Darius the envoy had been assigned a spacious suite of rooms in the
old palace of Nebuchadnezzar; he had his own guards, his own retinue
of Persian body-servants. The prince’s private chamber was a high
vaulted room, elegantly tiled, with little windows pierced in the
arching roof. During the heat of the day the serving lads sprinkled the
brick floor with water, and, as this evaporated, there arose a cool
and refreshing vapour. All that afternoon the prince had kept to his
chamber, and appeared to be in even less of a merry mood than had been
his wont lately. Boges, who kept the door, was whispering to Ariæus the
chamberlain that their master must have been mightily disturbed over the
murderous attack on the king during the feast in the Gardens.
“As Ahura lives!” protested the worthy, “there is somewhat on his
lordship’s mind. He has kept company with his writing tablets all day.”
And it was indeed so; for though the scribe’s art was not commonly among
the accomplishments of an Aryan nobleman, Darius had long since mastered
it, and now for a long time he had sat with his clay frame in his lap
and his stylus in hand. Boges had ventured once the question:—
“And does my prince require me to send Artabanus to copy down the
despatches to Susa?”
“I do not,” came the answer, so curt that Boges risked nothing more.
Presently Darius rose from his stool, and turned to the doorkeeper.
“The time grows late,” said he; “the city gates will soon be shut. Yet no
messenger has come from Cyrus? from Susa?”
“None, master; we have heard that the Elamite mountain tribes are
restless and stop couriers.”
“Couriers of Cyrus? Do they so desire to be made jackal’s meat that they
must stop the Great King’s despatches? No, no, Boges—the Elamites are not
the delayers.”
“Who if not they, lord?”
“I do not know,” was the answer, in a tone that made the servant sure his
superior had lively suspicions.
“And will my lord dress for the supper Bilsandan the vizier gives
to-night?” asked Ariæus the chamberlain, smoothly.
“Another feast! Angra-Mainyu, arch fiend, confound them!” fumed Darius;
“these Babylonians boast many gods. In truth they have but two—the mouth
and the belly. Praised be Mithra, the king goes hunting to-morrow, which
will give some respite!”
But just as the prince was about to let Ariæus lead him away to the bath,
his eye lit on a newcomer among the knot of attendants by the door. His
tone changed to that of good-natured banter, for he saw his favourite
body-servant, a sharp-tongued, keen-witted Persian of about his own age.
“Ha, Ariathes! So you have been roaming about the city once more. Tell
me, is there one beer-house in all Babylon you left unvisited? Where did
you find the most heady liquor?”
“My lord wrongs his slave,” quoth the fellow, demurely. “See! I am quite
sober.”
“By Ahura, that is true. Surely the throne of Cyrus must totter, now a
marvel like this can befall!”
“My prince,” answered Ariathes, very respectfully, “I have heard
something that made me in no mood for palm-wine. And I think my lord
should hear it also.” There was something in the rascal’s eye that made
Darius bid all the others stand back, while he led Ariathes to the upper
end of the chamber, after drawing close the door-curtain.
“Well, fellow,” began he lightly, “your tales are commonly of witching
black eyes and the bottoms of deep wine pots. What now—a strapping lass
slapped you?” But Ariathes did not smile at the sally.
“My lord,” he said, “I have quite another story. Does the prince remember
Igas-Ramman, the captain who flogged the old Jew?”
“Assuredly. I curse myself I did not require his head.”
“I have hatched a great friendship with him. He has been taking me about
the city. To-day we went to the temple and grove of Istar, and the girls
who serve the goddess brought wine enough to make us stagger till the
great day. But it was too sweet for me, and I took little; though Igas
would never cease pulling at his beaker. At last, when he seemed well
filled, he led me to the summit of the great temple tower to have a
sight of the wide city. The tower stands by the northern wall, where
Ai-bur-shabou Street passes through the Gate of Istar, close by the
canal. There is a marvellous view to all sides; but what made me wonder
most was the sight of many squadrons of horsemen drilling in the open
country before the Gate of Bel—ten thousand lances, to my thinking.”
“Ha!” and Darius’s jaw dropped involuntarily.
“My lord is interested? Shall I go on?”
“Yes, by every archangel!”
“I said to Igas, ‘Brother, what are all these horsemen? Your king is at
peace. To maintain so many cavalry will make his treasury as empty as a
leaky water-skin.’ Thereupon he began to laugh, then, clapping his hand
across my eyes, he cried, ‘Ah, my dear Persian, your sight is too keen!
Ask no troublesome questions, for friendship’s sake. Come, let us go back
to the maids and the wine.’”
“And you followed him?” asked Darius.
“Yes, lord; but not until I had counted the number of the squadrons and
seen that chariot brigades were drilling with them.”
“But why should Igas try to conceal this from you? Belshazzar is a great
king. We all know Babylon has a powerful garrison ever on duty.”
“True; but let my lord take what my bucket drew up from Igas-Ramman’s
well. He began by vowing he would peril his head if he chirped once about
the army of his master; then straightway all this comes out—the garrison
of Babylon is being increased, extra chariots are being built, and war
horses collected. The troops in Eridhu and Larsam are being sent north
to strengthen the frontier posts of Sippar and Kutha. There is a great
gang of labourers at work enclosing Borsippa within the outer defences of
Babylon. Finally, the militia of the country districts are being armed.”
“For what enemy?”
“My lord can guess better than I. When I pressed Igas on this point, he
only laughed and brayed tenfold louder than common; but he had become
very drunken, and before long fell over upon the bricks.”
The prince was frowning darkly.
“Ariathes,” said he, “you are a man of nimble wit. Do you think
Belshazzar is sincere in seeking peace with Cyrus?”
The other smiled grimly.
“I am only my lord’s slave. Who am I to meddle in the affairs of princes?”
“Well, you have a throat that will cut as quickly as any man’s; and know
this well, if you walk in the steps of Igas-Ramman and chatter loud
enough, you will forswear palm-wine forever.”
Ariathes grinned and was about to salaam before withdrawing, but the
prince spoke again. “Look you; we have been for days in Babylon, yet no
courier comes from Susa with despatches. What does it mean?”
“Have I not said I am blind to affairs of state?”
“Then receive sight; for, as you love me and as you love Cyrus, you need
two wide-open eyes, as well as a ruly tongue. Cast about and find some
means of sending a letter from Babylon without Belshazzar or Avil-Marduk
smelling it. My last messenger travelled openly. Do you understand?”
Ariathes replied with a low bow. Darius returned to his seat, took his
writing tablet, and deliberately mutilated the letter just completed. In
its stead he stamped a very brief message, which he did not place in the
chest by the wall, but wrapped in linen and hid in his own bosom; for
an uneasy suspicion was beginning to haunt him that the very pictures
enamelled on the bricks could see all that befell in this palace of
Belshazzar.
“It grows late, my lord,” admonished the chamberlain, after a discreet
interval; “will you go to the vizier’s feast?”
“I will go,” replied the master, testily, and he suffered the servants to
dress him.
As he went to the palace court to take chariot, the inevitable multitude
of palace servants and guardsmen crowded around, bowing and scraping.
The press was so dense that the staff-bearers had no little ado before
clearing the way. Suddenly, out of the crowd, Darius recognized a
familiar face—the old eunuch, Masistes. The two were side by side only
for an instant.
“Your lady is well?” demanded Darius, eagerly.
“She is well,” was the cautious answer, “but do not seem to speak to me.
Read this in secret. It is from her.”
Masistes was swallowed in the throng before Darius had time to startle.
“The chariots are ready, my lord,” Boges was shouting.
The prince felt something like a tiny roll of papyrus thrust up his
sleeve; but he curbed his curiosity and guarded it carefully until he was
back at his own chamber that night. Then with all precaution he read this
note, written in Atossa’s own hand, in their native Persian:—
“Atossa, consort of Belshazzar, to the great prince Darius.
Many things hid to the world without are revealed in the king’s
harem. Do not seek to know how I learn this thing, but wait
Ahura’s good time. Beware of the royal hunt on the morrow. Of
all things beware of the king’s tame lions. For _you_ they may
not be so tame. As you love me, return to Susa when you may,
and forget my name, as I pray Ahura I may forget yours. I dare
write no more. Masistes’ craft will bring you this. Farewell.”
Darius sat a long time over this letter, though it was past midnight
and he must be up with the dawn. Ariathes had just reported that he had
intrusted his master’s second despatch to an obscure Jewish caravan
merchant, who swore by his God that he would deliver it to the commandant
of Cyrus’s nearest garrison. If the messenger proved faithful, and eluded
the watch, the king of the Aryans and his council would be soon learning
wisdom. But what part was left to be played by Darius? Clearly the plot
was thickening. For some reason, manifestly, Belshazzar desired him
anywhere but in Babylon. Was he suspected of being the eavesdropper upon
the king? Should he plead some excuse and refuse to go on the hunting?
Should he humour Belshazzar’s wishes by hardly disguised flight? The
prince was a proud man—proud of his race, his king, his own prowess. The
battle spirit was rising in him. Was he not “King of the Bow”? Should he
desert Atossa and leave her in the harem of Belshazzar without one friend
in all Babylon, saving the eunuch Masistes? The prince, we repeat, loved
to dare first, and count the cost thereof afterward. And that night he
vowed afresh, “I will brave all danger. With Ahura’s help I will not
turn back the width of one hair before the guile of these ‘lovers of the
lie.’”
Long before dawn, Idina-aha, master of the hounds, had emptied his
kennels of the fifty black mastiffs who were to accompany the royal hunt;
and at gray dawn itself Darius met Belshazzar in the central palace
court. A score of trained game beaters were mounted and ready; and what
with the escort of dog boys, guardsmen, and eunuchs, the chariots, the
lead horses, and the long mule train with the baggage, Belshazzar drove
forth with no little army. The monarch had appeared in the best of
spirits; had looked Darius fairly in the eye when he told the Persian
that they intended to hunt the auroch—the wild bull—whom no dog could
face; and that on this account he had with him his pride—his three
hunting lions, to whom even the wild bull could have no terrors. When
Darius saw the brutes, huge as the beast that he had slain so memorably,
he had indeed marvelled, though not after the manner Belshazzar imagined;
and the king laughingly vowed to him, that if the Persian should be so
fortunate as to slay an auroch, he should have his choice of which of the
lions he should take back to Susa, excepting always “Nergal,” the royal
favourite, whom his master could not spare.
So they set forth, Belshazzar with seemingly one end in the world—to
make his fellow-huntsman merry. They passed the great Western Gate, and
sped through the pleasant suburbs, past luxuriant gardens, prosperous
farm-houses, and innumerable canals fringed with long arbours of trees.
Now and then they saw countrymen dragging their hand-carts of kitchen
produce to early market, two or three tugging together. As they halted to
water beside a little village of dome-roofed huts Darius saw the peasants
ploughing in the fields, with the usual team—a mule and a cow—and heard
the ploughing song, already thousands of years old:—
“A heifer am I,
To the mule I am yoked.
Where, where is the cart?
Go look in the grass;
It is high, it is high!”
Fields of wheat, barley, and millet waved far and near. Darius grew weary
counting the prosperous landed estates and thriving villages. Truly
Hanno the Phœnician spoke well, the wealth of the country of Babylon was
beyond that of the mine. The corn lands and the thrifty peasants had made
possible Imgur-Bel and Belshazzar’s kingly glory.
But at last the farms were falling wider apart. The canals were
dwindling. The land where untilled was brilliant with spring flowers, and
the wind crossing the plain came to the travellers sweet with all the
fragrance of the unscorched verdure. The company kept on until, beside
the last of the narrowing canals, the king cried, “Halt!” and the weary
footmen were glad to drop by the roadside, beside the panting dogs. Then
the panniers on the carrier mules were unloaded, wine was passed about,
and food. The noon hours were spent in rest and chatter.
Darius had gazed about him curiously.
“So far, and no signs of jungle? Only the open plain.”
Belshazzar gave his usual answer—a laugh. “This is not your mountainous
Iran. Other gods created Chaldea. Years ago there lay a broad stagnant
lake beyond yonder rising, nestled in a deep hollow in the plain. The
kings drained and enclosed it, planted trees, and stocked it with game.
Here are still found the wild bulls—the aurochs—left nowhere in all
Babylonia saving here. To kill one was the glory of the kings of old.
The preserve is many furlongs on each side. The beasts run wild, and are
fierce as in the virgin forest.”
“Ahura grant we meet them!”
The prince had spoken so naturally that Belshazzar darted one glance at
him—arrow-swift. But it sped quickly as it came, and Darius added:—
“Yet must you hunt the bull with lions?”
“After you have once faced an auroch you will not marvel that only the
king of beasts dare bay him.”
When Belshazzar had remounted the chariot, the whole company were away;
and once past the hillock, Darius wondered as he saw a sweep of woodland,
trees and thickets, stretching north and south far as the eye might
reach, the whole enclosed by a brick rampart too high for the bound of
the hardiest lion. Merely to enclose so huge an area was a task nigh
equal to building the temple-tower of Bel. At a ponderous gate they found
a company of soldiers, who opened and saluted. Instantly the forest
closed round them. Meadow lands and farms were lost from view. It was
like traversing one furlong, yet in that journey entering another world.
The paths were leaf-strewn and scarcely trodden. The cypresses and cedars
bowed in canopy overhead, and with them rarer trees, native doubtless of
India or Ethiopia, but here long grown wild. There were acacias beside
the meandering streams, and tamarisk thickets. The woods grew wilder the
deeper they penetrated.
“And how old is this strange forest?” demanded the Persian of his
Babylonish charioteer, at which the fellow answered:—
“Esarhaddon drained and fenced it more than a hundred and twenty years
ago. Since then it grows wild. Except for the guards and gamekeepers no
man enters the preserve on peril of his head, unless the roving lions get
before the executioner.”
The words were broken short by the rush of a frighted creature. “Whir!”
quicker than the telling a wild ass had sped across their path: one sight
of his shining gray coat—the leaves closed after him. Belshazzar forbade
the eager grooms to unleash the dogs.
“No hound can run down an ass, and the game we seek is fiercer.”
So they fared onward till, in a clearing, they came to the huts of two
old foresters, who, after thanking the gods for suffering his Majesty and
his noble guest to deign to visit their forest, reported that they had
just discovered an auroch of most marvellous size.
“Marduk grants,” ran their tales, “that the beast should be a monster
terrible as the ‘divine bull Alu’ slain by the hero Gilgamesh. To-night
he is deep in the jungle; but if the gods favour, his Majesty shall find
him in the morning.”
Thus the camp was pitched for the night. Busy hands brought bales of
linen and tent poles from the pack train. The royal tent—a huge ten-sided
structure—was soon ready, its dome-shaped roof stretched above, and
within was arranged a complete set of portable furniture, including the
ivory throne mounted on wheels, which a mule had tugged all the way from
Babylon. Scarce smaller was the pavilion set for Darius, who had brought
his own Persian servants with him. Around them the tents for men and
horses spread like a little village. At night the king set abundant cheer
and fare before his guest, but there was no deep drinking, for sober
heads were needed in the morning. Darius bade Boges discover how and
where the tame lions were kept, and the good fellow reported that they
were safely chained and guarded in a distant tent. The prince contrived
that no Babylonian should sleep inside his own pavilion. He kept his bow
strung and his naked sword beside him, but nothing disturbed till he
woke in the morning.
* * * * *
The foresters had been out very early. They had tracked the auroch
and laid a hound on him, but he had distanced them and had hidden in
the innermost jungle. Already half of the huntsmen had set forth to
make circuit, rout the monster from his lair, and drive him nearer the
encampment. After the king had poured libations to Marduk and Istar
he mounted horseback and thundered away, the prince and the remaining
huntsmen flying behind him.
“And where are the tamed lions?” demanded Darius of a Babylonian riding
at his side.
“They were taken away before dawn to aid in baying the auroch. Doubtless
they are on him now. Hark! By Nabu, they have found him!”
Through the mazes of the wood reëchoed something deep as thunder, though
seemingly very far off.
“Ha!” Belshazzar was crying, “the ox is bellowing. They are driving him
from his covert.”
“Will they force him this way?” was Darius’s question.
“So Bel grant! But you will need no bow, son of Hystaspes,” for the
Persian was putting on a new string. “The auroch’s hide is arrow-proof.
Trust to your short sword.”
“I do not love the sword. It is the bow of Iran that has made us Persians
a great people. It will not fail!”
“I have warned you. You will slay no auroch and win no lion.”
The prince answered with silence. Riding side by side with Belshazzar,
he had not suffered a word or an act of the king to escape him; but he
had not noted how their escort in the rear had gradually dwindled, two
falling off here and three there.
“This is the spot. Let us rein and wait the auroch,” declared Belshazzar.
Darius glanced about, barely in time to see the last of the retinue
vanishing behind the trees. He realized, suddenly as a trap locks round
its victim, that he was alone with Belshazzar; not one telltale presence
to carry report of any strange deed that might befall. He had bidden
Boges to keep near him. Gone—diverted by what means, Ahura the Wise alone
knew. The prince had many times looked “the Lord of Death” in the face
upon the battle-field—what soldier of Cyrus had not? But for all that
his breath came quickly, his muscles grew rigid. Here at last was the
moment that should prove whether Atossa warned truly, whether the king
suspected who it was that had wrestled with him in the garden. Had the
letter Ariathes had sent passed through Belshazzar’s spies and guards in
safety? The Persian needed none to tell him the details of the plot to
take his life. Somehow, in the next few moments he was to be murdered.
His rashness as a hunter was known in Susa. What could Cyrus say if the
Babylonian wrote, “Your envoy was reckless and an auroch killed him”?
But Darius’s thoughts were not of himself only—the weal of Daniel, of
Atossa, of Cyrus and all his realms, hung on his own life, perchance. Oh,
the headstrong pride and folly that had rushed him into this hazard!
But these thoughts came and went in less time than the telling.
Belshazzar was beside him,—Belshazzar, splendid, arrogant,—and Darius
knew the king’s heart was harder than hardest marble, while he waited the
outcome of his guile. The Persian had his bow in his hand, and his bow
was his good friend, part of himself as much as hand or eye. He would
not be slain like a snared hare while there were so many keen shafts in
his quiver. The silence seemed growing long. Belshazzar, as if intent
on waiting the chase, said nothing. Not even a breeze was rustling the
tree-tops. The prince sat and waited.
Presently the auroch lowed again, nearer this time, and they could hear
the distant shouts of men and the deep baying of the mastiffs. The
scene was no strange one to Darius, but when before had he himself been
one of the hunted? A thought flashed across him—to point his arrow at
Belshazzar, bid the king swear to send him home scatheless, or take the
shaft in his breast. But that were madness. Belshazzar had sworn once and
cast his oath to the winds; would he remember it now, if wrung from him
by force? The Babylonian must be the first to strike.
A new thunder through the wood shook Darius from his despair. The bolt
had not fallen. Ahura grant it should not until he had taught these
Babylonian “fiend-worshippers” somewhat. He turned to Belshazzar.
“Why do you wait here? Is not the hunt leaving us?”
“What do you fear?” was the reply, with a smile none too reassuring. “The
sport is for us alone. The rest will bring the game to us. Fie on you,
Persian, if you fear to be overmatched!”
“Not overmatched by ten aurochs!” cried the Persian, looking fairly in
the king’s eye. “But will not the chase pass some other way?”
“The game _I seek_,” flew the answer, “will pass nowhere else.”
Darius’s fingers itched to send one arrow through that royal mantle then,
and let all Babylon do its worst. Suddenly it dawned on him that if he
were tensely strung, the king was likewise. While he ever questioned,
“How will the bolt fall?” Belshazzar’s one thought was, “How much does
the envoy suspect?” They each would have given a hundred talents for one
peep into the heart of the other. The thought appeared so comical to the
prince that, to Belshazzar’s wonderment, he began to laugh; and that
laugh refreshed him and strengthened him like a draught of new wine.
“Crash!” A vast lumbering object was dashing through the trees. They
heard thickets shivering; birds flew screaming from their nests. The
noise neared rapidly. Again the thunderous bellow—close now, and deep.
The ground shook with the thunder, and an answering quiver ran through
the Persian. Peril or no peril, he had never before faced an auroch, and
his hunter’s instinct was strong within him.
Belshazzar’s horse pricked his ears, snorted, and began to rear and
plunge. The king barely controlled him. The Persian’s beast started to
do likewise, but felt the touch and press of an iron hand and iron knees
so powerful that all the spirit was crushed out of him. Not so with
Belshazzar.
“Marduk blast me,” rang his curse, “if I do not flay Rabit for giving me
this beast!” But the horse only plunged more wildly.
One last thunder! Darius saw the saplings bowing, the leaves shook down
as a falling cloud; out from betwixt the trees shot a beast the like
of which the prince had never beheld before. A bull, but a bull of
monster size—his horns the span of a bow, his hide mud-brown; out of his
mouth, and with the lolling red tongue, one almost saw the live flames
breathing, with more flame in the huge balls of his eyes. To see this
took one instant. The auroch crashed on until face to face with the two
riders, then halted in his shambling run not twenty paces from them,
dropped his horns, and lashed his flanks with his tail. Darius wondered
no more that mastiffs did not love to bring him to bay.
The Persian’s arrow lay on the bowstring, but he did not shoot. All the
trembling had gone out of him. As if by a new sense, he knew that there
was something stirring, creeping, in the thicket behind him. Did his ears
fail when they heard a human whisper, low, but distinct—a whisper as of a
man urging on his hound—“Now!”
Darius did not turn his head. His horse, subdued by his master touch,
stood stock still, while the bull glared at them. But Belshazzar was in
deadly straits. Try as he might, his beast would not stand steady, and,
with the horse plunging underneath him, what chance to strike the bull
with the short sword? The king’s face turned livid as he struggled.
“Shoot!” he cried, between his teeth; “shoot!”
Darius’s hand drew the arrow to its head. The auroch shook his horns,
bellowed for the last time, and looked from Darius to Belshazzar, from
Belshazzar to Darius. Which should feel his charge? The bull fixed his
eyes on the king, gave a snort, a bound.
“Shoot!” cried Belshazzar again. As if in echo came a voice out of the
thicket, “Back, Nergal! Woe! The king! Do not leap! Too late! Woe!”
And Darius swung himself in the saddle just in time to see the tawny body
of Nergal, the royal lion, launching itself—not on the auroch, but on
him. The arrow flew to meet the lion. It was Ahura the Great who shed
on Darius the power that sent the startled charger with a wide bound
to one side by the mighty press of a knee. The lion leaped. His flying
claws tore the leather on the Persian’s sleeve. A mighty snarl—the beast
dashed upon the turf. The saving of Ruth had been no shot like this. The
deed was done too swiftly for thought or fear, while all around the woods
were ringing with a fiercer conflict. The auroch had sought his prey
the moment Nergal had leaped on his. The king had striven desperately
to master his steed, but vainly. The monster caught the horse under his
horns and tossed mount and rider in the air. Halting in full charge, he
shook his great head and looked about. The horse was disembowelled—dying.
The king, cast upon the greensward, was struggling to rise. He had lost
his sword. The auroch lowered his head again. Still a foe? He would
trample it out instantly!
“Help, in Marduk’s name, help!” the king was calling.
Out from the thicket whence sprang the lion sped a man, Idina, master of
the hounds, and leaped beside Belshazzar. A brave deed, but foolish. In
his hand was only his whip of office.
[Illustration: “All the Persian’s skill could not save his horse.”]
“Help! the king is in peril!” was his shout to the distant beaters. But
Belshazzar might have fared to the “World-Mountain” that day had it not
been for another. Right at the raging bull rode the Persian, and a second
shaft flew, not at the arrow-proof hide, but into one flaming eye. The
loudest bellow of all shook the forest when the monster charged Darius.
All the Persian’s skill could not save his horse. One horn hooked in the
belly—the scream of a dying charger, that was all. But Darius was on
foot before the bull could turn from his triumph. His short sword was in
his hand. He met the charge of the bull on the side where the shaft had
blinded. Belshazzar saw him shun the sweep of the terrible horns, and the
onrush of the bull drove the steel clean to the hilt in the shoulder.
Another snort, a bellow that made the high boughs quiver, and the auroch
tore away. They heard him dash down a small tree in his charge, a second,
a third; then there was a crashing fall, and silence.
Darius stood staring about and leaning on his bow. Nergal, pierced to the
heart, lay twitching, though life was fled. The horses were struggling in
their last agony. Belshazzar was trying to stagger to his feet. How long
it had seemed since the bull burst upon them!
King and envoy looked upon one another. Darius saw Belshazzar strive
twice to speak, but the words thickened in his throat. Then the king’s
eye lit on Idina, and the royal wrath blew out on him:—
“Verily, as I am lord of Babylon, you shall be impaled! Why not rescue
sooner?”
“Lord,” replied the other, losing his wits as he trembled, “it was as you
ordered. When the prince was confronting the auroch, I was to unleash
Nergal—”
The words were like fire upon dry straw; for the king had forgotten all
else in the thought of his own danger.
“Nergal? By the Maskim, what is lying there on the ground? A lion?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” said Darius, very coldly. “When Idina unleashed him,
while they stood behind me in the thicket, he forgot the auroch to spring
at me. His claws have torn my dress. I prefer the auroch, my king. _He_,
at least, charges fairly and face to face.”
The king did not risk himself to reply to Darius, but, turning to Idina,
declared icily: “Fellow, for your cursed folly this day, I swear by every
god of Babylon, you shall be beaten to death.” Then to Darius, in a tone
equally icy: “Persian, you have saved my life. Ask what reward you will.”
“I ask nothing,” replied the other, haughtily, “nothing but this—to meet
no more of the king’s tamed lions.”
Before Belshazzar could answer, the foresters and beaters were all around
them. The king and envoy spoke not a word to each other, while the
gaping hunters cried out at the hugeness of the slain auroch, and loudly
lamented their master’s misfortune. There were more wailings over the
dead lion.
“The king’s trust in these beasts is misplaced,” commented Darius,
dryly; “Nergal was no less dangerous than the auroch.”
The Babylonians who were wise looked at one another slyly. The Persians
following Darius soon arrived at a tearing gallop, cursing a forester who
had said he was leading them close behind the prince, but only brought
them to a halt in a matted jungle.
Belshazzar had to be lifted, and carried back to the tents. His ankle was
hurt, not dangerously, but for the while he could enjoy no more hunting.
He seemed in no slight pain, and his body-servants were rejoiced when he
contented himself with ordering Idina’s tongue to be cut out, before the
luckless “master of the hounds” was flogged to death, and did not command
the execution of any others.
Between Belshazzar and Darius there did not pass one syllable for a
very long time. A messenger had come post-haste from Babylon. “Urgent
despatches,” he announced, “from the chief priest to his Majesty.” That
afternoon, accordingly, after Idina had passed beyond the reach of the
royal wrath, the whole company returned with speed to the capital.
[Illustration: BEL ACCUSES]