Semiramis: A Tale of Battle and of Love. Edward Peple

to battle, even as thou, my lord, lead those of thine honored father, whom I learn, with sorrow, is too infirm by reason of his years to bear the stress of war."

      Again the Bedouins murmured among themselves, but now in approval of the Assyrian's words, yet Boabdul checked them with a frowning glance, and their tongues were stilled.

      Of a truth the Prince was pleased in secret at the covenant which Ninus offered, yet would not seem too eager of his own desires. Therefore he feigned a marked disfavor to the plan, in hope that the treaty might lean more lightly on the shoulders of Arabia.

      "And this master of thine," he asked, with a dash of scorn, "is he then so high in power that the world must kneel before his kingly nod? Is he mightier than I, Boabdul Ben Hutt, who sweepeth the land with sword and flame? who ruleth from the desert to the lip of the western sea and balanceth a kingdom on the edge of his whetted scimitar? Speak, servant of thy King! Would Ninus face me, man to man, and still be conqueror?"

      "As to that," smiled Menon, openly, "I may not say. Long have I known my master as a father and a friend, yet remember not that he boasted of his deeds."

      Now the words of Menon were the words of bald untruth, for Ninus was a very prince of braggarts, causing a record of his feats of arms to be graven on mighty tablets, the which were designed for the wondering eyes of men who should follow after him. But Menon was unafraid, and the sting of his calm reproof was as a spur in the flanks of the Arab's rage.

      "I would to my gods," he cried, "that this builder of huts were here at hand, in that I prove a weapon on his teeth!"

      "Alas!" sighed Menon, "he is far away at Nineveh, where he trusteth some day to receive Boabdul as his honoured guest."

      "And thou," the Arab sneered; while he trembled with fury because of the other's unruffled mien, "thou who bearest the terms of this foolish truce and shieldeth thy master's insolence, wilt thou dare face me, afoot or astride a steed?"

      "Aye," said Menon, as he took Boabdul's measure thoughtfully; "if thereby our treaty may be sealed—with all my heart."

      "Come!" cried the Arab fiercely. "Come cross thy blade with mine; and if I fall, the treaty shall be made in accord with the covenants set forth. If not, a second council shall be held, whereat thy King shall sue for peace upon his knees."

      Beneath the shade of date-palms a circle of warriors was formed, and in its centre the two prepared to battle for the terms of truce. Their robes were laid aside lest the folds become entangled with their legs, and they stood forth naked except for waist cloths girt about their loins. The Arab was lean and wiry to the litheness of a cat, with corded thews that lay in knots upon his dusky skin. The Assyrian's flesh, though pale with the tint of a northern clime, was firm and hard, its muscles rippling smoothly with the movement of his limbs. He was taller and of longer reach, well schooled in the arts of war, and possessed of a lynx-eyed watchfulness as a match to the speed of his nimbler foe.

      Boabdul wielded his curving scimitar, which was weighted at its point, and held a tiny target upon his arm in easy grace, while Menon was armed with a shield of bronze and a heavy two-edged sword, the gifts of Memetis, an Egyptian prince held hostage at the court of Ninus.

      For a moment the two stood motionless, each striving to note a weakness in the other's guard, each ready for thrust or parry should an opening chance; then the Arab crouched and began to move in circles round and round. Menon, making a pivot of his heel, turned slowly with his hawk-like adversary, presenting a steady front to every point of menace or attack, and daring the Arab with his smiling eyes. Of a sudden Boabdul feinted with an under-thrust, recovered, and lashed out wickedly at Menon's head; yet the scimitar only rasped along the edge of a waiting sword, and the Arab bounded back beyond the danger line. Again and again he sought an opening, and was met by a steady, cool defense, while the watching Bedouins and Assyrian men-at-arms cheered lustily for their champions.

      Stung by repeated failure, Boabdul's blood ran hot within his veins, and the battle waxed in fierceness and in speed. As the leopard springs, so the Arab darted in and out, his scimitar a wheel of light, a weapon in every spoke, that now rang sharply on a shield of bronze or gritted against a sword; the while Prince Menon fixed his gaze on the Arab's eyes and waited a whisper from his gods.

      In circles they stamped the earth, amid the din of hoarse, wild cries of men who lusted for a sight of blood; and then a shout went up, for a crimson stream ran trickling down the Assyrian's thigh. The crafty Boabdul, too, had seen, and he bounded to a fresh attack, but Menon caught the blow on his brazen shield and turned the stroke aside; then swiftly, and with all his strength he smote the foeman's target with the flat of his heavy sword. His gods had whispered, for the Arab's arm hung numbed and useless at his side.

      And now it was Menon's turn to forsake the waiting game and push his foeman to the wall. The fresher of the two, because of his calm defense, he pressed upon the Prince without a feather-weight of mercy, nor gave him pause. In vain Boabdul fought with all his skill to regain an aggressor's vantage ground, yet could not, for his blade was now his shield, while Menon warded blows with either arm. Still the battle was not yet won. The Arab strove by a score of cunning tricks to lure his enemy into faulty guard or a weakness of attack. He even sought with taunts and mockery to tilt the even temper of his foe; but Menon pressed him closer still and laughed—which troubled Boabdul grievously. Once the wily Arab flung himself upon the earth and slashed at the other's legs, but Menon leaped and the stroke passed harmlessly beneath, while the Prince regained his feet and moved backward on the run.

      They closed again for a final test of strength and artifice, twisting, thrusting, showering blows that were turned aside or evaded by a shifting foot, each panting in his toil, each weary but undismayed; then, of a sudden, Menon locked his sword in the curve of the Arab's scimitar, and, grunting, heaved it from Boabdul's grasp. The Prince, in an effort to elude the snare, reeled backward, tripped, and rolled upon the earth. In a flash the Assyrian sprang upon him and pressed his point beneath the dusky chin.

      With screams of rage the circling Arabs lowered their spears to swoop upon the victor and save the vanquished if they might, but Menon flung his shield arm up in warning.

      "Back!" he cried, "or by the crown of Ishtar will I slit his throat!"

      The sons of the desert halted, as a steed is curbed, each poised for a savage thrust, each waiting in awesome dread for a thread of life to snap, while Boabdul Ben Hutt gazed upward into Menon's eyes, though the brand of fear burned not upon his cheek.

      "Strike, dog!" he groaned, in the shame and anguish of defeat; but Menon tossed his sword away and stretched forth his hands that the fallen one might rise.

      In silence stared the Bedouins; in silence Boabdul rose and looked in puzzled wonder on his conqueror.

      "Assyrian," he asked at length, "why now is thy blade unstained, when a twist of fortune gave me over into thy hand?"

      "My lord," spoke Menon solemnly, and yet with a certain twinkling of the eye, "I seek to seal a covenant with Arabia's Prince; not with Boabdul dead."

      The Arabian had looked on death, and knew that the wine of life was sweet to him; so anger departed utterly, and humor seized him till he laughed aloud.

      "Now by my father's beard," he cried, as he caught the Assyrian's hands in his and pressed them against his breast, "if Ninus keepeth faith as he chooseth messengers, right gladly will I call him Brother of my Soul!"

      Then a mighty cheer arose, whose echoes rolled far out across the plains—a cheer for Ninus, lord of all Assyria—and another, louder, longer still, for the lion-hearted messenger. It had come upon the Arabs that Menon not once had sought to strike a fatal blow, but had stood before the desert's fiercest scimitar, undaunted, staking all upon his strength, and had spared where he might have slain.

      They led him unto Boabdul's tent, where the Prince's aged leech administered to his wound. They bathed and anointed him lest he suffer hurt because of his heated blood, and clothed him in raiment from Boabdul's royal chests.

      The treaty was duly sealed, to stand between two kingdoms through the march of years; and neither monarch once broke its covenants, albeit the