The seventh day of the month, sacred to the dread goddess Sapanitum,
and by every calendar pronounced an unfortunate day. The king had been
forbidden by divine law to eat cooked food, change his dress, mount
his chariot, or approach an altar for sacrifice. As for his subjects,
they dared not, however sick, call in a physician or conjurer lest the
wrathful goddess turn the remedies into poison. Nor had they ventured
to breathe a curse against the bitterest enemy, lest the malediction be
visited upon their own heads. It was a day of gloom and anxiety in all
Babylon.
Graver things than the calendar were troubling Belshazzar and his
ministers. Yet Khatin, the headsman, who waited beside Neriglissor, at
the door of the king’s council-chamber, while their betters deliberated
within, seemed in an unwontedly merry mood for so black a day.
“I profess, dear priest,” chuckled he, “his Majesty’s humour has most
happily changed since the riot. He orders beheadings by the score, not
of whining bandits, but of stout guardsmen and fat temple folk like
yourself. By Samas! I shall need an assistant to aid me.”
The old “anointer” looked at him out of the corners of his eyes, and
sidled away, fearful of too close company.
“Yes,” he assented, “since the riot the king cries ‘kill!’ every time a
fly hums past his ears. The eunuchs who serve him every morning vow a
goat to Sin if they are kept safely through the day.”
Khatin was just beginning some impious remark to the effect that “the
worthy god was being over-fed with goats’ flesh,” when Igas-Ramman the
captain burst in upon them on the run, and flew up to the sentry guarding
the council-chamber door, almost before the two others knew his presence.
“Hold, friend!” shouted Khatin, a ponderous hand clapping on Igas’s
shoulders; “your business? The headsman is better than the king. Give him
the news first!”
“Allat wither you!” growled Igas, writhing out of his clutch. “Do not
stop me! Such tidings for his Majesty!”
“Speak, rascal!” Khatin was thundering, when the door suddenly opened,
and Bilsandan, the vizier, admitted the messenger instantly, then slammed
it in the others’ faces. Those without stared at one another for many
minutes, until the door reopened suddenly as before, and Bilsandan called
for Khatin by name.
“Your slave waits my lord’s orders,” began the executioner, gleefully
expecting the vizier was going to ask for a head.
“Go with Igas to the chambers of Darius the Persian. There is no time to
summon a regular guard; but on your life do not let the prince escape
you. He is active and daring. Watch him well.”
“Be he strong as Tiamat the dragon,” laughed Khatin, gruffly, “he shall
find me almighty as Bel.” Then he strode away after Igas, wondering
vainly what this strange summons of the Persian might mean.
Since his arrest Darius had been confined in easy captivity in the tower
of the northeast angle of the palace. The king’s eunuchs had supplied
every physical want; but he had been separated from his suite, and
allowed no communication with the outside world. At sight of the royal
signet borne by Igas, the subaltern commanding the squad of troops
guarding the tower promptly led forth his prisoner. Darius appeared
little the worse for his imprisonment. He bore himself haughtily, and
was silent when Khatin croaked in his ear, “that, in his opinion, the
king was about to have the envoy’s throat sundered.” In fact, the Persian
carried himself so arrogantly, and showed his guards such supreme
contempt, that they in turn had come to feel some little awe of a man who
dared treat them thus; and they were glad when they had marched their
captive into the council-chamber, where Khatin, to his great delight, was
bidden to remain and witness the scene to follow.
Neither the room nor its company was large. Belshazzar occupied an ivory
chair on a low dais. At his right hand two white-robed scribes were ready
with clay tablet and stylus to take down all that passed. On other stools
facing the dais were seated the coterie of magnates who made up the privy
council—Avil-Marduk, Bilsandan, Mermaza, Sirusur the general, and a few
colleagues. Behind the king stood the inevitable pair of eunuchs with
their fly-flappers. As for Darius, he had been placed directly facing the
king; and to the surprise of all he remained standing with folded arms,
without any obeisance, during a silence that soon became awkward.
Belshazzar had heavy rings beneath his eyes, as if he had drunk
overdeeply the night before; and when he turned to motion to Bilsandan,
his hand was seen to tremble. Seemingly, he was deeply moved. Then, while
the vizier was feeling around for words, Darius broke forth rudely:—
“Well, your Majesty, this bullock here”—with a nod toward Khatin—“says
you desire my head. By Mithra! I wonder that, after imprisoning Cyrus’s
envoy, you hesitate to kill him also.”
Belshazzar, by an effort, ignored the taunt, and with uncommon smoothness
answered: “Noble prince, few have deplored more than I your nominal
imprisonment. I have summoned you here to declare that you are shortly to
be set free.”
Darius looked gravely into the king’s eyes.
“I rejoice to hear it, my lord,” said he, sternly; “yet more would I
rejoice to know how your Majesty will account to Cyrus for this outrage
upon the person of his ambassador. A strange story, surely, to send to
Susa!”
“If the noble prince,” commenced Avil in turn, speaking gently, as if
treading on slippery ground, “will deign to listen to his slave—”
“Ugh!” grunted the Persian, turning his back on the pontiff, “what foul
_dæva_ told _you_ how I was to serve the king of the Aryans?”
“Do you speak for us all,” Belshazzar nervously commanded Bilsandan.
“May it please the preëminently noble son of Hystaspes,” began the
vizier, also timidly, “there has just come to Babylon a courier saying a
second embassy from Cyrus is close to Babylon, and has sent so unfriendly
a letter on before it, that we are fain to ask my lord to explain it to
us.”
“Ha!” They saw the prince’s lips curl in half-suppressed triumph; but he
demanded, “And what proof, wretched oath-breakers, have you to lay before
me, a prisoner, that you are telling me one morsel of the truth?”
Bilsandan flushed, but tried to keep his temper.
“Believe me, my prince, we have nothing to gain by concealing anything.
We had expected no new embassy from Persia so quickly. Now, all unwarned,
comes Igas with tidings that Gobryas, the general of Cyrus, is within a
hundred furlongs of the city. And doubtless if he is not persuaded to
alter his mood, as shown in his letter, we fear Cyrus, your master—”
“Will take swiftest vengeance on Belshazzar, lord of Babylon, and all
his guileful race!” shouted the Persian, triumphing at last. Then, with
a step straight toward the king, for he had not been fettered, he shook
a knotted fist in the royal face. “Give me the letter, the letter,” he
commanded, “or, as Ahura reigns on high—”
So fierce was his passion that for the moment king and council quaked
before him. It was Belshazzar himself who commanded, “Bilsandan, give him
the tablet.” So Darius was suffered to take it, and read:—
“_Gobryas, servant of Cyrus, king of Persia and of the Aryans,
to Belshazzar sends greeting_:—
“Know, O king, my master has sent me to inquire into the
strange tales that have come to his ears touching his former
envoys, and their treatment. Why have their couriers been
halted when bound for Susa? Why does Belshazzar negotiate
with Pharaoh Amasis, Cyrus’s foe, and gather soldiers in time
of peace? Why does he speak ‘peace’ with his lips and in his
heart weave war? I have come to demand an answer of you, O
Belshazzar; do not think to hinder my return. For if in twelve
days I come not back to Susa denying the tales of treachery,
the hosts of the Aryans are in arms. Farewell.”
Darius turned again to Belshazzar. His smile became yet haughtier. “Your
Majesty,” declared he, “the meaning of this letter is plain as the moon
on a cloudless night. Cyrus has caught scent of your plottings, ere
their completion. Instead of Persia being in danger, the peril confronts
Babylon. Yet doubtless the worthy Avil is ready with his serpent’s
craft. Look to him, Belshazzar, for escape from a net of his own making!”
But the king in turn had put on his arrogancy, and spoke back in wrath:—
“Have a care, bold Persian. You are utterly in my power. I did not send
for you to have you revile me to my face.”
The prince only stood more proudly than before.
“Well said, my king; I am summoned here to aid these wise Chaldeans in
devising an escape through the blasting of their own plots. I am to yield
myself a tool to Avil-Marduk and his fellow-crows. I am to excuse my own
letters of warning, and the tidings borne by Ariathes, who it is plain
escaped your spies and guards, and reached Susa safely. I am to profess
to Gobryas and Cyrus, ‘I was mistaken. The stories are false. Trust
Belshazzar in all things!’”
It was as if he had taken the words out of the king’s own mouth. All the
council stared at him. “And if not?” he demanded, suddenly stopping.
“If you will not,” threatened Belshazzar, blackly, “prepare to die. We
know a Persian’s word can be trusted. Once give your pledge, you will
explain away everything—”
Darius almost shouted his reply:—
“And I know that it would be better to groan in ‘The Land of the
North’[7] for years uncounted, than to put trust in _your_ word. From
your own mouth I know how your oaths are sworn only to be broken, how
you have prated ‘friendship’ in my ear, and all the while plotted death.
Therefore take my life. I do not fear to cross the Chinvat Bridge, and
stand before the throne of Ahura. But rest assured, Cyrus will wreak full
vengeance!”
When Darius ended there was silence in the council, for every man knew
they had laid hands on a monster, equally dangerous to release or to
retain.
“And what, then, would my lord have us do to preserve the peace?”
faltered at length Sirusur the commander.
“Let your king send an embassy in sackcloth to Susa to confess his fault
and declare his penitence. Let him send to Cyrus the head of Avil-Marduk,
chief begetter of these falsehoods. Let him send me back safely with the
Princess Atossa, and present my king with a great treasure. Finally, let
him throw down two furlongs of the city walls of Babylon, to show he
meditates no war. Do thus, and you preserve the peace; and thus only.”
Belshazzar had risen on his throne.
“Let us have an end to this,” cried he, darkly. “I see the prince’s wits
have been blasted, or else he has fallen in love with death. I have
spared his life, because he saved me from the auroch; but my forbearance
is near its end. Yet he shall have chance to reflect on his madness.
Hale him away, clap him in the lower dungeon, beside that of Daniel,
double-fetter, and let him prepare to die!” Darius neither salaamed nor
gave other sign when his guards stepped beside him to lead him away.
Having delivered himself to the council, he became silent as a stone idol.
When the prisoner and his escort were gone, there was yet again stillness
in the council. When presently the storm broke out, it was upon Avil.
“Cursed are we, priest,” growled Bilsandan in his beard, “for listening
to your counsels. It is you who poured the oil on this fire. It is you
that advised the sham treaty, then browbeat the king into arresting the
envoy. Whither are we come, indeed? The Pharaoh still holds back. Cyrus
knows all, and it will take more than smooth words to stop the charge of
his lancers!”
“We have the prince as hostage,” retorted Avil, trying to retain his
composure.
“Pliable hostage, indeed!” snarled the vizier; “catch the lion cub, as
hostage for the friendliness of the lioness. We may cut off the prince’s
head, but such a deed is little suited to make Cyrus more friendly. You
temple folk, Avil, will be the first to whimper when your crafty deeds
return one and all to nest on your own heads. I love wisdom, but not the
wisdom that is like to ruin all ‘Sumer and Akkad.’”
Avil kept his temper by a manifest effort. It had not escaped him that
Belshazzar was staring at him very fixedly, a most ominous sign of royal
displeasure.
“Noble Sirusur,” spoke the priest, turning to the general, “surely you
and all the king’s sword-hands have not waxed so unvalorous that you
dread the war. Has his Majesty only harem girls for an army?”
“The sword-hands of the Chaldees,” retorted Sirusur, testily, “are able
to fight for their king, and, if needs be, die; but I say only truth when
I tell you, the host is in no condition to meet the Persians in pitched
battle. Madness to risk it.”
“I congratulate our lord,” flashed back Avil, “on the heroic spirit of
his gallant _Tartan_.”
“Aye!” shouted the “Master of the Host,” “the taunt comes right well from
such as you,—you who have lit the blaze, and fain would see others quench
it now. I know your prowess. While I was risking my life in that mob, all
say the valiant high priest was cowering like a cornered hare.”
But it was the king who terrified the pontiff most; for, though
Belshazzar spoke not, Avil-Marduk saw his eye fixed on him, full of that
cold menace which, he knew well, had often preceded a curt command to
Khatin.
“You may speak, Avil,” remarked Belshazzar at length, his tones icy as a
blast of the north.
But the courage of Avil-Marduk, if not that which might carry unblenching
through the ragings of a hostile multitude, was yet courage after its
kind. He had turned pale in the face of the furious rioters, but he was
steadfast before the hostile council and angered king.
He rose and addressed Belshazzar almost as haughtily as had the Persian.
“Do you well, my Lords Bilsandan and Sirusur, to revile me?” retorted he,
hotly. “Am I not a man of peace? Is it my business to see that the royal
guard does not fly like sparrows at the yells of an unarmed rabble? As
for this coming of the second embassy, who save Anu and Ea could know
that a letter of Darius could pass through our watchers—so many were
they—even had some foul demon whispered the truth in the Persian’s ear?
I am not a god, your Majesty; but what human wit has done, I have done
also.”
“But human wit,” quoth Belshazzar, grimly, “has not sufficed to avert an
issue with Cyrus. What are we to do now, my dear pontiff?”
When the king became affectionate, men said he was not far from ordering
an execution. Avil knew his danger, but he only let his voice rise higher.
“O King Belshazzar,” cried he, “Bel-Marduk, the sovereign and guardian
god of Babylon, even he and none other it is that has set you upon your
throne of Sumer and Akkad. Did he not clothe you with power that he might
bring all nations in subjection unto you? That the gods of the Persians
and of the Medes should be brought low before the power of his servants?
Is Cyrus the first king who has raised his head against Babylon? Where is
Sin-shar-ishkun the Assyrian? or Zedekiah the Jew? or Necho the Egyptian?
Gone, all of them. Their gods have brought them no help, but Bel has
fought for his servants. And will you now, King of Babylon, distrust the
god that has protected you so long? Will you cringe to this Ahura of the
Persians, that we may be taunted before every nation, ‘Bel of Babylon is
subject to the god of Cyrus the barbarian’? The gods one and all forbid
that Belshazzar should do this thing! Let him be strong. The guardians
of Babylon shall yet show how much mightier they are than the weakling
spirits of the Persians, before whom also the spiritless Jews shall whine
in vain.”
The priest paused a moment. The swift rush of his speech had borne away
all the hesitancy that had risen in the heart of his lord. Avil knew he
had saved himself and had triumphed. He went on boldly:—
“Trust the strong walls of Babylon, my king. They can mock all Cyrus’s
thousands. There is yet time to assemble a great host. The warriors of
Chaldea have not all waxed cowards. Meet the Persian fairly in the field,
and if fortune there fail, Imgur-Bel and Nimitti-Bel will not fail. There
is provision inside the walls for a siege years long. Before many months
the Aryan hosts will be dissolved for lack of forage. Revolt will kindle
in Cyrus’s provinces. The Pharaoh will take arms. Be bold and the gods
will bless you. I speak not of myself, for is the king of Babylon a dog
that he should submit to the commands of Cyrus or his envoys? Take my
life, if so your Majesty will, but bow the knee to the Persian?—never!”
The king’s eyes were flashing. He had risen again on his throne.
“And the high priest counsels well!” cried Belshazzar, doubting no more.
“We will put the might of Bel-Marduk to the test! Bel-Marduk against the
puny god of the Persians and the Jews! Bel-Marduk, who rules forever,
against the god who might not save Jerusalem to his servants, who shall
not now save them Susa. In Darius we have a hostage that will make Cyrus
hesitate long before taking the field against us. Away with all fears, my
lords. I, the king, have spoken, and my word is ‘war’!”
* * * * *
That same day there went a letter to Gobryas, the new Persian envoy, who
had just arrived outside the city, bidding him return to his land with
all speed. “Belshazzar,” wrote the Babylonian ministers haughtily, “would
not receive any embassy sent on so unfriendly an errand as this. The king
would make due explanation to Cyrus for the detention of Darius; but if
Cyrus would not accept it, let him be warned that the first hostile move
on his part would be followed by the execution of the son of Hystaspes.
And in the war that might ensue Belshazzar shunned no issue.”
That night also an order went forth for the arrest of Imbi-Ilu, chief
priest of Nabu, on the ground that he had violated the terms of the
amnesty, and was conspiring against the king; but the next morning found
all Babylon astir with the news that the threatened pontiff had already
escaped to the Persian envoy outside the walls. Gobryas had taken no
risks of detention. The instant the letter of Belshazzar reached him he
had started straight homeward, outstripping any chance of pursuit.
A second fugitive likewise fled with Gobryas. In the second Persian
embassy Isaiah had beheld the opportunity divinely promised through
Daniel; he should stand face to face with Cyrus the Aryan, and deliver
the message of Jehovah. There was no longer any refuge at Borsippa for
Ruth, but he counted her safe at the humble house of Dagan-Milki. Shaphat
would be her guardian, and if needs be die, to save her from the hand of
Belshazzar. Very beautiful and strong had been the smile on the Jewess’s
face when she kissed Isaiah farewell.
“Go, beloved, go,” were the last words the young prophet carried on his
journey; “who am I to give you care, when God has called you to His
service?”
“Ah!” thought Isaiah, many times while on the way, “if the prayers of
the pure and good avail anything with the great Lord God, I have already
persuaded the king of the Aryans.”
[Illustration: CYRUS, FATHER OF THE PEOPLE]