CHAPTER XLV
MOLOCH CLAIMS HIS SACRIFICE
Artemisia and Thais looked from their window at the scud of flyingclouds and beneath them the Macedonian fleet assembling south of thecity. Thais' eyes danced with excitement, and Artemisia's cheeks wereflushed.
"This time we shall win!" Thais exclaimed, throwing her arms about hercompanion. "You are beautiful this morning, Artemisia; Clearchus willbe pleased with you."
The color in Artemisia's cheeks deepened and a happy smile parted herlips.
"I shall make him leave the army," she said. "Of course I am proud ofhis bravery; but, after all, there are better things than to be alwayskilling other men."
She raised her chin with a charming affectation of pride. "He is anAthenian, you know," she added.
Thais frowned. She found in Artemisia's words an implied reflectionupon Chares.
"Don't be silly," she replied. "Do you want to make him one of thosecurled idiots who spend their time in company with philosophers,chasing shadows or trying to find out why crabs walk sidewise? Youwould wake up some day and find that one of them had proved to him thatthere is no such thing as love. Or perhaps you would rather have him adandy, with race-horses and a score of dancing girls to amuse himselfwith! Let him be a man, Artemisia; let him love you and fight hisenemies with all his heart. For my part, if Chares talks of desertingAlexander, he may look elsewhere for some one to love him; for I shallnot."
Artemisia listened to this outburst; but she shook her head, and a softlight shone in her eyes.
"You want power and splendor," she said "but I would rather be alonewith Clearchus in a desert than sit beside him upon the throne ofDarius. I will have no rival in his heart."
"And with half a dozen children around you," Thais said scornfully."You might as well complete the picture."
"Yes," Artemisia answered bravely, though she blushed as she said it,"if the Gods permit it; and if the first is a boy, he shall be namedChares."
Thais turned swiftly and kissed her, all her anger gone in a moment.
"There, sister, I did not mean it," she said. "May the Gods give usboth our hearts' desire!"
She clapped her hands, and the tiring women who had been awaiting thesummons entered.
"Give me my saffron chiton," she cried, "and my topaz necklace. Weshall have visitors to-day, girls."
She seated herself before a large mirror while the women dressed herhair and robed her as she had directed. They could not hide theiradmiration when their task was finished and she stood before them likea living image of gold.
But Artemisia chose a linen robe of pure white, unrelieved by color.The spotless purity of her dress set off the delicate flush upon hercheeks and the soft brown of her hair.
So eager were the young women that they were scarcely able to taste thefruit and cakes that the servants set before them. They kept jumpingup and running to the window to see what progress the Macedonian fleetwas making, and whether the attack had begun.
"What a storm!" Artemisia exclaimed. "I wish it would stop; it hidesthe ships."
"Zeus is fighting on our side to-day," Thais replied gayly, as a longgrowl of thunder shook the walls of the house. "Tell me, what is goingon in the city?" she added, turning to a Cretan maiden among the women.The girl was beautiful in face and figure, although her expression wasone of sadness. She had once ruled as favorite of Phradates, and itwas whispered in the household that she still loved him, in spite ofthe fact that she had had a score of successors since her brief day ofascendency.
"They are preparing a sacrifice to Baal-Moloch," she replied, "in thehope of persuading him to aid them."
"What is this sacrifice? I have never seen one," Thais asked.
"I do not know," the girl said. "There has been none since I came toTyre."
"I know, mistress," another of the women volunteered. She was aSyrian, with a supple figure and bright black eyes, who had been aslave from her infancy.
"Describe it, then," Thais said.
"Baal-Moloch is the most powerful God in the world," the woman saidvolubly. "His image is made of iron, and is terrible to look upon."She shivered as she spoke. "I never saw it but once, and that was whenthe Babylonian king threatened to make war upon us. We offeredsacrifice to prevent it, and Moloch would not permit him to come. Thepriests went about the city and took the children--even the littlebabies--and carried them away to the temple. When the doors wereopened, we could see Baal sitting there in the darkness. There was afire inside of him, and his eyes glowed at us. He reached his handsdown, and the priests gave him the children, one by one, and he liftedthem up and devoured them. It was awful to think of those littlechildren!"
Artemisia listened with an expression of horror on her face.
"I do not see where they are going to get the children now," Thaisremarked. "They have all been sent away."
"They are taking the children of the Israelites who remained here," theSyrian explained, "and they say--at least, Mena says--they are going tosacrifice a virgin, too. Ugh! I don't want to see it."
"Little good will it do them!" Thais exclaimed. "Not even Baal cansave their city now."
"Hush!" the Syrian said, affrighted. "He is a great God."
Sounds of commotion and of hurried footsteps in the lower halls of thehouse interrupted them. Thais listened.
"Go and see what it is," she commanded.
The Syrian went, and in a moment came flying back into the room withterror on her face.
"Oh, my mistress!" she cried. "Why did you speak so of Moloch? Hispriests are in the house! Save us!"
"Silence!" Thais exclaimed, rising to her feet. "You shall not beharmed."
She raised her head proudly and faced the doorway, while the slavewomen huddled behind her with frightened eyes. Artemisia stood besideher, trying to emulate her courage; but a strange sinking laid holdupon her heart, and a mist swam before her eyes.
There was a rush of feet outside, and four black-robed men, followed bya guard of soldiers, entered. Their leader was a man of stern andgrave expression, whose eyes seemed to glow in his pale face with thepower of his compelling will. He was Hiram, who had been chosenhastily to act as chief priest when Esmun failed to return from theroyal palace. His ascetic countenance contrasted strongly with thegross faces of his followers, brutalized by self-indulgence. The otherpriests both feared and hated him, for it was said that Baal hadendowed him with powers that were beyond the understanding of man.
"What seek ye here?" Thais demanded, flashing a haughty glance at thezealot.
He paid no heed to her and made no answer. His dark eyes caught thoseof her companion and held them.
"Artemisia!" he said, in a solemn voice that sounded like a summons,"our Lord, Baal-Moloch, the Saviour, awaits thee! Come with us to histemple."
To Artemisia the words sounded far away; yet she heard them distinctly,and they seemed to leave her no choice but to obey. A deep sense ofpeace crept over her as she looked into the fathomless eyes of thepriest, that were fixed steadfastly upon hers, and from which she couldnot withdraw her own. Dimly she felt that never again should she seeClearchus or behold the land of Attica. Never should she hear hisbeloved voice or feel his arms around her, clasping her close to hisbreast. It was the will of the Gods. Everything earthly seemed torecede and fall away from her as in a dream, leaving her alone with thegrim priest, her master. They two were floating upon a mighty currentthat was bearing them, she knew not whither. She was at peace, and allwas ended. The terror she had felt a few moments before had left her.It seemed remote and long ago, and she smiled to think of it and of howfoolish it had been.
Hiram saw her form droop and her muscles relax, and these signs of hisvictory did not escape him. The expression of his face did not change,however, and he still kept his eyes fastened upon hers. The sombrefigures of his subordinates stood motionless beside him, and thesoldiers of his guard, lean and weather-worn, blocked the doorway,glancin
g now at the two young women and now at the slave girls coweringin the background.
"Come with me!" Hiram said quietly, stretching his strong hand towardArtemisia.
She made an uncertain step toward him, but Thais caught her by the armand drew her back.
"What do you mean by this mummery?" she cried, with blazing eyes. "Getthee gone and tell thy God that Artemisia is not for him!"
"Chafe not, daughter," Hiram replied calmly. "The will of Baal must beobeyed. There can be no escape."
"You shall not have her!" Thais cried. "Your creed demands a willingsacrifice!"
"And she is willing," the priest said, in the same even tone.
"She is not!" Thais said.
"Follow me!" Hiram exclaimed, slightly raising his voice.
Artemisia made a feeble effort to obey, and Thais felt the arm that sheheld draw away from her grasp.
"Sorcerer!" she cried desperately, retaining her hold, "she is notwilling of her own will. Release her from thy spell!"
"She is willing," Hiram repeated, "and thou shalt see her place herselfvoluntarily in the hands of the Giver of Life."
He made a slight sign, and the three priests who followed him steppedforward. One of them twisted Thais' hand from Artemisia's arm,retaining her wrist in his clutch, while another seized her on theopposite side, rendering her helpless. The third took Artemisia gentlyby the hand. She offered no resistance, but suffered herself to be leddown the marble stairs with wide-open eyes that seemed to see nothing.Thais followed between her captors. Her face was pale to the lips, andyellow flames danced in her eyes.
"Priest of Baal!" she said, "thou hast shown no mercy and none shaltthou receive--neither thou nor thy God!"
"Blaspheme not," Hiram said; "the vengeance of our Lord is bitter."
"More bitter still shall be the vengeance of men," Thais exclaimed inher despair, "and they are now beating at the walls who shall make theefeel it!"
Hiram made no reply. If he felt a misgiving, his face did not betrayit. He led the way with measured tread down the staircase, followed byhis two captives and by the guard.
"Artemisia!" Thais cried in anguish, "speak to me!"
Artemisia made no response, nor did she turn her head. It was evidentthat she had not heard. Laying aside her pride, Thais determined tomake a final effort. When they reached the deserted entrance hall, sheraised her voice.
"Phradates! Phradates!" she cried. "Save us from these men!"
Her cry echoed through the recesses of the hall, but it brought noresponse.
"Phradates!" Thais called again as the outer doors swung back,revealing the wind-swept street.
This time a figure emerged from the marble columns. It was that ofMena the Egyptian, who advanced with a malicious smile upon his sharpface.
"My master is upon the walls," he said impudently, though he bowed low."He is fighting to save the city from your friends."
Something of the suppressed triumph in his bearing struck the attentionof Thais, agitated as she was.
"Is this thy work?" she demanded, looking at him between narrowingeyelids. "Thou shalt pay for it, slave, upon the cross, to the lastdrop of thy blood!"
"Thou dost me too much honor," Mena replied, bowing again in mockhumility.
"Come," said one of Thais' captors, roughly. "Baal must not be keptwaiting."
The slanting rain smote their faces as they emerged into the street,where throngs of men and women were crowding toward the Temple ofMoloch. On this side, as yet, nothing could be seen of the fierceconflict that was raging for the possession of the children in theHebrew quarter. The sounds of it were lost in the rushing of the windand the crashing of the thunder.
The people of Tyre hastened forward in silence and with bowed heads. Anameless dread possessed them. Amid the confusion wrought by man andthe elements, friends and neighbors touched shoulders without a glanceof recognition. A weight of oppression seemed to dull their minds andrestrict their lungs. They were like creatures that listen furtivelyin hidden terror to catch the forewarning of some catastrophe, thenature of which they know not. All bonds were dissolved. Husbandsbecame separated from their wives in the press and made no attempt torejoin them.
Even the priests of Moloch who followed Hiram were affected by theuniversal uneasiness, and Thais felt the hands that clasped her wriststremble. Hiram himself walked gravely and slowly, apparently obliviousof what was going on about him. He seemed indifferent alike to thepelting of the storm and the danger from falling stones. A mass ofrock plunged into the crowd close before him, crushing a man beneathits ponderous weight. The step of the pontiff did not waver, and hepassed the spot without so much as a glance at the mangled body pinneddown by the missile. His consciousness of the protection of Molochfreed him from all sense of personal danger.
The people made way for him in silence, huddling to the sides of thestreet and closing in after the soldiers had passed. Artemisia walkedwith her eyes upon the sombre figure that strode before her. Her facewas as colorless as the linen chiton that clung to her figure in therain, disclosing the maidenly outline of her bosom. Her breathing waseven and regular, as though she were sleeping with open eyes.
Anger raged in Thais' breast as in that of a lioness, bound withchains, which sees her cubs taken from her. She knew the hopelessnessof struggling with her captors, for even if she could free herself, shewould still be powerless to rescue Artemisia.
Around the gloomy temple stood thousands of men and women, mournfullyand silently waiting in the rain for the procession to enter. Thegreat bronze doors stood open, revealing the dark interior of thebuilding, where a few torches cast a flickering light upon the face ofthe monstrous idol, whose cruel features seemed to be twistingthemselves with hideous grimaces.
Streamers of pale blue smoke were drawn through the apertures over thehead of the image by the wind, and the inside of the temple was filledwith a smoky haze that increased the obscurity. This came from thefire of scented wood that the priests had kindled in the body of theidol. They fed it continually from behind; and the faint smoke, risingfrom carefully disposed openings in the breast and shoulders of thefigure, partially veiling its face, added to the mystery and solemnityof the ceremony.
As Hiram approached the entrance, two lines of black-robed priestsissued silently to right and left, pushing back the crowd and forming alane which led up the two flights of shallow stone steps to thedoorway. The spectators reverently bowed their heads. Their faith inthe power of Baal, bred in them from infancy, was strong upon them, anddeep was their fear of his wrath. Many times had he listened to theirprayers, and more than once had he refused to listen, permitting thecalamity that they besought him to avert. But never since he hadbecome their God, at a time beyond the limit of tradition, had theygone to him in such dreadful extremity. Would he intervene, or wouldhe leave them to their fate?
All eyes were turned to the impassive face of Hiram, searching therefor an answer to the question that was in every mind. The chief priestgave no sign. He paced slowly into the open space between the ranks ofthe priests, his black vestments fluttering about him in voluminousfolds. His eyes looked straight forward into the temple, seeking theface of Baal. In his footsteps walked Artemisia, her head now droopingslightly, like a flower cut from its stem. The priests began a slowchant, so low that its words of praise could hardly be understood.
Halfway up the second flight of steps, behind the row of priests,Pethuel appeared in the crowd. He had managed somehow to reach thetemple in advance of his flock. The rain glistened upon his white hairand snowy beard. Pressing forward as Hiram advanced, he raised hisvoice above the mystic words of the chant.
"Priest of Baal!" he cried to his rival, "thy God is fled! Behold, hisimage shall be broken in thy temple. The wrath of the Lord God ofHosts is upon you; for the cup of Tyre's iniquities runneth over!"
He ceased and a murmur ran through the crowd; but no hand was raisedagainst the old man. The priests lo
oked at Hiram, who passed onwithout so much as turning his eyes, and they continued their chant.Not even when the brother who walked beside Artemisia was struck downby an arrow on the threshold of the temple did Hiram pause. The shaft,falling obliquely, buried itself between its victim's shoulders, and hefell upon his face in his death agony. His comrades lifted him quicklyand bore him out of sight; but the people continued to gaze at thestain of blood upon the stones where he had fallen.
As Artemisia and Thais vanished in the doorway, the sounds of conflictcaused by the rising of the Hebrews reached the temple.
"It is Alexander!" said one to another in the crowd, and because of thewords of Pethuel, the cry was more easily believed. Panic seized uponthe multitude. Thousands of those who had assembled fled back to theirhomes. Others ran toward the royal palace, and still others sought theharbors. Scores found refuge in the temple, fighting with each otherto enter first through the wide doorway. The dread that had weighedthem down had taken shape. The evil was upon them.