of the broadstreet a string of lamps stretching above a door-way would mark theentrance to some drinking or gambling den unknown to daylight. Intothese places muffled figures were continually passing; but few emerged.It was yet too early for that. Charmides would have paused to look intoone or two of them, but Hodo hurried along, glancing neither to theright nor left. Every few yards, now, the younger man was accosted bysome creature of the night, a devotee of false Istar, or a priestess ofLil the ghost, the queen of Lilat, who was lord of darkness. Not oncedid Charmides make reply to the women; but, had it not been for Hodo, hewould have liked very well to halt at some dark corner to watch morecarefully all that was going on around him.
The Borsipite knew Babylon too well to stop on so transitory anduninteresting a site as the A-Ibur-Sabu. Far to the north, almost underthe shadows of Imgur-Bel, near the gates of Sin and the Setting Sun, inthe square of the temple of the false Istar, all the viciousness of allhumanity was visible to every man, and was permitted, in the name ofreligion, to go on between the hour of the first darkness and the grayof dawn.
On the right side of the square, on the usual platform, but without anyziggurat or tower near it, was the low, broad building miscalled"temple," dedicated to the worship of the goddess of night. Thisbuilding by day was gray, silent, deserted, shut as to doors andwindows, open to no one. By night one would not have known it for thesame thing. Its unguarded gates were wide to any that chose toenter--and these were never few. The hundreds of miniature apartmentsthat composed the interior of the place, glowed with light. In the firstof these rooms the eager or the new-comers were waylaid, while the idleor the fastidious penetrated as near as possible to the central shrine,where she who represented the goddess, the living substitute electedevery year on the first of Nisan, reposed in a dimly lighted grotto ofunsurpassed splendor. To her many were summoned; and one out of everytwenty, perhaps, remained. But the Chaldean visitor in Babylon thatpassed five nights in the city and saw not the queen of the temple offalse Istar, was, indeed, an old and ugly man.
On the opposite side of the square stood a little row of houses, alsoquiet but not utterly deserted by day. In them dwelt the orders ofwitches, sorceresses, hierodules, priestesses, and vampires attached tothe far-famed and infamous temple across the square. These, like theirqueen, lived by night and slept by day. Into their houses none butmembers of their orders were admitted. The greatest precision wasobserved in their rules of life; and the great public knew nothing atall of the real and rather pitiable existence of these dwellers insilent places.
These buildings were the only ones upon the square. To the north and tothe south it was enclosed by high walls pierced by as many gates asthere were streets leading into it; for no one ever had any difficultyin getting into the place if he cared to enter it.
Finally, what was the square itself? By day it was the quietest spot inthe city. By night it was the most crowded and the most wonderful. Greatthrongs of people always assembled here during the first hour ofdarkness--men of every station and age; priest and lord, bondsman andofficial, tradesman, shopkeeper, farmer, laborer, and soldier. All ofthem were solemnly clad, and they mingled together in an inextricablemass about the myriad bonfires that served to light the performances ofthe jugglers, snake-charmers, and wizards who earned their living here.Fanatical priestesses of Lil flitted among the people; and these womenwere a very real danger, for they menaced life in a peculiar way. Theywere professional vampires, whose habit it was to slip a delicate,poisoned dagger into the vital spot below the heart of a victim, throwthemselves upon the body as it fell, and rob it, under the horridpretence of sucking the blood. Incredible as it is, these women wereheld in superstitious reverence. No one dared resist the attack of avampire, through fear of becoming one of them after death. Vigilance andflight were the only means of safety; and certainly what violence wasdone did not seem enough to deter all Babylon from congregating at thisplace.
As Hodo and Charmides at length ended their weary walk and entered thesquare, the trader gave his companion a quick warning of the dangersthere to be encountered; and the Greek, feeling nothing but apleasurable thrill of excitement, placed his left hand on his nottoo-well-filled money-bag, and eagerly followed his companion towardsthe bonfire nearest the door of the temple. It was not easy to force apassage through the close-packed crowd that stood here about theperformer. But with some expostulation, a good deal of elbowing, and nota little Babylonish profanity, the two finally reached a vantage-pointwhence they could watch the performance of the wonder-worker. The manwas a Hindu outcast from the Sindh, come hither only he knew how. Butfrom some one, somehow, perhaps by aid of his own mystical religion, hehad learned a profession that could not but win him a living, whereverhe might be. Charmides, who had never before heard of an exhibition likethis, looked on wide-eyed, in great delight. He was utterly absorbed inwatching a parrot come slowly forth out of a ferret's throat, when alithe arm slid gently around his neck. He started backward in terror.Hodo was upon him instantly and the white arm was withdrawn, its ownermelting so quickly into the throng that Charmides could not evenrecognize her. Trembling a little, with a combination of outrageddignity and fright, the youth drew away from the scene that had now lostits interest. Once in the more open spaces of the square, Hodo went toone of the liquor venders who passed continually to and fro, carrying ontheir backs skins of the heady liquid made from the cabbage of thedate-palm, together with various other cheap and highly intoxicatingdrinks.
"Come hither, my Charmides, and drink with me!" called his guide, as hebought a double cupful of red liquor from a little, shrivelled man withnewly filled pig-skin.
The Greek bravely accepted the invitation and lifted the cup to hislips. He took a single mouthful of the stuff, and then poured the restof it quietly out upon the ground. Hodo saw nothing. He had taken hisbeverage, with no joy in its flavor but with every confidence in itshappy result. Charmides was not to be outdone in good-fellowship.Straightway he made for another vender, Hodo, grinning approval, closeat his heels; and the first performance was repeated, save for the factthat this time the Greek paid for both drinks. Hodo was now bent uponhaving too much. Charmides watched him quaff for the third time, himselfoffered a fourth cup; and after that, having wasted thirty _se_ to verygood purpose, took his companion by the shoulder and remonstrated.
"Hodo, I shall leave you if you do not cease."
"Spirit of Lil, my wonder, we have but begun! The n-night is young.Behold, Sin and his little brother ride still low in the sky.Well--w-well! If thou wilt be foolishly wroth we will wait your mostreverent pleasure. Come now into the temple. It is time. By the battleof Bel and Tiamat, thou wilt win in to Istar herself, with your goldencurls and pale eyes. Come on, little Greek! By all the gods, come on!"
Once again Hodo took the lead; this time rather more crookedly thanusual, and Charmides followed at his heels, through the roaring throng,up to the wide gates of the many-roomed house of the false Istar.Together they ascended the platform steps, reached the threshold of thetemple itself, wavered there for an instant, like birds ready forflight, and then plunged together into the first torch-lit passage.
Four hours later Charmides emerged alone. His cloak and his money-bagwere both gone. His tunic was rent in more than one place. His face waswhiter than Zor's milk; and his hair was in wild disorder. Heedinglittle how he went, he passed down the steps again into the square. Itwas nearly empty now. Jugglers and magicians were gone. The fifty firesburned low, or were on the v
erge of extinction. The moon hung in thewest, and the sky was heavy with storm-clouds. The Greek staggered asthe cool darkness stole over him. In the house he had left the revelrywas at its maddest pitch. Hodo was lost in it, his companion knew notwhere. Charmides himself had learned the highest form of worship of thefalse goddess, for he had attained to the inmost shrine. He was young;the flame of his fire had burned too fiercely while it burned at all;and now the reaction had set in. Exhausted, apathetic, half faintingfrom weariness, he longed for the liquor that he had refused earlier inthe night. But drink was impossible now. His money was gone. All that hehad with him he had flung into the open coffers of the great courtesan.Now--now there stretched before him the endlessly weary homeward way,that must be traversed on foot. At the prospect he shivered with misery.
Pausing for a moment or two to gather a little warmth for his chilledbody from the dying embers of the nearest fire, preparatory to settingforth into the city, he saw, coming towards him out of the gloom of theopposite side of the square, two well-robed men, one of whom herecognized as an under-priest in the temple of Sin. They were going inhis direction, and as they passed he moved after them, that he mightkeep himself awake by listening to snatches of their conversation. Bothof them were oblivious of his presence, wholly absorbed in themselves.They did not talk at first; but a sensitive person would have realizedthat they were indulging in that species of mental intercourse thatexists only for those whose hearts are bare to each other. Charmides,even in his irresponsible condition, recognized the sympathy, but couldnot, of course, partake of it. At the first spoken word, however, hepricked up his ears and listened with all his mind. Oddly enough, hefound their topic one of peculiar interest to himself. It was the priestof Charmides' temple who spoke.
"From Siatu-Sin I heard all the tale--all that any one knows. It isincredible, thrice incredible, that she was cried 'mortal' by thepeople."
"The people! The cattle, rather!" rejoined his companion, scornfully.
"Howbeit--howbeit--there is something strange in the story. Divine, sheknew that death was intended. _Human_, she feared it. That we know."
Kaiya shook his head impatiently. "Since Babylon knew her again, neitherAmraphel nor Beltishazzar has dared go to her."
"Amraphel, nor Daniel--nor any man. Her very priestesses, we are told,do not see her face. The silver glory is gone from around her, they say.Now walks she veiled in black and gold from Babylonish looms. Veiled shesits in the mercy-seat. Veiled she receives her food. Veiled she ascendsto the ziggurat, and there passes whole days alone in meditation."
"And it is said that one standing on the ziggurat, by the door of thesanctuary, may hear the sound of human weeping in that room."
"Istar weeping! Ho, Kaiya--thou laughest!"
"No. I say what I am told," repeated the other, seriously.
"A goddess--does not weep."
There was a little pause. The conversation had reached a point whence itcould not proceed. Neither man would make the inference implied. It waspreposterous--also unnecessary.
Presently, however, when the reverence had been strained a little,Bel-Dur, the priest of Sin, broke into a laugh. "Love we the woman,Kaiya?" he asked, in amusement.
Kaiya was no laggard. He whipped off his religious mood like a garment,and went a step further than his companion. "Let us love her!" said he.
Bel-Dur turned his head to stare at his companion, and once more beganto laugh. "Why not? Is it forbidden? Let us carry comfort to the weepingone. Let us banish her loneliness. Let us--"
"Nay, be silent, Bel-Dur, and listen to me. If she be proved a woman,and hath thus deceived all in the Great City, let her--let her, forpunishment or reward, be removed--from one temple of Istar into theother."
Kaiya looked swiftly over his companion's face, and then let his eyesmove farther afield. Charmides, behind the two men, listening intently,but slow, from weariness, to understand, waited stupidly for the nextspeech. Kaiya continued:
"Too long we have worshipped her as Istar to banish her now from Istar'splace. Let her be carried to the greater temple, and placed there in theinner shrine on the golden couch of the false goddess. Eh? Say you thatI speak well?"
At these ruthless words, spoken in jest though they were, Charmideshalted. The blood poured into his brain. He clenched his hands. Therewas a moment of wild impulse to rush forward and throw himself bodily onthe Zicari that spoke. But the two figures moved on through thedarkness, and he lost the next words. Much as the priests had shockedhim, Charmides felt the greatest anxiety to hear more of their talk. Hestumbled forward again as fast as he could, and presently caught up withthem, realizing their nearness by the distinctness of their voices; forthe moon was now under a cloud, and the night was black and thick. Whenhe was again able to distinguish words, Bel-Dur was speaking; and thetopic had evidently shifted a long way from its previous point.Charmides was puzzled at the first sentences.
"I do not know. Amraphel only admits the Patesu, Sangu, and Enuto their councils; these, and, of course, the three Jewish leaders:Daniel and the sons of Egibi. The men of Judea--captives, they callthemselves--will be a strong force in the uprising."
"Will this come in winter?"
"I do not know. Nothing is commonly known. Yet, in the rainy season, thearmy of the Elamite could not move northward without great difficulty.It is whispered through the temple that there are to be two armies--onethat of Kurush himself; another that of Gobryas, the governor of Gutium.Have you heard it?"
"Whispered, yes. But nothing is sure. If this uprising were to be amatter of three months hence, surely more would be known of it than isknown now. Everything is rumored; nothing is definite--"
"Save that Amraphel covets Nabonidus' high place--and will have it.Belshazzar, look you, will never sit upon the golden throne of hisfathers."
"Istar being no woman--maybe Belshazzar will be proved no man."
"Then is he a demon. Nabonidus, indeed, may be a woman in man's garb, OKaiya. But thou wilt find Belshazzar no sluggard in war."
"Verily I believe it. Here is my house. Wilt come in to us, Bel-Dur?"
"Nay, I keep my way to the temple. There is but a short time forpurification before the auguries of dawn."
"Farewell. Amraphel be with you!"
Bel-Dur laughed at the bold sacrilege and departed towards the temple ofSin, while the Zicari entered into the little house of which he was amember. Charmides was left alone in the narrow street, too weary to goas far as the tenement, undecided as to where to turn his lagging stepsfor a sorely needed shelter.
Even while he stood, fagged and drooping with sleep, at the door of themonastery, the dawn broke. Night melted and swam before his eyes inrivulets of misty gray. Shadowy buildings reared out of the dim light.From the far-away came the faint howls of waking dogs. There was the gaycrow of a cock from some distant field. Then the world was still again.The sky grew eerily clear. Charmides saw the white stars and the fallenmoon sink away into the bright heavens. Still the morning was not one ofsunlight. It was only a luminous fog that poured down from the sky inswirls. In the midst of it the Greek shuddered with cold, and longed forhis lost cloak. Somewhere--somewhere he must go, and quickly. Somewherehe must find shelter from the coming rain. His head throbbed. He waswretchedly nauseated. The night that was past stretched behind himhideously, like the tail of a loathsome reptile. All things weredistorted in his mind. He cursed Hodo for making possible for him thenight that he had secretly desired. Finally, he put away every thoughtsave that of physical distress, and moved forward at a crawling pacedown the narrow street, till he came to the square of the true Istar,whose temple loomed up before him like a cloud-shadow.
The temple gates were open. As Charmides entered the grateful refuge hefound more than one wanderer asleep in the silent twilight of the holyhouse, where sacrificial lights burned by day and by night. HereCharmides also should have laid him down; but, for some inexplicablereason, he was not satisfied with the place. His mind groped forsomething else. Ista
r was not here; and he wished to be near her, tofeel her presence closer than it was. Following his instinct, he hurriedout of the temple and crossed the platform to the foot of the ziggurat,on top of which, in her shrine, Istar had begun to pass her nights;though of this fact the Greek, in his right mind, was quite unaware. Hemade his way upward, round and round the thick tower, along the inclinedplane, till he had reached the top. There was the door to the sanctuary.Across it the leathern curtain was closely pulled. Charmides went tostand beside it, listening intently for the sound of weeping. Had notBel-Dur said that she wept? No sound came from within. Still, Charmideswas quite sure that his goddess was there. With a long, shivering sighhe laid himself down protectively across the door-way, pillowed his barehead upon the bricks, and then, all numb and drowsy with fatigue andcold, he sank into a heavy sleep.