Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy

by Margaret Horton Potter

  XIX

  THE REGIMENT OF GUTI

  The terrible spell of silence that had spread over the feasters at thetemple was broken by a woman's scream. That scream brought men and womenalike back to life. With a loud shout Belshazzar the king leaped downthe steps of the shrine and ran forward, crying lustily to his guard toform into line. Old as he was, Amraphel, Cyrus' tool, was an instantbefore the king; and he, with Daniel the prophet close beside him, madehis way through the band of soldiers that had gathered near the door, tothe ranks of the enemy, in the vast throng of whom priest and Jew werepresently lost to sight.

  Meantime Belshazzar hurriedly rallied his men around him, had themquickly in order, and lined them before the opening, from which by thistime doors and gates had been entirely torn away. The men of Guti werearmored and armed. The scent of battle came to their nostrils. They wereat home with it. Their blood tingled with joy, and Belshazzar saw howthey would fight for him, every man to the end.

  Now came the first sharp volley of arrows and sling-stones from themultitude at the doors. Two or three of the guards fell. The ranks werequickly closed up and the volley answered. Then the range became tooshort for bows. Men of Elam and Babylonish traitors were hand-to-handwith the defenders of the temple. In the semi-darkness it was hard todistinguish between friend and foe; and the struggle became as man toman. Shouts and cries ascended from the indivisible mass. In the midstof everything rose the trumpet tones of Belshazzar, crying encouragementto his men. But the rich and mellow voice of Cyrus was not to be heardgiving commands to the other side. Cyrus was not here to-night. Only theopen field and honorable combat were his. And he had left the dishonorof such a victory to Amraphel the high-priest, and Cambyses, his ownson, who had asked for it.

  In the temple, behind the ranks of the regiment of Guti, the royaleunuchs, creatures of silent courage and loyalty, had gathered togetherall the women into one group, round which, for protection, they and thelords of the council were piling the temple furniture into a barricade.Istar alone was not here. Since the first battle-cry no one had seenher; and now, in the excitement of the moment, she, being unseen, wasalso forgotten.

  Baba, in her silks and chains, was with the women of Ribata's household,all of whom their lord had placed carefully in one corner of theprotecting barricade, behind a pile of divans and stone tables laidbeside the sacrificial altar. In the rush of the moment Ribata had but aword with his favorite slave. For an instant, however, he bent over her,to see that she was well protected, and in that time he pressed his lipsas a seal against her forehead, muttering hurriedly, at the same time:"Courage, little one! Be not afraid. Our lives are in the hands of thegreat Bel. Pray to him, but do not weep."

  And Baba answered readily, without any sign of fear: "My lord is mylord. I obey his word."

  Then, as he left her side, the young girl lay back on the floor closeagainst a couch that had been tipped beside her, and stayed there,silent and open-eyed, listening to the tumult of the battle round thedoor. The chorus of shouts and yells was deafening. Babylonishbattle-cries mingled with Median phrases of triumph. And closer at hand,all around her, in fact, the women of high station lay wailing out theirfright. Ribata's two wives were near, crazed with terror for themselves,for their lord, for Babylon, for the king. Now and then, high above thegeneral tumult, came the shrill, fierce voice of Belitsum, crying heranguish. Nabonidus was the name that continually left her lips, tillBelshazzar himself, from the thickest of the fight, caught thesyllables, and fought the more fiercely for the memory of his father.

  While the men of Gutium held the door, there appeared to be nothing tofear for the women in the temple. Ribata, before joining in theconflict, passed among his friends of the council, bidding them holdback a little from the thick of the fight, that, should it provenecessary, they might be unhurt to defend the women. The holders of thetemple were in bad enough straits, to be sure, yet there was noimmediate danger. Belshazzar's men, flanked by two bands of eunuchs andnoblemen, who fought with sacrificial knives and axes, were for themoment holding all Babylon and the army of Cyrus at bay. Baba knew this,as she lay, quiet and silent, gazing up into the shadowy spaces of theroof. Presently, while all that terrible din sounded in her ears, withthat throng of writhing, struggling, bleeding men twenty yards away, alittle smile stretched itself over her lips, and her eyes fell shut. Shelay wrapped in a vision of her own: a vision of fair fields and broad,blue water, where, on the shore, stood a man; a man whose hair shonelike the sun, and who bore in his hands a five-stringed lyre. Andpresently, from out of the racket, she could hear the pure tones ofCharmides' voice, singing, as he had always sung throughout his life,for love.

  Baba was lying unconscious of her surroundings in this little ecstasy,when suddenly the low wailing of the women was heightened into loudcries of well-warranted horror. The little slave felt a new presence athand. She lifted up her eyes, and saw something that caused her heart torise into her throat. The barricade was breaking down before a band ofarmed temple-servants that were advancing to the murder of the women. Acold stream poured round Baba's heart, and for the first time to-nightshe screamed aloud. Her cry was answered by Ribata, who was tryingdesperately to gather the lords out of the conflict at the door. But thefight there was going badly. More than half the defenders of the templehad fallen, and each of those that remained was pressed by half a dozenof the enemy. Many of the guards had been drawn out into the square andwere keeping up the battle there while they lived. But it seemed all atonce that the defence could not last many minutes more. Not a man couldcome to the rescue of the women caught in so terrible a trap. And in thefaces of the inhuman creatures that threatened them, there was no hopefor their lives. The murderers were nearly all of them Zicaru from thethird college, which was Amraphel's own; and into their hearts hatredfor the upper classes had been instilled for years. Now, as they lookedupon their helpless prey, all the animal savagery of their race rose upin them, and their eyes sparkled and their lips twitched in the lust forblood. The wife of Nabu-Mashetic-Urra, one of the old councillors ofNabonidus, received the first blow. The knife of a seer struck her tothe heart; and with that first gush of blood the general carnage began.Defenceless as they were, the women were roused to action. With theirhands, their limbs, their teeth, the pins that fastened their hair, theyfought uselessly for life. From the place where she lay half concealed,Baba watched the scenes of murder around her. The woman next her hadbeen dodging the knife that continually pursued her, till, stabbed in adozen places, hair and body dripping with her blood, she proffered herheart to the assassin, who mercifully plunged his dripping blade up toits hilt in her breast.

  Baba gave a hoarse shriek, threw up her hands, and fell, face down, uponthe floor. A second after a streak of fire ran deep into her rightshoulder. Then, immediately, all the noise died away. The world reeledwith her and became black; and for her this scene of incrediblebrutality was at an end.

  Not so Belshazzar's desperate task. At the moment when the Zicaru,appearing from the back rooms of the temple, had set about the slaughterof the women, the king, in the midst of a little band of five soldiers,had pressed through the front ranks of the enemy, out into the templesquare. This was packed with the city mob that had gathered from thefeast in the temples of Nebo, Nergal, Istar, and Sin, and come hitherunder the leadership of their officiating priests. In the darkness itwas impossible to tell friend from foe. Belshazzar's self-constitutedbody-guard fought madly to preserve his life; but, fifteen minutes afterthey had passed the temple doors, the last of them, wounded in twentyplaces, had fallen at the feet of his king, and Belshazzar of Babylonwas alone with the darkness and with besetting death. Many set upon himwhere he stood on the eastern edge of the square; but perhaps none ofhis assailants knew him. He was armed only with a short sword taken fromthe hand of a dying Elamite; but with this weapon his execution wasterrible. As man after man went down before his tigerish strength, theattention of many was drawn to him, and presently he found himselfbacking down a narr
ow and crooked street running out of the square,engaged with three men, variously armed, that vainly strove to fell him.An arrow stuck in the flesh of his right forearm, and there was a greatgash upon one of his knees. He left behind him a trail of blood; but, inthe heat of contest, he felt not a twinge of pain. The noise of thebattle perceptibly diminished. He heard it vaguely, caring at this timevery little how the fight was going. His adversaries pressed him hard;yet he smiled, as continually he beat them back. The brute, the tiger inhim, was uppermost now. He had not a thought for anything but fighting.In his slow and certain way he had retreated perhaps two hundred yards,and was approaching the house of one of the under-priests of Bel. Fromits open door-way a flood of light poured into the street, and asBelshazzar moved into the luminous spot a cry of recognition broke fromthe lips of his oppressors. At the same moment a white-robed figure camequickly out of the house, and, unseen by him, moved behind Belshazzar.In the moment that followed, a knife gleamed in the light behind theking. The blow fell. With a great cry Belshazzar reeled, sank to hisknee, straightened up again with a superhuman effort, thrust weakly inthe direction of the men in front, and sank back on the ground with afaint moan. At the same time his assassin, motioning the three soldiersto go back, stepped in front of his victim and bent over him.

  "Amraphel!" muttered the king.

  "Ay, Amraphel, thou dog! Amraphel, thou tyrant of the city! Amraphel,thou last ruler of a hated line! Amraphel, that stands at last alone inthe land of his desire! Hear thou, then, the name of Amraphel. Know hiseverlasting hatred for thee and thine, and knowing--die!" Then, with hissandalled foot, the old man spurned the face of him that was fallen,hoping to bring some craven word to the lips of the king.

  But Belshazzar was himself in death as in life. Gazing steadily into theface of the high-priest, he permitted himself to smile--a slight,scornful smile, such as he had sometimes worn during the sacrifice.Seeing it, the high-priest was goaded into a hot fury. With whatstrength he had he kicked the face of the dying man. Then, drawing hisbloody skirts about him, he turned and passed once more into the houseof the priest, out of Belshazzar's sight forever.

  So at last the king lay alone, unmolested, with the night and with histhoughts. Babylon was fallen--was fallen the Great City, before the handof no invader, but by treachery and stealth, by means of murder and ofoutrage. All this the king knew; yet no regret for the inevitabledisturbed these final moments. Rather he turned his mind to that thatwas his alone, to that which constituted his true, his inner life, thatmade his great happiness, that had redeemed him from all mentalpain--his supreme love for Istar the woman.

  In that dim dream into which all surrounding things were fading, hername floated to his lips. Once, twice, thrice he repeated it to himself,lingeringly, adoringly, loving each syllable as he spoke it. He had nothought, no hope of seeing her again. She was somewhere, far away, inthe midst of those direful scenes beyond him. He commended her to hisgods as best he could. Then he thought of himself as at her side, themist of her hair hiding the world from his eyes, the perfume of herbreath causing his head to swim. He thought of her as she had been tohim in the last months. And then--suddenly--she was with him.

  Out of the gloom of the narrow street she came, searching after him,calling his name. The veil had fallen back from her pallid face. Hereyes were staring wide with fear and with the horror of blood. Hermovement was slow, indeterminate, vague. Not till after he had watchedher for a full minute did she come upon his figure in its pools ofblood. Then, with a faint, fluttering cry she ran to him, onlyhalf-believing her poor vision. Their meeting was ineffable. She layupon his body, eye on eye, lip on lip to him, her cries stifled by hisgasping breath, her wandering hands caressing his hair, his brow, hisneck, his bloody vestment. Not knowing what she did, she pulled thebroken arrow from his arm, and then screamed to think of where it hadbeen. Of the two, Belshazzar's state of mind was infinitely clearer,infinitely stronger than hers. It was with a supreme effort that he tookhis lips from hers that he might speak, might try to make her understandwhat this moment must be to them.

  "Oh, thou art wounded, my king, my beloved! Look--here upon thee isblood--blood on the white of thy robe. Why art thou red?" she repeated,once and again, anxiously examining the wet, dark stains that flowedever freshly from his body.

  Belshazzar saw that her brain was turned, and his anguish becameterrible. Was she to bid him good-bye like this? Must he leave herforever with the infinite unsaid? How could he bring her mind back tohim, if but for one moment? He could not think. All that he could do wasto say, thickly, with the blood in his mouth:

  "Istar, beloved, I die! Dost thou hear?"

  "Yea, Belshazzar, and I also. Allaraine hath written it upon the wall.Didst thou not see? 'Hast thou found man's relation to God? The silversky waits for thy soul.' I also die."

  "Thou!" he murmured, quickly. "Art thou wounded, Istar?" His feeblehands searched over her body, but felt no sign of blood. She had beenuntouched by any weapon. And now his eyes grew dull with suffering, andhe said, faintly, and with reluctance: "Fare thee far and well, myIstar--Istar of my city. I go."

  "Belshazzar!"

  What it had been, tone or word of his, that roused her at last, thedying man could not tell. But that name rang through the night in ascream of living agony. Now she knew what it meant--that her Babylon wasfallen around her--that the world was empty--that the lord of her lifewas passing--that henceforward her way lay through the valley ofloneliness. What mattered now the writing on the wall, hopeless prophecyof her own death? Belshazzar was here, beneath her, dying; whileshe--Istar--his wife--had received no wound.

  She raised him in her arms and their eyes met for the last time. Howmuch passed in the look cannot be told, for it was a final mingling ofsouls. All their love, their infinite happiness, their sorrow, theirtears unshed, the humanity of their two lives, was embodied in thatlook. Grief of parting was not there, for the two were striving to makeparting endurable, each to each, by the look. It was finished at last,with Belshazzar's whispered words:

  "In the silver sky, O my glorious one, I wait for thee!"

  "O my beloved, wait for me! Wait for me!"

  Then the body dropped inert in her arms. Belshazzar was gone. Istar wasleft alone in the world.

  How long afterwards she rose from that place she did not know. Manypeople--soldiers of the invading army and men of the mob, withblood-dripping swords--had passed her as she lay along the ground, facedown, beside the body. And none of these offered to molest her, for theythought that two dead lay there in the semi-darkness. The light in thehouse of the priest of Bel had gone out, and the shouts of conflict hadlong since been hushed. Still, through all the city, there was themurmur of uneasiness, of many men awake and stirring. The night wasfilled with stars, and with that curious white glow that comes inmidsummer to the Orient. But it seemed strange that the skies did notturn from the hideous spectacle of Babylon that night.

  Forth into the city, from the body that she loved, Istar went. Guidedand protected by some divine spirit, she passed unhurt among groups ofstrange, uncouth warriors that laughed and talked in an unknown tongue.She crossed streets where dead lay piled together. For those that wereloyal to the city had not been spared by the men of Amraphel. She passedhouses in which sat women wailing out their terror through the longhours before the dawn; and came finally to the open doors of a smalltemple in which the feast of Tammuz had been celebrated through the day.Before this Istar paused. Inside she could see the glowing of thesacrificial lights and the disorderly desertion of the room--the long,empty tables covered with half-filled cups and plates, and the altarwhence, from the smouldering fire, a thin stream of blue incense stillpoured upward. The woman's weary eyes saw these long, soft divans with asense of desire and of relief. She entered the room and went quicklytowards the nearest resting-place. She was about to lay herself down.Her eyes were all but closed under their weight of weariness, whensuddenly, from the shadowy spaces beyond her, came a sound that causedher to
start back from the couch, and hasten in nervous terror towardsthe door. It had been only the bleating of a little group of hungrysheep in their pen near the temple kitchen; yet the unexpected noise hadshattered Istar's nerves, and she fared forth again out of the holyhouse into the long, winding streets of the city.

  Whither she went, how far, with what purpose, no one knew, no one cared.She saw the river winding its tranquil way between well-stoned banks,with the shadows of vast buildings mirrored in its depths, while theglittering stars from their high dome shone like pale, white eyes in theglassy, lazily moving stream. Wandering Euphrates! Took it any heed ofthe deeds of good or evil performed upon its banks? God had bequeathedto it eternal calm, had made the sight of it an eternal balm for wearyeyes. This night it brought peace on its waves and a promise of rest tothe soul of the woman. As she stood gazing down into its baffling green,there came to her again the message from the kingdom, written in goldenletters on the surface of the water. Again Istar read and again shewondered, yet in her soul understood the words:

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

  Istar, in her great woe, stood looking upon the fiery words, that seemedto have burned themselves into her brain; and her whole heart rebelledagainst them. Those that she loved had been taken from her. WithBelshazzar, the light of her life was extinguished. Man was bound to Godonly by great suffering, by grief, by heart-sorrow! A sob came into herthroat, and there was anger in her mind as she would have turned awayfrom the mystical words. But at that instant they flashed out intodarkness, and the gleam was gone. For a moment the night grew thicklyblack, and Istar reeled where she stood. Afterwards she found herselfwalking on the bank of the river, only a little distance west of thespot where the huge temple of Marduk reared its bulk into the air. Itwas now in Istar's mind to go back to the place where Belshazzar's bodylay, and to remain there at his side till dawn should banish the horrorsof the night. But just as she would have left the river for the secondtime, there came out upon the path that ran along its bank a group ofwhite-robed men, whom Istar knew for priests, bearing with them a heavyburden covered over with a purple cloth. At sight of them Istar turnedsuddenly dizzy and crouched on the bricks of the pavement.

  Arrived at the edge of the river, the five priests of Amraphel's templelaid their burden on the ground and removed the cloth that covered it.Belshazzar's body was exposed to view. Istar, with a little moan,pressed both hands tightly across her breast. But neither sound normovement attracted any attention from the priests. These now indulged ina short parley, that ended in their taking from the corpse the royalornaments that covered it and dividing them evenly among the five.

  "Now, Bel-shar-utsur, tyrant of the city, go down by river to plead withthe Lady Mulge in Ninkigal for a drink from the spring of life; for thoushalt drink no more, in the Great City, of the wines of Helbon andIzalla!"

  With this only farewell, three of them lifted the body up, swung itthrice in the air by the feet and by the head, and at the third swinglet it fly out into the waters of the river that had so short a timebefore received the worn frame of the dead man's father.

  As the body left their hands the priests were startled to hear a long,low cry that came from a few yards to the right. Looking, they saw awoman's figure run to the river-bank and peer into the waters below,where the body of the king, as on a funeral barge, went floating downtowards the city of the dead that lay south of Babylon.

  Without any attempt at accosting her who mourned, the men of Amraphelpresently turned away and began their return to the temple, carryingwith them the new wealth of jewels. Istar also rose, half consciously,and knowing neither any abiding-place where to lay her head, nor any oneto seek who could give her help, she moved away aimlessly down the bankof the stream. A few yards to the south there was a great ferry station,where, by day, a dozen boats were wont to ply back and forth across thestream. By night only one barge went its way backward and forward; andas Istar came down to the little quay the broad scow was just ready tostart to the western shore with its load of men and soldiers. She ranquickly down the steps and on to this moving bridge. The west bank ofthe river was home to her. She knew its streets and its people. There,to the north, was the palace of Belshazzar, and the temple in which shehad once dwelt. There, somewhere, she would find shelter.

  When the barge finally touched the landing at the western shore andIstar, last of any one, was about to leave it, she was stopped by one ofthe ferrymen.

  "Lady, it is two _se_ for the passage."

  "Two _se_! Money? I have none," said Istar, slowly.

  "Thou shalt not leave the barge till the price is paid," retorted theboatman, angrily.

  But vaguely understanding what he meant, Istar pulled the veil from herface and fixed her great eyes upon him, the better to comprehend what itwas he told her. The man gave a great start, for in the semi-darknessher marvellous beauty shone like a star. Then the rough fellow bent hishead before her.

  "It is the lady of Babylon! Great Istar, forgive our fault! Let itplease thee to leave the barge!" he exclaimed, reverently.

  Istar did not pause to wonder that he knew her. She saw that her way wasopen, and she went forth, up the steps, across the path at the top, andinto the lower city. Too weary, too stricken for either rest or sleep,she felt her brain burn and her limbs grow cold as she walked. Now therewas a fire in her veins; now they grew chill as the snows of Elam. Inthe pale gray of the dawn she trembled with sickness. The coming of daywas not beautiful to her eyes. In the first pink flush from the east shefound herself standing before a miserable hut on the border of a canal,and from the dark door-way came a voice crying in great fear:

  "The plague! The plague! It is come upon us! Behold the gods visit theirwrath upon men! Woe, woe to them that see light in Babylon to-day!"

  Istar shuddered at the cry. From another place farther to the north thewords of horror and grief were repeated. The reign of death was thusproclaimed in the city. Now there was a great ringing in Istar's ears.Lights shot up before her eyes. It seemed to her that over all the city,from the five millions of human tongues, rose that cry of woe: "Theplague! The plague!"

  The memory of her dead child was with her. A few more paces shestaggered through, half consciously. Then, of a sudden, some oneappeared beside her--some one whom she knew and had forgotten. At sightof the well-known face the woman's brain gave way. With a long,heart-broken sob, she fell helpless, lifeless, into the reverent arms ofCharmides, her bard.