Isaiah the Jew, whose arrest had been urgently commanded by the king,
continued to defy all the zeal of the royal officers. Truth to tell, that
was not great. More than one captain of the “Street Wardens” had been
beholden to Daniel or his late colleague, Shadrach, for one service or
another, and were loath to bring the young Hebrew within Khatin’s gentle
mercies. Likewise, not a Jew in Babylon, barring a few recreants, would
have betrayed the youth, who passed amongst them as a veritable prophet
of Jehovah, hardly less inspired than Daniel himself. When a new levy
of forced labour was proclaimed, and scarce a Hebrew but had to choose
betwixt toilsome days in a broiling sun and the offering of a little
corn to Marduk, Isaiah had gone up and down by night among their little
cottages along the Street of Kisch, exhorting, warning, encouraging.
“Endure a little longer,” was his message, “a few more trials to prove
their devotion, and God would recall them to His mercy.”
Such was the burden of Isaiah, and to Avil-Marduk’s discomfiture scarcely
a Hebrew chose apostasy, though the “whip-masters” had been ordered
to be trebly harsh. The pontiff gnashed his teeth and swore by all the
Anunnaki that he would yet break this Jewish stubbornness.
“Arrest Isaiah, living or dead,” fulmined the mandate again from the
palace, but the royal thunders spent themselves in noise. Isaiah had
found a safe refuge, the house of Dagan-Milki, a Babylonish schoolmaster,
and confessedly one of the most devoted servants of the gods in Babylon.
Once upon a day Isaiah had saved the goodman’s only son from the
Euphrates, and now Dagan repaid the debt of gratitude. He conducted a
little day school by the Borsippa Canal, where fifty boys and girls
buzzed from morning till night, learning their lists of syllables, and
the “Book of Fables” and the “Book of Countries and Rivers”; for there
were few parents in Babylon that let even a daughter grow up so ignorant
that she could not sign a letter, and had to content herself with her
“nail-mark.” Dagan announced that his scholars had grown so numerous that
he needed an assistant, to aid him to correct their tablets. The young
man he took into his family seldom showed himself to the pupils; if he
had, who would have thought of connecting him with the fugitive Hebrew?
Dagan was such a pious man! But a terrible day came to Isaiah when a
secret messenger of Imbi-Ilu contrived to search him out, and he heard
the story of the abduction of Ruth. Imbi had done what he could, but to
have pushed the inquiries about her far would have brought the case to
the ears of the king, and that were sheerest madness. Friendly eunuchs
reported that no such maid as the Jewess had been introduced into the
royal harem. Neither Isaiah nor Imbi knew what to hope or to fear. Isaiah
said little of his grief, but he went about with a face seven years older
than his wont; and Dagan-Milki, worthy soul, was troubled for him and had
wordy comfort.
“Surely, the daughter of Daniel cannot be dead?”
“Would God I knew she had perished, spotless and unsullied; I could then
have peace! But into the hands of what human ‘Maskim’ may she not have
fallen!” was the bitter answer.
“But be not reckless in exposing yourself,” urged Dagan; “you will not
save her by stalking about the streets so boldly. The last time you went
to search for her, in the warehouses in the lower city by the temple of
Samas, I trembled for your head. The stoutest wine-jar cracks at last,
if carried too often. Daniel’s plight is miserable, but yours would be
worse, if Avil-Marduk once puts the gyves on your wrists. No _Tartan_ or
vizier will interpose himself betwixt you and Khatin.”
“I am in the Lord God’s keeping,” retorted the young Jew, with a swelling
voice; “it is all one whether I live or perish!”
Dagan stifled a cynical sniffle. He did not love Jehovah more than any
other Babylonian, but he did not wish to offend his guest.
“My dear Hebrew,” he suggested, “at least put by your prejudices enough
to accept the aid the gods will send you. Consult a necromancer. I know
Kwabta, a ‘wise woman’ by the temple of Nergal, who keeps a familiar
spirit. She can reveal everything that has befallen your unfortunate
betrothed.”
“Dagan,” warned Isaiah, sternly, “speak not of this again, if you would
be my friend. Sooner shall the king slay me with tortures than I wilfully
break the ordinance of my God.”
Dagan said no more. Nevertheless, he went himself privately to the witch,
paid her half a shekel, and stated the facts of the case, concealing only
the Jewess’s name. Kwabta left him in an outer room, bidding him cover
his head and mutter certain powerful spells, while in an inner chamber
she conferred with her demon. She came back, reporting that the question
was a difficult one, but that in ten days Dagan should have a dream,
which she could interpret for a second half-shekel, and this dream would
reveal all he desired to know. The schoolmaster accordingly had few hopes
to bring back to Isaiah, whose mood grew blacker than ever. Another day
passed, and Dagan saw that the young Hebrew was unwontedly preoccupied.
“I have been to Borsippa,” he explained at length, “and talked with
Imbi-Ilu. Daniel’s life is in grievous danger. Avil-Marduk is preparing
to demand his execution on the day of the feast of Bel, and the king
will only rejoice to comply. Nevertheless, Daniel shall be saved.”
“From the power of the king himself?” quoth Dagan, pricking up his ears.
“From Belshazzar’s own power,” assented the Jew, “but the manner is hid.
I have another task, however, to-night. I must see Daniel himself. He has
asked to see me.”
“Daniel himself? Daniel in prison? Are you mad?” almost shrieked the
schoolmaster.
“I was never in sounder mind. Zerubbabel, my friend who brought the
message, keeps the prison watch to-night. The eyes of the other warders
can be closed with a little silver.”
Dagan argued and besought in vain. Away went Isaiah soon after nightfall,
and Jehovah, or some other power who loves the bold, protected him. He
had his hour alone with Daniel.
The dungeon of the palace prison was fetid, the straw damp, the only
light that of a single shivering candle. At sight of his friend and all
but father in chains and amid these squalid surroundings, the younger Jew
burst into tears.
“Alas! my father,” was his cry, while he knelt for Daniel’s blessing,
“what is this I see? What does the Lord God suffer? He who has served Him
beyond all others, whose life has been naught but holiness, in the state
of the vilest felon!”
“Peace!” commanded the old man, never more calm and majestic than
now; “what is there to fear? Did God simply go with me when I was
‘civil-minister’ of Babylon, and cannot His goodness follow within this
prison?”
“Ah! father,” protested Isaiah, “I do not doubt God’s power, yet how can
I trust His mercy? First you, then Ruth, the guileless of the guileless,
have been brought to bitter grief,—and lo! the wicked wax fat and
prosper!”
“I know it well,” answered Daniel, his voice unfaltering; “but all is
not yet ended. I have heard of the abduction of Ruth, of the malice of
Belshazzar and Avil-Marduk against me; yet neither for myself nor for her
have I any fear.”
“Would God you could teach me your own trust!”
The old Jew smiled gently. “You are yet young, and I an ancient river,
close upon the sea. The wisdom that you ask is not written in all the
books of Imbi-Ilu at Borsippa, nor can a treasure-house of silver buy.
But as you fare onward with obedient will and open mind, you shall yet
see the vision, and shall hear the message from on high, and know that
all is well. The Chaldee’s power passes not beyond the grave, and there
are no griefs in Abraham’s bosom.”
Isaiah lifted his head, and shook the unmanly tears from his eyes.
“I have put by my faintness,” spake he, as if in anger with himself; “who
am I to stand as prophet to our people, when my own faith in God grows
pale? You have sent for me, my father, on some weighty errand, for I know
you never summon me to needless peril. Declare; I am all obedience.”
Daniel spoke with bated breath. “Dearest son, Jehovah is speaking again
to me in visions, as in the former time. Again His command has come upon
me, and with a message which your mouth must give.”
“I am unworthy to be the mouthpiece of God Most High.”
Daniel smiled again. “Who of living men is worthy? But be confident and
strong; fear nothing, and He will lead you out of all perils. Is the
Persian Darius still in prison?”
“Closely guarded, and they watch all persons that pass out of Babylon,
lest they be secret bearers of news to Cyrus. But there is a report—”
“Of what?” asked Daniel, as eagerly as ever was his wont.
“That Ariathes, the favourite servant of Darius, was not arrested with
the other Persians of the prince’s suite, and there is a chance that he
has fled to Susa, bearing tidings of the outrage done the envoy.”
“Jehovah’s name be blessed, your task is made easy!”
“_My_ task,” cried Isaiah.
“Yours,” again Daniel’s voice sank low. “This is what is commanded you of
God: On the day of the feast of Bel cast all fear from you. Trust in the
guardianship of Jehovah. During the festival the customary watch will be
relaxed. You know the great tunnel beneath the Euphrates, from the palace
to the Eastern City?”
“I have been through it twice. It is treading amongst the dead to
traverse it, but I do not fear.”
“By means of it you can pass unnoticed to the very temple of Marduk.
Take your stand upon the terrace of the _ziggurat_, before all the
thousands when they approach with the ark of the idol. Cry aloud against
Belshazzar, against Avil-Marduk, against the sinful city and its evil
gods. For Jehovah commands that they shall not be cut off unwarned. Bid
them repent, and to cease the persecution of the Lord God’s people.
Nevertheless they will not hear, for they are to be cut short in their
sins. But though they rage against you, they shall not harm you. You
shall escape. You shall go to Susa, and stand before Cyrus the righteous
king, and give him the mandate of Jehovah, for God has summoned him to
bring low this Babylon. The words which you shall speak to him, God will
put in your mouth in due season; for He has chosen you out of all the
sons of Judah for this high honour—the freeing of His people.”
“My father! my father!” again Isaiah fell upon his knees, “who of all am
I to do this deed? Again I cry, ‘unworthy.’”
“And again I say to you, not righteousness, but obedience, is demanded.
Go forward with all boldness.”
“Hist!” warned Isaiah, “Zerubbabel approaches to warn us that we must
part. When shall I see you again?”
“In His own good time,” answered the old man, sweetly; then he laid his
fettered hand on Isaiah’s head, “the God of our fathers keep you, my son,
in His service, and teach you that nothing truly evil may befall.”
The door opened. “The guard changes,” announced Zerubbabel; “away,
quickly, or all is danger.”
Isaiah embraced the prisoner once, and followed the friendly guardsman
out of the palace precinct. Then he wended his way alone back to the
house of Dagan-Milki, through the silent streets of the capital.
* * * * *
At the schoolmaster’s door the good man himself confronted Isaiah with a
beaming face and a voice that trembled with agitation.
“Glory, glory to every god! Praised be Nabu and Nergal! Compose yourself,
my dear Isaiah, be collected; do not grow excited; bless your god with
calmness—” but here the exhortations ended in a new shout of “Praised be
the name of Bel-Marduk!” and Isaiah stared at Dagan, wondering if his
kind host had been blighted in his wits.
“I would fain rejoice!” remonstrated he, coldly, for in his heart he was
telling himself that he must have no other joy now save the labour for
his people.
Dagan almost dragged him across the threshold, and led through the
courtyard of the little house.
“Rejoice!” he was commanding, almost angrily, “rejoice! Do you not wish
to be glad?” tugging Isaiah behind him, as he strode feverishly forward.
“Now, as Jehovah liveth!” protested the Jew, beginning to wax furious in
turn, “shall I make merry against my will? Wherefore this cry, ‘rejoice,’
save for one dear thing the good God will not grant?”
“And will He not grant it?” fumed the schoolmaster, forcing on his
unwilling companion. But while he spoke he felt Isaiah totter on his
feet. By the light of the copper lamp he carried, Dagan saw the Jew’s
face turn very pale.
“Friend,” Isaiah spoke hoarsely, “do not mock me if you wish to live.”
“By Ramman!” swore the Babylonian, not a little fearful, “I think you
are in earnest.” He pushed in the door of a little sleeping chamber, and
waved the lamp, sending a wan flicker around, that now hid, now revealed,
all the room.
“Behold!”
Dagan pointed downward, where a mattress was spread upon the floor and on
it the form of one sleeping. And as they looked, there was a rustle upon
the pallet, two little hands unclasped across the breast, while Dagan saw
that again the Hebrew was trembling.
“Dagan,” commanded Isaiah, still hoarsely, “set the light upon the floor
and get you hence.” Which injunction, the schoolmaster, being a wise as
well as a kindly man, hastened to obey.
* * * * *
“Shaphat,” said Isaiah, later that same night, in another chamber of the
house, “tell me the story of your flight with the Lady Ruth, for I would
not suffer her to speak long, but bade her go back to rest.”
Whereupon a young man, who had been dozing in a dark corner, shuffled to
his feet; but he would not look Isaiah in the eye.
“Ah, lord,” stammered the fellow, “who I am to tell my master,—I on
whose head rests untold guilt? Who will believe, though I swear by every
god? Even these Babylonians, if they know me, will cry ‘bricks for the
perjurer,’ and will pelt me in their streets.”
“And well you say,” muttered Dagan, who stood by,—“the servant who robbed
so kind a lord as Daniel, then conspired with that viper Gudea to work
his death. By Marduk!” and he turned to Isaiah, “I will not trust him;
no, not till cockcrow! If he has saved the Lady Ruth, it is but to serve
some dark and hidden end. He knows your secret. Let him never quit this
house alive!”
The renegado cowered at Isaiah’s feet. “Woe!” he groaned, “I am undone
utterly; accursed on earth, and accursed in heaven! If such is the wrath
of man, what is not God and His just and holy anger?”
But Isaiah deliberately stooped and raised the wretched man by the hand.
“Peace, Dagan,” he commanded, and then he looked sadly but calmly upon
the apostate. “Shaphat,” his voice was very gentle, “I have but just
stood beside Daniel, the most righteous man in all Babylon. He is in
chains in a noisome dungeon. If God suffers him to undergo this, what
punishment is left for such as you to endure, were we all rewarded after
our ill-doings? But were He to remember all the foul deeds in even the
most righteous, who of us shall stand? Rise up, and speak with boldness.
You are rewarded, not of man, but of God. _I_ will hear and believe your
story.”
“Master,” cried the penitent, the big drops on his cheeks, “your words
are precious beyond seven talents of gold. Yet have I not sinned beyond
the Lord God’s mercy?”
“You have not if by your future deeds you atone as in you lies. And now I
am hearkening.”
Whereupon, with many groans and protests of sorrow, Shaphat told how,
after the trial, and his almost forced exposure of Gudea’s infamy, he
had rushed away and hid himself in the vilest quarters of the city,
amongst the bargemen and sailors. Often he meditated slaying himself,
but the fear of the angry Jehovah passed his fear even of his stinging
conscience. Daniel lay in his prison, and Shaphat knew that up to the
last moment he had been consenting to the “civil-minister’s” misfortune.
His own scanty means were soon ended. Avil-Marduk was his enemy, and
desired his arrest. As a last recourse, Shaphat hired himself to a band
of nondescript Arab caravan merchants, who were about to set forth for
Egypt. Perchance, he vainly argued, he would find that the goad of memory
might not follow to the strange Nile country, and he could commence life
there afresh. But on the day after setting forth, while the caravan
halted in a village, lo! after the manner already told, the Amorite
bandit came with his three captives, nor was Shaphat long in recognizing.
And then began his new agony. Well he knew that Ruth was all Binit
protested,—worth her weight in silver to any who might deliver her to the
king. And first he resolved to tell his employers that Binit’s ragings
were indeed truth, and they had great prize. But the serpent of guile
brought him yet darker thoughts. Why should he not flee away with the
Jewess herself, deliver her to Belshazzar, claim the royal reward, and
drown his remorse in the delights of riches? It was with this thought
uppermost that he suffered himself to drift into new falsehoods when
the leader of the caravan questioned him as to their youngest captive.
All that day he adhered to his black purpose, and the delays which
prevented the advance of the caravan were largely of his contriving. In
the evening, as soon as the camp grew still, he filched a bag of money
from an Arab and prepared to make off. The flight was not difficult.
Ruth obeyed him implicitly when he promised he would conduct her back to
safety. They wandered onward toward the city until the Jewess’s feet were
so weary she could trudge no more, and she slumbered out the remainder of
the night in a farmer’s stack, while Shaphat remained on guard to beat
off the wild dogs and jackals. In the morning he contrived to purchase
some millet bread in a village, and they plodded southward.
“But now,” continued Shaphat, while his voice once more was near to
breaking, “I found all the demons of the Chaldees rising up within me;
for it seemed impossible that I should refuse life riches, and yet a
voice spoke ever goading, warning, torturing, ‘Better a life of beggary
and rags, than do this deed which will cry out to God.’ But then I
answered myself, saying: ‘God is already angered past all atoning. He
can never forgive. Let me make joy to-day, for to-morrow is only endless
gloom.’ And so I continued debating long and bitterly, while we measured
the long road. But when we drew near to Babylon, the Lady Ruth spoke to
me, after her gentle way, ‘Good Shaphat, what are you fearing, and why
does your face become so sad?’ Whereupon I answered her: ‘You know I have
promised to deliver you to some friend who will keep you safely. Do you
put trust in me, seeing that I have done great wrong to my lord, your
father?’ And she looked up at me, and said, in her innocency, little
knowing all the evil that was passing in my breast, ‘You have truly
done great ill, and on this account I will put trust in you yet more,
for I know you will not wish to anger the good Lord God for yet a second
time.’—‘Alas!’ cried I, ‘have I not so angered Him that I can never be
forgiven, though I had all the riches of the Egibi bankers, and spent
them in alms-deeds on the poor?’ But she said, and her voice was like
a cool hand laid upon my brow, ‘And wherefore should the good God not
forgive? for I know that I, since I see you truly sorry, have forgiven,
and so, surely, has my father; and have we more of pity than Jehovah the
All-Merciful?’ Then,” but here the apostate must needs stop and weep
hot tears indeed, “as I looked down upon her, and saw how fair she was,
how her face was pure as a summer’s cloud, and her heart guileless as a
bursting flower, and when I told myself how selling her to Belshazzar
would be selling her to worse than death, I said within my soul, ‘I
cannot do this evil deed in sight of God; no, though I die this hour, and
descend to Sheol forever, I shall yet have this to comfort me, that I am
free from this great sin.’ For I felt as if ten thousand talents from the
king would turn to fire in my hands. All the rest of the way to Babylon
the fiends pressed close to tempt me, but they had lost their power. I
fought them all away. I scarce knew where to take the Lady Ruth, but I
remembered that Dagan-Milki was your friend, and unsuspected among the
Babylonians. I little thought to place her in your keeping. When I gave
her to Dagan, for a moment my soul had peace. Nevertheless, when I saw
how even he, a Chaldee, turned the back on me, and I thought on my great
sins, my sorrows all returned, and I have been fearfully tormented. But
as Jehovah is my judge, I have told all truly.”
He was weeping once more, but Isaiah stepped beside him, and took him by
the hand.
“The Lady Ruth is right,” he said simply; “God is more merciful than man.
You are forgiven in His pure sight. I believe all your story.”
“Blessings upon you for the word!” cried the penitent; “you make me your
slave forever. How may I serve you, even unto death?”
But Isaiah only smiled. “Fear not that through me God will not find you
ample chance for service. But the present duty is rest. Sleep to-night,
and wait His commands for the morrow.”
[Illustration: THE PROCESSION OF BEL]