Near the meeting of the great Nana-Sakipat Street with Ai-Bur-Schabu
Street stood the banking-house of the “Sons of Egibi.” The long bridge
of floats across the river was close by, and in and out the portals of
the wide river-gate poured a constant stream of veiled ladies, with their
guardian eunuchs, intent on shopping, of donkey boys, carters, pedlers,
and priests. Under the shade of the great stone bull guarding one side of
the entrance, the district judge was sitting on his stool, listening to
noisy litigants; from the brass founder’s shop opposite rose the clang
of hammers; and under his open booth descended a stairway to Nur-Samas’s
beer-house, by which many went down and few ascended, for it was hard to
recollect one’s cares while over the drinking-pots.
The Egibis’ office, like all the other shops, was a room open to all
comers, nearly level with the way, without door or window, but made cool
by the green awning stretched across the street in front, and the shadow
cast by the high houses opposite. In the office many young clerks were on
their stools, each busily writing on the frames of damp clay in their
laps with a wedge-headed stylus. Itti-Marduk, present head of this the
greatest banking-house of Babylon, was a plainly dressed, quiet-speaking
man; and only the great rubies in his earrings and the rare Arabian
pomade on his hair told that he could hold up his head before any lord
of Chaldea saving Belshazzar himself. At this moment he was entertaining
no less a client than Avil-Marduk, the chief priest, who came in company
with his boon companion, the priest Neriglissor, as did all the city at
one or another time, to ask an advance from the omnipotent broker. As for
Itti, he was angling his fish after his manner, keeping up a constant
stream of polite small talk, sending out a lad to bring perfumed water to
bathe his noble guests’ feet, and yet making it plain all the while that
current rates of interest were exceedingly heavy.
“Alas!” the worthy banker was bewailing, “that I must speak of shekels
and manehs before friends, but what with heavy remittances I must send
to agents in Erech, with the farmers all calling for funds to pay their
help for the coming season, and a heavy loan to be placed by his Majesty
to complete the fortifications of Borsippa, I have been put to straits to
raise so much as a talent; and were you any other than yourself, my dear
high priest, I fear I could do nothing for you.”
“Yet I swear by Samas,” protested the pontiff, with a wry face at the
loan-contract before him, “you have enough in your caskets to build us
poor priests of Bel a new _ziggurat_.”
“A new _ziggurat_!” protested the banker; “am I like Ea, able to see
all hidden riches? I declare to you that what with the rumour that the
tribes in the southern marshes around Teredon are restless, money becomes
as scarce as snow in midsummer. Ramman forbid that anything come of the
report! It will wither all credit!” So at last, with many protests from
Avil, the contract was signed, and stored away in a stout earthen jar, in
the strong room of the cellar, where lay countless jugs of account books.
And Itti, to make his guest forget that he had just bargained to pay
“twelve shekels on the maneh,”[2] inquired genially if the recent taking
of the omens had chanced to be fortunate. He was met by blank faces both
from Avil and his chariot comrade, the toothless old “anointer of Bel,”
Neriglissor.
“The omens are direful,” began the latter, in a horrified whisper.
“Hush!” admonished the chief priest, “a state secret. To breathe it on
the streets would send corn to a famine price.”
The banker had pricked up his ears. “I am not curious in matters of
state; Marduk forbid! Yet if in confidence I were told anything—”
Neriglissor was only too ready to begin. “The Persians,” he whispered,
“the Persians! Barbarous dogs! Faugh! I sicken thinking of the strong
Median nard the daughter of Cyrus smeared on her hair!”
Itti smiled benevolently. “What Persian can have the delicate taste of a
Babylonian? Yet you have not told the omen.”
Neriglissor’s voice sank yet lower. “These Persians are friends to the
Jews, that race of blasphemers. Each nation worships the same demon,
though the Jews style him Jehovah, the Persians Ahura-Mazda. Long have
the pious foreseen that unless these unbelievers were kept out of Babylon
the gods would be angry. Yesterday this Atossa comes to Babylon to be
his Majesty’s queen. Thus we are about to strike hands with the foes of
the gods, as if it were not enough to continue the old scoffer Daniel in
office. And this morning follows the omen.”
Itti was bending over that not a word might escape. Neriglissor
continued, “As Iln-ciya, the chief prophet, and I stood by the temple
gate, a band of street dogs, all unawares, strayed past, and entered the
enclosure.”
Itti started as he sat, forgot his manehs, and began to mutter an
invocation to Ramman, while his lips twitched. “Impossible!” was all he
could gasp.
“Too true,” put in Avil, solemnly. “You know the ancient oracle,” and he
rolled out the formula:—
“‘When dogs in a court of a temple meet,
The hosts of the city face swift defeat.’
We brought the news to the king. He is all anxiety. There will be a
special council and consulting of the oracles. We trust, by laying extra
burdens on these stubborn Jews, we can in some measure avert the wrath of
heaven. Yet this is a fearful portent, just as his Majesty is about to
marry a Persian.”
Itti was still shaking his head, when an increased din rising from the
street warned Avil that there would be no passing at present for his
chariot.
“Way! way!” a squad of spearmen were bawling, forcing back the
traffickers to either side. The banker and his guests stared forth
curiously.
“Way! way!” the shout grew louder, and behind sounded a creaking and a
rumbling. The chief priest glanced toward the gate.
“The new stone bull,” commented he, “comes from Karkhemish. They landed
it above the bridge; now they drag it to the old palace of Nabupolassar,
which the king is repairing.”
“Then the Jews,” remarked Itti shrewdly, “are already being rewarded for
their impiety. Has not the labour gang been taken from their nation?”
“You are right,” said Avil, “they will fast learn that to keep clear of
forced labour they must go to the _ziggurat_ and the grove of Istar.”
“Strange people,” declared Itti, “so steadfast to their helpless god!”
“If Marduk gives me life,” swore Avil, “I will bend their stiff necks.
His Majesty promises the indulgence of former reigns shall end forever.”
The rumbling in the streets drowned further words. Long before the bull
came in sight appeared four long lines of panting men, naked save for
loincloths, dusty, sullen. Each man tugged at a short cord, made fast in
turn to one of the four heavy cables stretching far behind them. At times
the march would come to dead halt; then every back would bend, and at a
shout from the rear the hundreds would pull as one, and start forward
with a jerk. The laggards were spurred on by the prick of the lances of
the spearmen outside the lines, or felt the staffs of the overseers who
walked between the cables. Young boys ran in and out with water jars,
and now and then a weary wretch would drop from the line to gulp down
a draught, and run back to his toil. So the long snake wound down the
street, groaning, panting, cursing. Behind this thundered the bull. The
stone monster was upon a boat-shaped sledge, itself the height of a man.
Busy hands laid rollers before it. To steady its mass, men ran beside,
holding taut the cords fixed to the tips of the huge wings. On the front
of the sledge stood the guard’s captain, bellowing orders through a
speaking trumpet. The bull reared above him to thrice his height. Last of
all came many toiling from behind, with heavy wooden levers.
“Ah, noble Avil,” called the guard’s captain, familiarly, “who would say
the chief priest makes way for Igas-Ramman, captain of a fifty?”
And Avil, recognizing a friend, called back, “Beware, or I beg your head
of the king! Make the Jews give full service.”
“They shall, by Nabu!” And Igas trumpeted, “Faster now! Wings of eagles!
Feet of hares, or your backs smart!”
The overseers’ blows doubled, the bull swayed as it leaped forward, but
suddenly Igas cursed. “Now, by the Maskim, foul genii of the deep, what
is this? Down again, worthless ox!”
An old man had fallen from line. Overcome by weariness he lay on the
stone slabs while the strokes of the overseers’ staffs made him writhe.
Rise he could not. Neriglissor recognized him.
“A Jew named Abiathar, a great blasphemer of Marduk. Ha! Smite again,
again!”
Igas leaped into the throng, waving a terrific Ethiopian whip of
rhinoceros hide. At the second blow blood reddened the flags. The Hebrew
groaned, tried vainly to rise.
“Beast,” raged Igas, swinging again, “you shall indeed be taught not to
lag!”
The great whip whisked on high, but just as it fell, a heavy hand sent
the captain sprawling. Young Isaiah stood above the prostrate Igas, his
eyes burning with righteous wrath, his form erect.
“Coward! You will not strike twice a man of your own age!”
The spearmen stood blinking at Isaiah in sheer astonishment. Igas crawled
to his feet; rage choked the curses in his throat, then flowed forth a
torrent of imprecations. In his wrath he forgot even to call for help.
“Beetle!” howled he, bounding on Isaiah. But the Jew had caught the
whip, lashed it across the guards captain’s shoulders, and raised a
smarting welt. Then at last all leaped on the intruder, but he laid about
as seven, till a stroke of a cudgel dashed the whip from his grasp;
he was carried off his feet, overpowered, and gripped fast. Around
the motionless bull a tumultuous crowd was swelling, when a squad of
red-robed “street-wardens” hastened up to arrest the peace-breakers.
“High treason against the king!” Igas was screeching. “His head off
before sunset!” But the police rescued Isaiah from the spearmen, and
their chief urged:—
“Softly, excellent captain, he must be tried before the judge.”
“A Jew! A Jew!” shouted many. “Away with him! Strike! Kill!”
The multitude seemed growing riotous, and ready to attack the police,
when a new band of runners commenced forcing a passage.
“Way! way! for the noble Persian Darius and the Vizier Bilsandan!” was
the cry; but to the astonishment of those in the banking-house, they saw
the young envoy leap from his chariot and plunge before his escort into
the crowd. Dashing back the mob with sturdy blows from his scabbard, he
was in an instant beside the Jew. For a moment few recognized him. Igas
thrust at him with a lance, a quick thrust, yet more quickly had Darius
unsheathed, and struck off the spear-head. “Treason! Rebellion! A plot!”
shouted a hundred. The police endeavoured to arrest the new offender.
“Death to the Jews!” rang the yell, as many hands were outstretched. But
the Persian had released Isaiah, and thrust a cudgel in his hands. His
own sword shone very bright.
“Guard my back!” commanded he, and braced himself. The crowd cut him off
from his escort.
Avil cried vainly across the deafening tumult.
“Hold, on your lives! Will you murder the Persian envoy?”
There was a rush, a struggle; those thrust against Darius shrank back
howling, all save two, who had tasted his short sword.
In the respite following, Bilsandan had forced himself to the envoy’s
side. Mere sight of the vizier was enough to enforce quiet.
“Peace, dogs!” thundered Bilsandan. “Why this tumult?”
Darius had sheathed his sword, but looked about smiling. Joy to show
these city folk the edge of Aryan steel!
“I struck only in self-defence,” quoth he to the vizier. “You saw the
cruelty of this scorpion. Isaiah deserves reward for avenging the old
man. I will mention the evil deed of this captain to the king. We
Persians hold that he who reveres not the gray head will still less
reverence the crown.”
Igas was falling on his knees before Darius. Well he knew Belshazzar
would snuff out his life so cheaply to humour the envoy of Cyrus, if only
Darius asked it. But the Persian laughed good-naturedly, forced him to
swear he would pay old Abiathar two manehs, for salve to his stripes, and
the king should hear nothing about it. As for Isaiah, spearmen and police
were glad to leave him at liberty. They bore the two wounded away. Darius
was about to return to the chariot in which Bilsandan had been driving
him about the city, but gave Isaiah a last word. “By Mithra, I love you,
Jew! You are like myself, swift as a thunderbolt, striking first and
taking counsel later.”
“Jehovah bless you again, my prince!” cried the other. “How may I repay?
They would have taken my life.”
So Darius was gone. The bull lumbered on its way. Isaiah alone remained
to help home the wretched Abiathar. As he bargained with a carter to
take the old man to his home on the Arachtu Canal, Avil-Marduk called
from the banking-house: “Praise Bel, Hebrew, you are not on the way to
execution! Be advised. I love men of your spirit. Enter our service at
the _ziggurat_, and, by Istar, you may wear the goatskin in my place some
day!”
Isaiah held up his head haughtily. “I would indeed enter the service of
a god—not of Bel-Marduk, but of Jehovah. I am a Jew, my lord.”
Avil smiled patronizingly. “Excellent youth, you are too wise to think I
do not set your wish at true value. No offence, but where does Jehovah
rule to-day? Fifty years long we have used the dishes from His temple at
your village of Jerusalem, in our own worship of Bel-Marduk. Your god is
helpless or forsakes you; no shame to forsake Him.”
Isaiah bowed respectfully. “Your lordship, we gain little by debate,”
replied he.
“Nevertheless,” quoth Avil, blandly, “I am grieved to see a young man of
your fair parts throw his opportunities away. Be led by me; what do you
owe Jehovah? Bel-Marduk will prove a more liberal patron. You are Jew
only in name, your birth and breeding have been in this Babylon. To her
gods you should owe your fealty. Believe me, I speak as a friend—”
Isaiah straightened himself haughtily.
“My Lord Avil, do not think Jehovah is like your Bel, the god of one
city, of one nation. For from the east to the gates of the sun in the
west is His government. And all the peoples are subject unto Him, though
the most part know it not.”
The high priest’s lip curled a little scornfully. “Truly,” flew his
answer, “Jehovah displays His omnipotence in strange ways,—to let the one
nation that affects to serve Him languish in captivity.”
“I fear many words of mine will not make your lordship understand,”
replied Isaiah; and he bowed again and was gone. Those in the
banking-house looked at one another.
“Sad that so promising a youth must cast himself away in fanatical
devotion to his helpless god,” commented Itti the banker. “Yet he only
imitates his father, Shadrach, the late royal minister.”
“Young as he is,” responded Avil, “he is already a power amongst his
countrymen. He has the reputation of being a prophet of their Jehovah,
and many treat him with high respect. Nevertheless, if he is not better
counselled soon, he will find his head in danger, unless the king stops
his ears to my warnings.”
* * * * *
Isaiah walked beside Abiathar as the cart rumbled homeward. The old Jew
was all groans and moans.
“Ah, woe!” he was bewailing, “is this to be the reward of the Lord God
for remembering Him, and keeping away from the _ziggurat_! Stripes and
forced labour and insult! Speak as you will, good Isaiah, you who have
the civil-minister to protect you from all harm; it is easy for you to
toss out brave words. You are passing rich; we are poor, and all the
stripes crack over our shoulders!”
“Hush!” admonished the younger Jew, severely; “my perils are great as
yours, did you but know them. It is for our sins this trouble is visited
upon us. Our fathers have forgotten Jehovah, and is He not now visiting
their sins upon us, unto the third and fourth generation, even as says
His Law?”
“I do not know,” replied the other, moodily; “I only know that a little
oil and fruit offered now and then to Sin or Samas would cure many aching
backs!”
Isaiah did not answer him. In truth, there was very little to reply. He
walked beside the wagon until Abiathar was safe at his little house by
the Western Canal. Then he left him, and went in the bitterness of his
spirit to the palace of Daniel, near the Gate of Beltis in the inner city.
Like all Babylonian gentlemen, the civil-minister had an extensive
establishment, though the exterior was gloomy and windowless. When
Isaiah had entered the narrow gate he found himself in a spacious court,
surrounded by a two-story veranda, upborne on palm trunks. In the court
were ferns, flowers, and a little fountain; an awning covered the opening
toward the sky. In a farther corner maid-servants were pounding grain and
sitting over their embroidery.
Isaiah entered unceremoniously; but just at the inner door of the farther
side of the court he came on Daniel himself, dressed in his whitest robe,
and surrounded by several servants, as if about to set forth in his
chariot.
“My father!” And the younger Hebrew fell on his knees while the other’s
hand outstretched in blessing.
“The peace of Jehovah cover you, my son,” declared the old man. Yet when
Isaiah had risen, he was startled at the anxiety written on the other’s
face. He knew it was no light thing that could shake the civil-minister
out of his wonted calm.
“As Jehovah lives,” adjured the younger Jew, “what has befallen? Where
are you going? You do not commonly ride abroad in the heat of the day.”
“I have urgent need of going to Borsippa to see my good friend Imbi-Ilu,
high priest of Nabu, on a private matter.” The effort to speak lightly
was so evident that Isaiah’s fears were only doubled.
The minister turned to the others.
“Tell Absalom to hasten with harnessing the chariots,” commanded Daniel.
The servants took the hint and withdrew. Their master cast a searching
glance about the courtyard, to make sure that no others were in easy
earshot.
“Listen.” His speech sank to a whisper. “I am in sore anxiety concerning
the safety of Ruth.”
“Of Ruth!” Isaiah’s grave face grew dark as the thunder-cloud. “How? Who
threatens?”
Daniel spoke yet lower. “This day I have received a message from friends
in the palace, that the king still remembers her beauty, and desires her.
His promise to Darius was a lie, to appease the envoy for the moment. I
dare not doubt that some attempt will be made by Mermaza, or by others of
his spawn, to carry away the girl at the first convenient opportunity.
She must not sally abroad, however much she may desire it. I do not know
how great is the immediate danger, but there is nought to be risked. On
this account I am going to Borsippa without delay.”
“Then as our God rewardeth evil for evil, so will I reward the king!”
Isaiah had turned livid with his wrath. “I will slay Belshazzar with my
own hand, and then let them kill me with slow tortures.”
Daniel smiled despite his heavy heart.
“Small gain would that be to our people. The fury of the Babylonians
would grow sixfold. If the yoke is hard to bear now, what then?”
“Yet will Belshazzar truly break his promise?” demanded Isaiah, plucking
at the last straw of hope.
“Promise?” Daniel laughed grimly. “He will break ten thousand oaths, when
they stand betwixt him and a passion. Avil-Marduk urges him each day to
ruin me and mine, as a lesson to the rest of our people. The Jews are to
be driven like sheep to the _ziggurat_, and forced to blaspheme Jehovah.
Alas! When I think of the plight of our nation, the dangers of a few of
us seem but as the first whisperings of a mighty storm! If no succour
comes, Ruth and you and I are utterly undone; and our people will forget
its God, as He in His just wrath seems to have forgotten them.”
“And is there _no_ hope?” groaned Isaiah in his despair.
Before Daniel could answer, a sweet girlish voice sounded, singing from
the upper casement, over the court. The two men stood in silence.
“My beloved spake and said unto me,
‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone:
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land!’”
“It is the song of Ruth,” said Daniel, as in dreamy melancholy. “She has
waited you for long. Blessed is she; to her Jehovah thus far is kind. She
does not know her danger. The ‘Song of Songs’ is ever in her mouth, in
these days of her love. You must go to her.”
“Let all Belshazzar’s sword-hands take her from me!” was Isaiah’s rash
boast. But then he asked more calmly: “And why do you, my father, go to
Borsippa? You have not told.”
“To ask Imbi-Ilu if he will give sanctuary in the temple of Nabu to Ruth,
if worst comes to worst. Bitter expedient!—a daughter of Judah sheltered
in the house of idols! Such is the only shift.”
“But Imbi could not guard her always, if the king’s mind is fixed. And
what of our nation, of the peril of great apostasy? Ah!” Isaiah lifted
his hand toward heaven. “I am not wrong. I must kill Belshazzar; then if
we die, we die not unavenged!”
Daniel quieted him with a touch.
“Do not anger God with unholy rashness. All is not yet lost. I have
still my position as ‘civil-minister,’ and though the Babylonians may
rage against our people, they reverence me still. My word and name are
yet a power in Babylon. Even the king will hesitate to strike me too
openly. And if the worst _does_ come, let them know I have yet a weapon
that may shake Belshazzar on his throne.”
“What mean you? For Jehovah’s sake, declare!”
Daniel smiled sadly at the impetuosity of the younger man.
“No, not now. Fifty years long have I served the kings of the Chaldees,
and betrayed none of their secrets. I keep fealty as long as I may; yet
the time for casting it off may be near at hand. The Lord grant I may not
be driven thus to bay—”
“The chariot waits, my lord,” interrupted a servant. And Daniel gathered
his robe about him, to depart.
“Remain with Ruth until I return,” was his last injunction; “the king
will hardly wax so bold as to go to extremities to-day. But till
Belshazzar lies dead, or Jehovah creates in him a new heart, we must not
cease to guard her.”
[Illustration: RUTH]