As the afternoon waned, Nur-Samas’s beer-house buzzed louder and louder,
until a stranger might have deemed it one vast beehive. The jolly liquor
and the bouncing serving-maids about Sadasu, the hostess, were twin lures
that stole the stamped silver out of the pouches of the most wary. The
room was large, cool, and dark. Stools were scattered about in little
groups, every seat occupied with its toper. In the hands of each was a
sizable earthen jug that was replenished by the girls as often as its
holder snapped his fingers or clapped his hands. Everybody was talking
at once, with little heed whether his neighbour was also talking or
listening. All were trying to barter broad jests or roaring at them,
though scarce a man or woman there but was too tipsy to tell a straight
story or understand the point of what was told them.
When Khatin, the executioner, went down the stairway to enjoy his
afternoon tankard, he found Gudea, the lean “demon-ejector,” and Binit,
his angular wife, who acted as hired wailer at funerals, both with their
noses deep in their cups, and they only lifted them when Khatin drew his
stool close by theirs, and began to tell of the mysterious attack that
had been made on the king’s own person at the great feast.
“A fearful atrocity!” the headsman was bewailing; “and the worst of it
all is that no one has yet been laid by the heels and brought to me for
it. Only two heads sheared to-day—wretched eunuchs who fell out with the
queen-mother Tavat-Hasina. I grow sluggish for lack of work.”
“Poor Khatin!” commiserated Binit. “Yet sympathize with Gudea; for two
days he has not cast out a single ‘sickness-demon,’ and I have only
wailed at one funeral, that of the rich old goat Isnil, who died of
sheer age. The city grows impious and healthy. Men give up calling in an
honest wizard when sick, and trust to roots and herbs and those horrible
Egyptian doctors. The gods must grow dreadfully angry. The Jews still
refuse to worship Bel and Nabu, despite the forced labour, and this makes
heaven yet more furious. Alas! Such evil times!”
Khatin raised his head, with a chuckle.
“Now by all the host of heaven!” professed he, “I think the gods must get
on excellently well, even if a few less shekels are wasted on such worthy
servants as you, my dear Binit and Gudea. They _do_ say that even if the
gods grow furious, when one really longs to be rid of a sickness, it is
safer to trust the Egyptian doctors than the most noted wizard in all
Babylon.”
“Khatin,” admonished Gudea, rising in his dignity, “you call yourself my
friend; understand that if you call down the wrath of the gods by your
blasphemies, you need expect no help from me to avert their rage.”
“No offence, brother,” responded the headsman, as soothingly as he knew
how. “Here, girl, fill the noble exorcist’s jug again, and put it on my
reckoning. A long pull now,—to the confusion of every Jew and traducer of
the gods! Ha! What a happy life this would be, if it were all one round
of quaffing palm-wine.”
“You are very generous,” remarked Gudea, appeased. “I swear these last
skins Nur-Samas had sent up from Sirgulla are delightfully heady. My
crown already begins to go round like a chariot wheel. You are an
excellent man, my lovely Khatin, a most excellent man! By Marduk, I love
you!” He had pulled his stool beside that of Khatin, put his arm around
the executioner, and rocked to and fro, displaying his affection.
Khatin likewise, feeling the liquor loosening his tongue, began to grow
confidential.
“Hist!” admonished he, “I am in a great way to be consoled. Do you know
there is a rumour around the palace, about Daniel—”
“Daniel the ‘civil-minister,’ the great Jew?” demanded Binit, jerking her
nose out of her jug.
“The very same,” grunted Khatin, chuckling again; “it is reported that
Avil-Marduk—”
Before he could finish the sentence, which all around had stopped
drinking and talking that they might hear, a call came down the stairway
from the street entrance.
“Where is Gudea the exorcist?” The wizard rose, not too tipsy to answer:—
“I am he. Who are you? What do you wish?”
“I am Joram, son of Saruch, the rope merchant,” came the reply. “My
father is again torn by convulsions. Terrible demons are rending him.
Hasten! Come and cast them out.”
Gudea put on a professional tone at once.
“Take comfort, excellent youth; you command my best skill. Yet my time is
valuable; in justice to my wife I must ask five shekels.”
“Say ten, if only the demons never return.”
“Will you come also, my Khatin?” said Gudea, adjusting his long robes.
“You shall see my spells accomplish that of which no Egyptian dreams. And
you, wife, hasten home, bring the incense pots, aromatic herbs, cloves,
garlic, the wool of a young sheep, and some raw serpent’s flesh. We shall
need a powerful exorcism.” And with that Binit went her way, while Khatin
followed his friend into the yet busy street.
The young man who had summoned them bore indeed a Jewish name; but,
as Gudea explained, he and his father Saruch were men of true worldly
wisdom. If they still prayed to Jehovah, they had long since cast
off their native bigotry; they brought offerings to the temples, and
knew that in times of illness one must run for the wizard. As idlers
recognized Gudea, and the whisper spread that he was headed for Saruch’s
house, a great crowd followed, for there were few better sights than
a skilful incantation. So, with a long train of pedlers, donkey-boys,
guardsmen off duty, and their kind, the exorcist came to the dwelling
of the rich Jew, beside the quays. The courtyard was open, and soon
thronging, but Gudea ostentatiously bade the servants to clear a space
and bring forth their master. The convulsions were over for the moment.
They laid Saruch, ghastly pale, and scarce conscious, on the cushions in
the sunlight of the court. Gudea knelt, blew in his nostrils and ears,
and rose with a long face. To the anxious wife and son he announced
solemnly:—
“Good people, you have indeed done well to summon me. Nothing less than
the ‘Maskim,’ the ‘seven arch-fiends of the deep,’ have entered into the
worthy Saruch.” Whereupon all the jostling crowd began to shrink and
shiver, though none cried aloud lest the demons quit Saruch and slip down
their gaping mouths. But Gudea reassured them pompously. “Be not afraid,
excellent friends. The demons are still in Saruch, but I have muttered
an infallible spell to control them as they pass out. They will enter no
other.” The crowd pressed again nearer.
“Alas, noble wizard,” began the wife, weeping, “can even _your_ skill
eject the ‘Maskim’?” Gudea drew himself up, offended.
“Were I another exorcist, perchance you might doubt rightly. But am I not
the most notable conjurer in Babylon? Fear nothing; you shall yet see
Saruch walking before you, well and happy.”
“Nevertheless,” muttered Khatin, impiously, “it were no harm to call an
Egyptian.” But Binit had bustled in with divers bundles, on which all
cast awesome glances. Gudea unpacked; took sundry earthen pots, filled
them with spices, struck fire, and presently from them drifted a thick
aromatic smoke, that blew in Saruch’s face and set him coughing.
“Back, all of you. Adore the gods!” commanded the wizard. “I will now
commence the never failing exorcism of the Maskim.”
There was not a whisper, while the conjurer began casting bits of wool,
hair, dried flowers, and beans into the fire, each time repeating loudly:—
“Even as the bean is cast in the fire,
Even as the fire consumes the bean;
So may Marduk, chieftain of the gods,
Drive the demons and their spell from Saruch!”
At first Gudea stood still; then, laying off his shoes and rubbing
his hands,—token of purification,—he commenced the sacred dance about
the sufferer. In the first rounds he moved slowly, his white garments
swelling and falling as he turned, while his watchful wife fed the fire
with scraps of dry flesh, spices, and splinters of magic woods. Gudea
recited incantation after incantation, calling on Marduk, Istar, Ea,
and every other god to aid in driving the “seven fiends” out of Saruch’s
throat. He continued, until suddenly the sick man began to quiver and
foam at the mouth.
“The convulsion again!” moaned the sufferer’s wife, starting forward.
“Alas! my Saruch!”
“Peace, woman!” thundered Gudea, “will you break the spell? No danger,
the fiends are risen in his neck. They struggle against coming forth, but
I compel them.” The sufferer almost rose from his cushions; his face was
black, his eyes bloodshot.
“Glory to Marduk!” howled Gudea, “the spell works. The Maskim depart.
Now, wife.” Binit leaped to her feet with a screech that sent all the
sparrows scurrying from the eaves. Seven times she screamed, until every
ear was tingling, and all the time Gudea danced faster, faster, in a
narrow circle about Saruch.
“Come out of him! Come out of him! Away, away!” he yelled at each
interval in the screeching. The sick man was tottering to his feet.
“Glory to Marduk!” bawled Gudea again, “the fiends are mastered. The
final spell now, the infallible incantation.”
And every breath was bated while he chanted, still dancing, the
age-honoured song of the “Maskim”:—
“Seven are they, they are seven!
In the deeps below they are seven;
In the crest of heaven they are seven;
In the low abyss were reared the seven;
Man or woman are none of the seven;
Whirlwinds baneful are all the seven;
Wife or child have none of the seven;
Mercy or kindness have none of the seven;
Prayers and tears hear none of the seven;
Eager for mischief are all the seven;
Sky-spirit conjure away the seven!
Earth-spirit conjure away the seven!”
A final howl from Binit. Saruch’s answer was a groan of mortal pain; he
reeled, fell.
But the wife and son had rushed to the old Jew, and a fearful cry burst
from the woman:—
“Dead! dead!” When she lifted the head, it fell back lifeless. Almost at
the same moment the crowd was thrust aside by a heavy hand, and all saw
the stalwart form of Isaiah striding toward Gudea, and at the Hebrew’s
heels a dignified, dark-skinned man, in a spotless white robe.
“Urtasen, the great Egyptian doctor,” whispered one fellow to another.
Gudea was standing panting, gazing upon the dead, the widow, and Joram.
His jaw was dropped, his eye vacant. Even his own effrontery had failed
him. Isaiah plucked him roughly by the robe.
“Make your feet wings, or I will aid you,” he commanded. “You have truly
raised the ‘Maskim’ now.”
The wizard recovered his tongue.
[Illustration: “Isaiah plucked him roughly by the robe.
“‘Make your feet wings, or I will aid you.’”]
“Dead?” cried he, incredulously; “he is but in a trance. He sleeps; he
will awake in quiet. The demons tore him grievously in departing, but he
is not dead.”
Urtasen had knelt by the body, examining. Now he looked upward.
“Saruch had an incurable disease. Thoth, the wisest god, could have
scarce saved him in the end. But this smoke and bellowing brought on a
last convulsion. With treatment he could have lived many years. Now he
will wake only at the call of Osiris.”
The widow and Joram had leaped upon Gudea.
“Imposter! Juggler!” screamed the Jewess; “_you_ boast to cure? Call my
husband’s spirit back from Sheol, if you may.”
In their rage they would have wrung the wizard’s neck. Isaiah interposed.
“You alone are to blame, Joram—you, false Jew, who have forsaken the
faith of your fathers! Jehovah justly requites you. How long have you
forgotten our law forbidding dealings with wizards and necromancers? I
heard the rumour of Saruch’s state, and hastened hither with Urtasen to
forestall this viper,”—with a glance toward Gudea,—“but the Most High
ordained that I should come late, and you all be dealt with after your
sins.”
“No more! On my father’s soul, no more!” Joram was moaning, while his
tears came fast.
“You do well to weep,” was the stern retort; “but I have said enough. Now
let these servants of the very fiends depart.”
Gudea had recovered his composure.
“Luckless people,” began he, “it was none other than the counter spells
muttered by this Isaiah which ruined my incantation and gave victory to
the demons. I accuse him of black magic and murder.”
But Gudea had lost all favour with the crowd. A guffaw answered him.
“Ha, scoundrel!” yelled twenty, “do not cover your mummery!” And Khatin
added, “Verily, friend, if any murderer needs speech with me, his name is
Gudea.”
“Out with him!” roared all the onlookers, putting forth rough hands on
Binit and her husband.
“No tumult; respect the dead!” implored Isaiah.
“And my ten shekels?” howled Gudea, struggling in the clutch of ten men.
“Let the crows weigh them out to you,” groaned Joram, in his agony.
“And may I not engage to wail at the funeral?” pleaded Binit, never
setting safety before business.
“Screech at your own,” admonished many at once.
Khatin joined the rest in thrusting the necromancers very ungently into
the street.
“Good people,” said Isaiah to those yet in the court, “this is the house
of death. Let all who are needless here go their ways.”
“You shall repent this!” belched Gudea, as they haled him away, but none
heeded him.
The servants drove the rabble from the court. The portals clanged; the
household was left to its grief. Khatin was laughing like a jackass.
“Ah, my wise raven! Ah, my sweetly chirping sparrow! How amiably the
demons obey you! Pity they took Saruch’s soul with them when they flitted
forth.”
“The Jew! the Jew and his sorceries!” groaned the wizard.
The roar of the bystanders drowned his protest. Since most had with
them a heavy freight of palm-wine, they might have dipped him in the
Euphrates; but at this moment a squad of police charged down the street
and dispersed them. Gudea, Binit, and Khatin found themselves thrust into
a side alley.
“By Nergal! my pot at Nur-Samas’s turns sour,” cried the headsman, “yet
not so sour as your smile just now, dearest brother. That Isaiah is a
pretty fellow also, if he is a Jew! A fine neck! Pity I missed him the
other day.” He turned on his heel. For a moment Binit’s tongue flew so
fast that she soon stopped for want of breath.
“Our conjuring vessels, the herbs, spices, charms, amulets—all lost.
Sheerest theft! Go to the magistrate. Seize Joram, Isaiah, the widow,
the—”
“Silence!” commanded her husband. “All this talked in a crowded court?
Bel forefend! I could never exorcise another demon for a year. You are a
fool!”
“But did I not screech beautifully?”
“Sweetly as the king’s musicians, my dear one. But how shall we be
avenged on this Isaiah? All Babylon will hear of this. Woe, woe!”
“Avil-Marduk?” suggested she.
“I do not understand you, wife,” quoth the wizard, his wits still shaken
by the rude events of the hour.
“Are you become senseless as a sick sheep?” cried she, scornfully. “What
was Khatin about to say at the beer-house? You know the chief priest
would love nothing so much as some ground for new accusations against the
Jews. Go to him boldly. Accuse Isaiah of murder by means of sorceries.
Say he hated Saruch because he adored our gods of Babylon. The moment
your spell begins to work, the sick man falls dead. Isaiah appears the
next instant. Clearest proof! If Avil-Marduk can be persuaded to make
your cause his own, an accusation supported by him will be true as an
oracle; though all the city might mock if you brought the charge alone.”
The wizard’s eyes were shining with relief and glee, as the inspiration
came to him.
“Ah! my Binit,” cried he, merrily, “happy the day when Istar made you my
wife! Not Ea himself could counsel more craftily.”
* * * * *
So it befell that the wizard wended his way in the cool of the evening
northward to the precinct of Bel-Marduk, guardian god of Babylon.
The temple of Bel was far more than a shrine perched on the crest of a
_ziggurat_. Its walls, outbuildings, and priests’ houses covered many
“large acres.” It occupied a site with the river on the west, the great
“Eastern Canal” to north, and on south and east there was ready entrance
through the towering gateways, guarded, like the king’s palace, by stone
lions and winged bulls. Here sleepy priests on watch gave not a glance
to the exorcist as he entered. Once past, he found himself in a broad
court girdled by a façade of lofty pillars glittering with silver plating
and brilliant enamel, and behind the columns all the walls shone with
brightly glazed bricks. Burnished bronze glistered on the doors of the
many rooms, and Gudea could just see the sheen of jewels inside the “dark
room,” the great sanctuary at the end of the court, where was guarded the
ark of Bel, of which the portal chanced to be open.
Through a noisy crowd of priests, priests’ wives, children, and visitors,
Gudea wormed his way to the west side of the court, till almost under the
shadow of the towering _ziggurat_. Here he was halted by a serving-man
guarding a private doorway.
“Hold, friend! Your business.”
Gudea made a lowly salaam.
“Excellent sir, be so gracious as to tell whether the high priest,
Avil-Marduk, my lord never-to-be-too-much-praised, is willing to listen
to one of his slaves who craves his compassion.”
The sentinel put his hands on his hips.
“Now, by Bel himself, are you a peasant just from the country? Does Avil
have evenings to squander on fish of your spawn? Shall I call the dogs?”
But Gudea knew his game. Down went his hand into a little bag. Up came a
silver quarter shekel.
“Not so roughly. I am an honest citizen, as expert a wizard as you will
find from Sippar to Erech. If at any time you have need of exorcising
a demon—” here the silver changed hands, and the other replied, three
shades more affably:—
“Assuredly the chief priest’s time is not for all. Still, I will
endeavour—”
“Tell him Gudea, the exorcist, desires speech as to certain plottings of
one Isaiah, betrothed to the daughter of the civil-minister, Daniel.”
The other vanished and returned speedily. “The high priest will speak
with you,” he announced.
Gudea was led down many darkened hallways, until he entered a small, cool
room, where a few lamps already twinkled, where the footfalls fell dead
on heavy carpets, and all the walls were bright with blue and white tiles
picturing the long-famed combat of Bel and the Dragon. There was very
little furniture in the room—a few armless stools, a low table covered
with writing tablets. At the extreme end stood a high arm-chair, whereon
sat Avil-Marduk himself, for the moment idling over a cup of wine. Old
Neriglissor, who had been invited to keep his superior company, sat at
the right, on a chair much lower; at the left squatted a negro boy,
watching the moment to rise and refill the cups.
Avil-Marduk vouched no sign of recognition until Gudea had come and knelt
before the high seat. Then the pontiff raised his eyes.
“You say you are Gudea the exorcist?”
“Yes, noble lord,” and the wizard still knelt.
“Stand up, then. State your errand. You have something against Isaiah the
Jew?”
Gudea bowed; it was not well to risk long speeches with the great. Avil
demanded again:—
“Well, do not waste any time. What is the complaint?”
“Lord,” came the reply, “he commits murder.”
“Murder?” Avil raised his eyebrows. Neriglissor laid down his
well-beloved wine-cup. “But why come to me? Am I the judge? Who is dead?”
“Saruch, the rich rope merchant, by birth a Jew, a most pious servant of
the gods, especially of Bel-Marduk.”
“Ah, woe!” began Neriglissor; “he gave five skins to us at the last
feast. Excellent wine! Cruel murder!”
“And how has this worthy servant of Bel been butchered by Isaiah?” quoth
Avil, sternly. “Is justice denied? Where is the magistrate? Can assassins
stalk scatheless in our very streets?”
“Alas, lord! Isaiah is worse than those who slay with dagger. What armour
can repel the evil eye, the secret incantation?”
“Ah!” Avil dropped his jaw. Gudea felt uneasily that the high priest was
very close to a smile. “Well, how did Saruch die?”
Whereupon Gudea launched into a long and tearful narrative of his unlucky
exorcism, and how, just as the “Maskim” were mounted to Saruch’s throat,
Isaiah appeared, and behold! the sufferer was dead. Gudea had seldom seen
or heard of a crueller taking off; and, what was worse, it would be vast
encouragement to those stubborn Jews to continue to worship their foul
demon, Jehovah.
“You bring a sad tale, my friend,” patronized Avil, when the wizard was
ended. “It is too true that in these days, when faith in the gods is
failing and so many noble _ziggurats_ are sinking in ruins, your noble
art is threatened by these pestilential Egyptians. Your tale is but too
common. But this Isaiah is no ordinary scoffer. His connection with the
civil-minister makes him trebly dangerous.”
“True, lord; and if a blasphemer like him is seen to go harmless, where
will be any piety in Babylon? Men serve the gods through fear only. They
say, ‘If we do not, trouble hastens.’ When one mocks, yet prospers, the
rest all follow after. The very priests of Bel will starve.”
“Oh, such days of impiety!” groaned Neriglissor. “Religion withers
like an unwatered palm. When I was a lad, no man dared buy a kid on an
‘unfortunate day’; now—”
Avil cut him short.
“You do well to be anxious for the gods, my Gudea; but I have other
reasons for wishing the end of these Jews. Not of Isaiah so much as of
the civil-minister.”
Avil turned to the squatting cup-bearer, and at a motion toward the door
the servant salaamed and vanished. The chief priest’s eye suddenly fixed
itself on Gudea, and seemed to go through him like a sharp sword.
“Now, fellow,” and Avil’s tone was low, but piercing as his gaze, “are
you a rascal of discretion? Can you lie piously? Can you lift your hands,
bidding Marduk and Samas strike dead if you are perjuring? Have you the
nose of a dog, the teeth of a cat, and the stealth of an adder?”
The wizard hung down his head. The priest, with a single blow, crushed a
fly that lit on his palm and snapped:—
“Understand, you are clay in my fingers. At my will I dash you out as
this fly. Silence now, or your wagging tongue wags your head off also.”
“Ah, lord,” answered Gudea, “Bel forbid I should whisper one secret—”
Avil sprang to his feet and paced the room.
“Hark, you knave! I see through you as through Phœnician glass. You will
mortgage your soul for ten shekels,—say five rather. If I take oath from
you, it will bind while your interest holds, no longer.”
“Alas, your Excellency, enemies blast my character.”
Neriglissor raised a great laugh, crying:—
“An exorcist of honesty! Hear, Heavens! Behold, Earth! Wonder of wonders!”
But Avil-Marduk ceased pacing.
“My dear wizard,” said he, in his oiliest manner, “I am infinitely
delighted to have a man of your liver seek me to-night.” His voice fell
to a confidential pitch. “Great things are afoot. If certain events
befall,”—he hesitated,—“Daniel will become a most undesirable man to
remain in high office.”
“Ah!” Gudea dropped his jaw in turn. Avil ran on:—
“If Daniel were found to have resorted to magic to work harm to Saruch,
whom he hated for leaving Jehovah; if many witnesses were found who could
swear ‘thus and thus the civil-minister slew Saruch with sorceries’; I
say, if such testimony were brought against Daniel, it would be most
ruinous to his popularity. He might even be brought to pass words with
Khatin.”
“To suborn witnesses is costly,” hinted Gudea, rising to the bait.
“Suborn?” cried Avil. “I did not speak the word. I say, ‘_If_ the
evidence were found.’” And then, turning suddenly, his tone lost all
smoothness. “I will give you three manehs this night. If one month from
to-day Daniel (Isaiah matters nothing) lies in the palace dungeon, I
will weigh you two talents. If not—” The exorcist was very uneasy,
while Avil’s eyes burned through him. “If not, if you play me false, if
you fail, I will blow you out as a lamp! A nod from me to the vizier
suffices.”
Two talents were life riches, but the wizard’s heart was thumping when he
answered, “Lord, lord, I am a poor man, my skill is small. Some other—”
Avil cut him short again:—
“No grunting now, pig! After telling you this, did you expect me to say:
‘Go in peace. Tell the story to all Nana Street’? You shall do as bidden.
When the evidence is ready, silent as a tomb you come to me, and I use
you and your witnesses in my own time and way.”
“And if I fail?” began Gudea.
“Then, by the king’s life, you fail only once! No goad to a man’s wits
like saying, ‘Do this, or visit Allat, Queen of the Dead.’”
Avil-Marduk recalled his servant, and had the three manehs wrapped in a
napkin given to Gudea. With many protestations and excuses the wizard
took his farewell.
“You risk all on this juggler,” declared Neriglissor when the fellow was
gone. But the chief priest shook his head.
“I know him by rumour to be one of the cleverest rats in Babylon. He will
have enough real bricks to build his tale with and make it credible. I
have him utterly in my power. Should he confess all to Daniel, who would
believe him against my denial? He will not fail.”
The “anointer” cast a shrewd glance at his superior.
“You are a man of many devices. When did it enter your head to make use
of this exorcist?”
“The moment he opened his business. I had been casting about for many
days for a chance like this against Daniel, and was at my wit’s end.”
“Therefore, if we were not priests, we should say, ‘Bel has wondrously
favoured us’; but since we are priests, we will preserve our
thanksgivings—”
“To ourselves,” interposed Avil, dryly; “and now to the other part of my
business. You must ride with me to the palace. The king will hold council
again.”
Neriglissor grew even more insinuating.
“My dear lord, _was_ that cloak, found in the shrubbery after the assault
on his Majesty, the garment of the Persian envoy?”
But Avil only gave a great shrug with his shoulders. “My very good
friend,” answered he, “there are some things which if whispered to a gnat
would put even my throat in peril. But I can tell you this: the subject
of our debate this day might prove wondrously entertaining, if overheard
by the ‘exceedingly noble’ Prince Darius.”
[Illustration: THE HAREM OF THE KING]