Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy

"Yea, truly, my father. When I came to thee to-night my heart was sick with the thought of Babylon's great danger. But since thou, the king, knowest all and fearest naught, my fears are also laid at rest. The king my father is very great. May he live forever!" and Belshazzar smiled filially into his father's eyes.

"You do me honor to trust in me, Belshazzar," said the king, gently. "Yet do you well, also; for to whom save their king can a people look for their safety? I will tell you how the Great City is to be protected against the plots of her enemies. Priest and lord alike may prove false, and men and soldiers turn against me. I have put my strength and my trust in those that are above princes. Hark you, Belshazzar. When, a month past, I learned from certain watchers whom I employ, of the great plot against the crown, I bethought me long and earnestly of my course. Finally I sent out secret messengers to every temple-city in Babylonia, and from every heavenly house that my hand hath restored from ancient decay I caused to be sent hither to me the oldest and holiest god-image. These, to the number of twenty-one, are now in a little temple by the river-bank, where I daily visit them and perform sacrifice before them till the time when they shall move in procession through the city, and go each to his special shrine. And that day approaches; for the city grows uneasy under the seditions of the priests and their oracles. But when my new gods are set up in their golden houses to be worshipped by the multitude in the city, think you not that the first care of these heavenly ones will be the safety and preservation of me and of my line?"

Belshazzar said nothing for some time. It seemed impossible for him to speak. This sudden revelation of his father's incomprehensible childishness, following, as it did, the equally unexpected evidence of his understanding of the situation of the state, had completely overcome him. It was well that the dim, bluish lamp-light made all faces look pale; for at this moment the prince's skin was destitute of color. All his first fears came back to him, added to a new one, that increased the horror of the first a thousandfold. With what frightful disaster was Babylon not threatened? And what hope had she of fighting against devastation under the leadership of a half-crazy old man that had placed an unalterable and inhuman faith in the power of certain blocks of gray and crumbling stone, shaped into images that a child would hardly believe in? Faugh! Belshazzar turned sick with disgust.

"Speak, Belshazzar! What think you of this hope of mine?"

"The king is great. May he live forever!" was the response, given in a tone of soothing calmness. With the words the prince royal also rose from his couch. "Now, father, I go. I must depart from thee," he said, hurriedly. "There is a matter to be attended to. Give me leave to quit thy presence."

"As you entered it of your own will, so depart," returned his father, in a subdued and disappointed manner.

But Belshazzar, whose feeling was more of grief and pity than anything else, went to his father, took his hand, and laid it upon his brow in token of devotion and obedience.

"Thy head is hot," observed the king.

Belshazzar smiled faintly. "Grant me leave to depart," he urged again.

"Yea, in peace depart!"

Somewhat relieved at the old man's tone, a little quieted by the silence and the dim light around him, the prince moved to the door and was all but gone when the king turned and spoke to him again in a way that revealed another phase of his curious character. "Belshazzar," he said, "look well to this Jew, Daniel. He was a member of the court of the mighty Nebuchadrezzar, thy grandfather. A traitor and a dangerous man is he; but he is a prophet also; and gold will buy him. If, after my death, the city should be threatened with destruction, look to him, if it is possible, for help."

Belshazzar, dully amazed again, yet too weary of the changes of his father's moods to pay very much attention to him, answered this advice with an obeisance only, and then went his way towards his own rooms. But, even as he went, his father's last words rang again through his ears. "A traitor and a dangerous man, but a prophet also; and gold will buy him—gold will buy him!" Thus Belshazzar pondered still.

In his private room the prince found his evening meal laid out and waiting his coming. Food, however, was not his desire; and, letting it remain where it stood, he began slowly to pace his room, up and down, up and down the cool, tiled floor. His fan-slaves watched him curiously. They had never seen quite such an expression on their lord's face. In truth, Belshazzar's brain throbbed when he thought of what a way lay before him to be traversed. Babylon tottered before his weary mental vision; and finally, inexpressibly heavy-hearted with it all, he sat down to eat his chilled supper, at the same time despatching a slave for Khamma.

The dancing-girl, with her gauze draperies and tinkling ankle-bells, came in to him, followed by her fellow-slaves with drum and lute. The maid had lost neither her grace of movement nor her love for her Lord, and therefore Belshazzar, successfully diverted for the moment, finished his meal more pleasantly than he had begun it. When finally he rose from his couch it was late. The moon hung in the heavens, and the court-yard was flooded with silver light. A group of guardsmen, clustering round a fire, sat chanting charms in chorus. Belshazzar heard their voices with a vague longing for shouts of men, for the shrill neighs of horses, for the rattle of chariot wheels, the clash of arms, the thunderous murmur of battle as he had known it in his youth. If only war, open and honorable, lay between him and Kurush of Elam—well enough. In that he stood his fair chance of winning; and if he lost, it was death at his own hands. The game that he feared and that he hated was the one of underhandedness, of lies, of treachery, of bribery. When a man could be bought for gold there was none to trust, none to feel sure of. And upon these things the prince wearily pondered as he gazed out into the night, wondering, half consciously, whether to go to Ribâta or to seek rest from his mental burden in sleep.

While he debated this point with himself there came a commotion at the palace gate, the arrival of a fast chariot, a peremptory call for admittance, and his own name spoken in a familiar voice. An instant later a slave ran to him with the word:

"May it be pleasing to the prince my lord, Lord Amraphel, the high-priest of Bel, asks conduct to the presence of the Prince Belshazzar."

"Bring him here to my side," was the quick reply.

The slave left him obediently, and Belshazzar prepared to receive his visitor. Retreating a little towards the centre of his dining-room, he stood with the torch-light at his back and the glow of the lamp too far in front to shine upon his face. Here he awaited the coming of his father's enemy.

Amraphel entered the presence of the prince royal with his usual unruffled dignity. He was followed by two slaves, who stood behind him during the performance of the elaborate salutations. Then they were dismissed, and bidden to await the return of their master to his chariot.

Belshazzar was unattended. Thus the departure of these slaves left the two men quite alone, out of the sight and out of the hearing of the rest of the world. However much the prince was on his guard, his manner betrayed nothing but cold courtesy. This sudden incident had come as a relief to him. Action of any sort was welcome. He was perfectly at his ease, barely polite, little respectful of the age and station of the priest.

With Amraphel it was different. The instant that his attendants departed his air of unbending dignity dropped off him like a cloak, and into his face there came so marked an expression of hatred and of suppressed fury that Belshazzar's eyes, meeting by chance those of his adversary, forgot their course, and remained fascinated and fixed on that other gaze. Simultaneously both stepped forward.

"My lord Amraphel honors me unexpectedly," said the prince, giving the other a free opening.

"It is not to thy honor, but rather on account of thy infamy, that I come," was the reply.

Belshazzar's lips straightened themselves out haughtily. "Let me summon a seer to interpret thy words," he said.

"My words shall interpret themselves to you. What answer make you to the charge of murdering Nergal-Yukin?"

For a moment Belshazzar was silent. Then he laughed—a clear, ringing laugh.

Instantly Amraphel lost his self-control. Reaching Belshazzar's side in two strides, he lifted his right hand in the face of the prince. Before the blow fell Belshazzar had seized the priest's arm fast in his grip, and with all his giant strength thrust from him the figure of the old man.

"Beware, Amraphel," he said, so softly that the priest just caught the words.

"Hark you, son of the sheep-king, hark you! If within the hour your slaves, the criers of Nergal-Yukin's death, be not recalled from the city streets, not one of them shall be left alive by morning."

"If that is thy thought, Amraphel of Bel, at daybreak to-morrow not a priest in the city shall dare openly to wear the goat-skin and still live."

"You defy the gods?"

"I defy their ministers."

"Then, by all that is holy in heaven and earth, be thou and thine foully cursed forevermore!"

Belshazzar's lips curled again; and again, desecrating all the traditions of his race, he laughed—loud, and long, but not mirthfully.

Amraphel, as he gathered his scarlet robe close about his meagre frame, grew white—very white. His head was held high, and his eyes flashed with a fire that age could not quell, as he spoke his final word: "Be thou ware, Belshazzar of Babylon, lest the curse of the gods be given for fulfilment into the hands of men!"

As he turned on his heel Belshazzar's answer came, and by it the priest learned how surely the governor of the city was of his mother's loins, and not of his father's blood. "Thy hand and that of Daniel the Jew, yea, and of him ye call the Achæmenian, will find space enough on my body whereon to strike and strike again, O Amraphel. But see that ye fight as men, and not as dogs. Else, by my faith, as dogs ye shall surely die!"

Belshazzar hurled the last word after the priest into the court-yard, for Amraphel was now well on his way back to his chariot. The echo of the prince's voice rolled off into silence; and after a little time Belshazzar found himself still standing beside the table, his head bent, his eyes moving vacantly over the floor, while his thoughts were as empty as he felt his words to have been. A little after the interview he sought his rest. And when morning dawned again and he called his slaves to his side, the criers of Nergal-Yukin's death had not been slain; though perhaps in the end that consummation had been better for the royal house of Babylon.

XIV
STRANGE GODS[10]

Nergal-Yukin's death, the circumstances of it, and the blatant proclamation of these things by Belshazzar's slaves, facts skilfully manipulated by Amraphel and his order, threw all Babylon into an uproar. Naturally, the city was divided into factions. The priests and their satellites formed a sufficiently attractive nucleus to draw around it a great body of the common people whose lives at best were only a round of prayers and exorcisms; while all the army, that feared and followed Belshazzar as it feared and followed no god, drew to itself the other faction of citizens loyal to the crown. From the first, however, the priests, who counted also the Jews to a man in their party, were stronger than their opponents. And Amraphel, moved as he was by the two great forces of hate and overweening ambition, worked early and late to increase his majority. He seized every slightest advantage, manipulated it dauntlessly, and expanded it incredibly. His final interview with the prince was regarded by both sides as a declaration of open hostility; and while the royal party was now apparently quiescent, the things that Amraphel would not do to win over to his side a single man, were scarce worth considering.

While Cyrus and Gobryas with their invading armies were still far away in the south and in the north of the country, nothing that would precipitate matters could be done in Babylon. Indeed, a premature rebellion was the one thing that could save the Great City to her lawful rulers; and no one in the city knew this better than its high-priest. It was for this reason only that Amraphel had failed to carry out his threat with regard to Belshazzar's criers. And it was also for this reason that Belshazzar had so openly and so recklessly defied his enemy at their last meeting. Could Amraphel have been irritated past his self-control and so forced into some rash act that would precipitate the rebellion before Cyrus was at hand, the contest would at least be an equal one. But with Beltishazzar at his elbow, and the funds of the house of Êgibi at Daniel's command and Daniel's command only, there was no chance of matters coming to a crisis before their appointed time. For Daniel's whole soul and mind were in this plot; and, whatever doubt there might be about the soul, it was quite certain that his mind was no ordinary one.

Amraphel's most telling means of influencing the common people was by temple harangues. Every day, after the early sacrifice, a priest would come before the throng of assembled people and talk to them, not of their duty towards the gods and the priests of the gods, but of the falseness and the iniquity of the royal house. These preachments began almost immediately after the death of the rab-mag, the tale of which, with its accompanying moral, was worn threadbare in order that Belshazzar's brutal instincts might be made sufficiently plain to the dense minds of the listening commoners. The fact that Belshazzar held priestly office and a priestly title was of no consequence. Indeed, it became a subject for further revilings. Certainly it could not be denied that the heir-apparent was extremely lax in his religious duties. Scarcely one day out of ten did he appear in the precincts of the temple, much less officiate at sacrifice. Without doubt, the gods were angry with him. How could it be otherwise?

It was not long before Belshazzar began to feel the breath of unpopularity. When he drove forth into the city few people took notice of him, none did him reverence, a few eyed him askance, and once or twice he was assailed by some opprobrious phrase. He felt rather keenly the disfavor of the people, but made no attempt to remedy the matter. He knew very well the direction that affairs were taking; but he could do nothing but bide his time, and at night keep his eyes from the future, since sleeplessness brings back to no man his wealth. One thing, however, the prince, as governor of the city, could do, under the general directorship of Nânâ-Babilû at Sippar. He could keep the guards of the city in form, and this he did well. There were at this time about ten thousand of the regular army in Babylon, and of these the finest were Belshazzar's own regiment, under command of Shâpik-Zeri, all of them men of Gutium—the province of which Gobryas had once been governor. These, the best-trained soldiers in Babylonia, were loyal to their last drop of blood to their lord. Belshazzar was a fine soldier, iron-clad in his rules, and known to be himself fearless on the field. His men worshipped his physique, feared his strength, and delighted in paying him the honor and obedience that he would otherwise have exacted by force of arms. Thus Belshazzar was seen no longer in the goat-skin, but he made up for the deficiency by appearing at every hour of the day in helmet and shield, on his way either to or from the great parade-ground where the daily reviews of the various regiments were held.

It was about this time, the middle of the month of May, that Charmides the Greek experienced a sudden disgust for his position in the temple and left it, pleading that the illness of his wife demanded his continued presence at her side. Unworldly, improvident, sentimental as his move was, he nevertheless experienced a great relief when he turned his back for an indefinite period on the great House of Lies. For things had been done there that the young Greek could not think of without furious gusts of anger and rebellion. Besides this, Ramûa was ill, wretchedly ill, as the result of a fall that had caused a series of complications over which both Charmides and Beltani were exceedingly anxious. Still, she was in no real danger, and in spite of his statement, Charmides did not spend all of his hours at her side.

About ten days after his leaving the temple, Charmides had cause of rather a curious nature for regretting that he was no longer in a situation to know the inner aspects of certain things. A proclamation had gone through the city striking astonishment to every heart, and to none more than those of the priesthood. It was to the effect that, on the first day of the month of Duzu, twenty new gods would take up their residence in the Great City.

Poor Nabu-Nahid, reading aright the threatening signs of his own and his son's unpopularity, believed that the time had come for his great act. As a priest of the highest order he was empowered to command the high-priest of every temple, with the exception of Amraphel alone, that he, together with two Enû, two Asipû, and two Barû, should form part of the great procession of strange gods when these entered the city. Moreover, each temple was to be especially purified and prepared for the reception of a new statue, and henceforth double services must take place in each temple, that both the old god and the new one might be properly honored. The date for the procession was set for the last of Sivân. A document explanatory of the whole matter, and signed and sealed by the house of Shamash, was sent to each of the priests, and to every monastery of Zicarû; and these were also read aloud in the temples by eunuchs, till all Babylon was informed of the king's act, and all Babylon prepared for the holy day.

That morning dawned like every other morning of the season, in a flush of fierce crimson, gradually melting into the living gold that flooded the sky with a furnace heat and poured a shower of burning light upon the river with its clinging city, and over the yellow desert far beyond. Holiday had been proclaimed, and at an early hour every street leading to a temple was packed on either side with gayly dressed men and women and their children. Charmides went alone. Ramûa could not walk, and Beltani had preferred remaining with her to standing for hours in the glare of the sun, waiting for the procession. Both women, however, had begged Charmides to go and see it, that he might describe it to them on his return. Therefore the Greek took up his position on the edge of the square of Istar, into the deserted temple of which the old and sacred statue of the goddess of Erech was to be carried first of all.

The crowd here was especially thick. Only by vigorous pushing and squeezing, and some very rapid talking, could Charmides find a place for himself. Having reached a vantage-point, however, he proceeded to fall into a reverie—a reverie of a year ago, when he had stood waiting for a pageant, an utter stranger to the city, hungry, friendless, and homesick. He could recall every trivial incident of the day with ease, from Baba and the goat's milk she gave him, to the long afternoon with Ramûa, now for nine months his wife. He had got to a philosophical stage in his dreams when a light hand was laid on his arm, and he looked up to find Baba at his elbow. He was glad to see her, glad of a companion to talk to; and so they two watched the procession together, bent to the dust before the little black images dotting the line in twenty places, and borne each on its golden platform on the shoulders of six eunuchs.

Nabu-Nahid, in white, drove first of all. Behind him, frowning and stiff, and in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, was Vul-Ramân in his car. Belshazzar came farther along the line, standing unconcernedly in his place, his white muslin robe falling to his feet, the goat-skin fastened over his left shoulder. Everywhere he was greeted with murmurs of disapproval; but though he could hardly have failed to hear some of them, his face gave no sign of it. Quiet, immovable, slightly scornful in his expression, he endured the mental and physical discomforts of the day with a nonchalance that would have deceived Amraphel himself.

The procession left the little temple by the river-bank at ten o'clock in the morning and broke ranks in the square of the temple of Marduk just at sunset, with the last ceremony concluded—Nabonidus' last card played. Twenty new gods would watch over the city that night, and twenty extra sacrifices would take place in their honor on the morrow. Perhaps it was as well that Nabonidus, in his pathetic faith, should not have heard the comments of the tired temple-servants as they worked through the night, preparing for the next day's services. Twenty new gods asleep in Babylon—twice twenty demons at work in the minds of men. Could the outcome of the fast-approaching struggle still look doubtful to any reasonable thinker whose heart was on neither side?

Belshazzar and his father drove home together from the square of Marduk. Weary as he was, Nabu-Nahid was in a joyous frame of mind. He talked incessantly about the success of his great experiment. Secure in the favor of Heaven, he could easily cast aside all fears of earthly disfavor, and his whole person so radiated delight that Belshazzar's mood passed unnoticed, his expression of unhappiness was transfigured by the sunset glare into one as rapt and as joyous as his father's own.

When at last they two dismounted together before the palace gates, Belshazzar's heart gave a great throb of relief. He had that day felt against him all the hostility of that Great City, and though they were his own, and he should be called upon some day perhaps to die for them, yet he felt a sensation akin to hatred for all the people whose superstitious and pitifully cringing hearts could be moved by the priesthood to moods and beliefs inimical in every particular to the hopes and plans of their temporal lords.

Belshazzar made his way straight to his private apartments and there doffed his priest's dress, commanding it to be carried out of his sight, and vowing that never again would he put it on. Then he donned a tunic of gray cotton cloth and took his way to the seraglio, into the presence of Istar. He found her sitting on the broad pile of rugs and cushions that filled half her living-room, holding the child in her arms, crooning over it as only a mother can. She welcomed her husband with eagerness, however, showing by the light in her face her delight in his coming.

"And do these new gods hold not their high places in Babylon, my lord?" she asked, when, having called for food and wine, he threw himself down beside her.

Belshazzar's answer was a bitter little smile.

"And they were received in silence? Tell me of the image that was put up into the shrine of Istar. Did the people honor it—did they praise it and bow down before it?"

"More than any other they showed it honor. Ah, my beloved, for my sake the people hate thee! Knowest thou how they hate me? My name is taught to be reviled in every temple. I am an enemy of the priests, therefore am I mocked in the high places. Istar—Istar—I sometimes dream that not much longer shall I and my father dwell in our Great City." He spoke the words lingeringly, with his eyes fixed on her face.

Istar answered the look well. Not a suggestion of fear, not a hint of dread was to be found in her smile. And while her hand caressed the tiny palm of the sleeping child, she said, quietly: "Whither thou goest, dear lord, there I will go. Unto the ends of the earth—and beyond—I will follow thee."

"Istar! Thou art happy in me?" he cried, impulsively, leaning over and putting his hand to her lips.

The smile still lingered as she kissed the hand; and then, taking it gently away, she answered and said: "Happy—Yea, Belshazzar, so happy that I, too, believe that our earth-time nears its end. I believe that I have found what I sought. It is the love for his fellows lying in the heart of every man that binds him to the greater love of the All-Father. The love of one for another sanctifies every life. Thee and this—my little child—I love."

Belshazzar looked wistfully upon his wife. There were times when she was too far above him for his own content. Yet in her words there was always something that, vaguely understood, stirred his brain to a painful effort to follow her to her height. Now, as if he would hold her back with him, he took both her hands, leaving the child to lie in her lap unheeded, and asked, with a change of tone: "Hast thou been alone through all the weary day, beloved?"

"Nay, Baba of Ribâta's house and Charmides the Greek came here together to me, after noon. Thou knowest the Greek—him whose lyre once you broke before me."

"Ay. He is a temple-servant."

"He serves no longer in the temple. Out of loyalty to us—to thee and to me—he works no more in the statue of oracles, nor does he play at sacrifice."

"Loyalty to me!" Belshazzar laughed slightly.

Istar gave him a quiet look, and her half-open lips closed again.

"Art thou angered with me, O my beloved, for being forever jealous? Istar! Couldst thou but know half of my love! If thou couldst read the terror in my heart—the terror of losing thee and thy love—"

He broke off quickly as the eunuchs brought in a table covered with meat and wine. It was placed before the prince, and Belshazzar, faint with his long fast, applied himself to the food and drink, and the intimate little passage with his wife was finished.

The following twelve days passed quietly in the palace. Belshazzar withdrew himself absolutely from city affairs, and, beyond going daily to the reviews and drills of his regiment of Guti and the city guards, he never passed the palace gates. Nabu-Nahid, on the other hand, worked feverishly. The state of public affairs was beginning to trouble him. Five days after the procession of his gods he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that his great hopes for their intercession were not to be fulfilled. Just how far Nabonidus' blind faith went, no one, not even himself, really knew. That which was artistic in his nature—and he was no mean artist at heart—had led him into the pursuit of architecture for the love of it. A passion for things of antiquity had caused him to explore the deserted ruins of many a crumbling temple, with results that made the soul of the seeker after knowledge tremble with delight. Many a long-buried library had been brought by his efforts into the light of day; and the religion of Accad of old, with its heroic tales, its prayer-poems, its chronicles of war and the chase, had been opened to his eyes and to those of the scholars that worked with him. The gods of other days had been brought forth from their ruinous shrines and placed in newer, brighter homes. And after these things, it somehow seemed to him that a reward should be forthcoming from his country.

But when Nabonidus came to know that, at the instigation of Amraphel, the new gods were left unworshipped in their shrines, that sacrifices were no longer offered up in the temples, that people were turned away out of the holy places with the word that the great gods were angered by the intrusion of these others, that none of them would heed prayers and burnt-offerings till the strangers were removed from the Sun-built House, then the heart of the king grew sick within him, and suddenly he came to a realizing sense of the power of the priesthood. Councils were held in the palace. Lords, chancellors, judges, and officers from every department, together with deputies from the provinces, met in the palace and were presided over by the king. Plans were brought up, discussed, and discarded. There was only one thing, apparently, to be done; yet the doing of it would involve such political cataclysms that, dangerous as was the position of the crown, Nabu-Nahid still hesitated to force Amraphel from his place.

At this time, when Adar's month was a third gone, came news of a great battle fought in the south country around Larsam, between the troops of Cyrus and the defending army, resulting in the victory of the invader and the utter rout and defeat of the Chaldees. Before the news of this could have reached the north country, another army—the Persian, in command of the traitor-governor Gobryas of Gutium, Cyrus' ablest general—had gathered about Hit to begin a rapid southward march towards Sippar, by way of Agade. The meaning of this movement was only too plain. Cyrus and Gobryas, between them sweeping Babylonia from south to north, would come together for their final siege before the walls of the Great City.

This plan unfolded itself slowly before the eyes of the king and his council, and Gobryas was within two days' march of Sippar before Nabonidus was fully aware of the danger. Well might Amraphel and Daniel the Jew laugh together and rejoice at the success of their allies. At a time like this, what reproof for neglect of the gods could be given them by a king threatened with such certain disaster? A month now, at the outside, and Cyrus would be at the gates of Babylon. By then the long labor of plotting and of treachery would be over. There remained only the final stroke, now preparing, and then the swift, clean end.

During this time, while Nabu-Nahid seemed to be aging a year a day under the pressure of difficulties that he was too weak to avert or to overcome, Belshazzar was living a life of careless idleness with Istar and his child. The two of them knew that the time of their joy of love was nearly over. Both were unwilling that anything should come between them before the inevitable end. How it was that Belshazzar could put away all trouble, all apprehension of the future from his mind, he himself did not know. Perhaps he had been under the spell of apprehension for so long that now, when the dread of it had reached his father, he was empowered to straighten up and put down his load, till he must pick it up again increased in weight a thousandfold. But during the days that followed he could remember his first two weeks of summer as a foretaste of the peace eternal of the silver sky. From dawn to dawn, barring those two noon hours when Istar slept and he rode out to the parade, Belshazzar was at his wife's side. Their thoughts, their dreams, their desires, were alike. There was no need to talk one to the other. The mind of each was to the other as a written tablet; and they read in silence, clasped each in the other's arms. Istar had become very tender, very clinging, very feminine now. Those periods of divinity when her personality became elusive and her mind attained to unfathomable heights were gone. She was of earth, human in her beauty and in her frailty of physique, radiant only with an earthly love. It was Belshazzar that was becoming transfigured—transfigured through his love for her; for his passion had broadened into a power of renunciation; and he showed the woman a glorified reverence, which, beyond her to conceive, had been beyond her to command.

It was in this wise that their twelve days passed; and on the night of the twelfth of June Nabu-Nahid entered unannounced into the presence of his son, with the decree that ended Belshazzar's dream lying written in his face.

Istar, dressed in robes of deep crimson silk, girdled and sandalled with gold, lay back upon her divan, softly singing to a lute that she played herself. The light from a hanging-lamp fell over her figure and left the rest of the room in shadow. In this shadow, seated upon an ivory chair, was the prince, holding the murmuring child fast in his gentle arms. They had been thus for an hour when the interruption came and Nabu-Nahid entered, bringing with him the atmosphere in which he had been living of doubts and fears, hates and quarrels, intrigues and treacheries, and dispelling instantly the love-dreams of youth.

Nabonidus was not yet an old man in years; but few would have been able to make out whether it had taken fourscore years, or five, to produce his peculiar appearance. He was a vision of white. Hair, skin, hands, robes, sandals, all were white; and which the whitest one could not have told. His face was bloodless, and resembled a piece of bleached papyrus which, having lain in a damp place, had curled up into a thousand minute wrinkles, from the midst of which a pair of dark, dull eyes looked wearily forth. These eyes were the only feature that one much regarded. The others sloped insignificantly into the pallid plain of the cheeks. And Nabonidus' whole mood was apparent in his walk. So dragging, so weary, so despondent was every step, that, as he entered Istar's room, Belshazzar shrank back from his presence in involuntary despair.

Just inside the door-way the king stopped and looked about him. Istar laid down her lute and rose, regarding the intruder with quiet apprehension. Seeing her, Belshazzar, too, came forward out of the gloom, holding the child still in his arms. And his voice first broke the silence.

"Enter thou, my father, and sit down with us!"

Istar supplemented the words with a little gesture.

Nabu-Nahid listened, looked closely at his son and the burden in his arms, and then turned slowly to the woman, gazing at her for a long time before he spoke. "And thou art she—whom we worshipped," he murmured, musingly.

Istar drew back a little, and Belshazzar took two rapid strides forward. "Dost thou desire speech with me, my father? Let us then retire to my apartments. There we will talk."

"Twelve days hast thou been sought in thy apartment; twelve days hath this been thy abode. Let it then be mine for an hour. After that I will go forth again—alone." There was a kind of strength in this last word that sounded strange from the lips of the king, and to which neither Belshazzar nor Istar could find any reply.

Istar went to her husband and took the child from him, saying, softly: "I will leave thee here and go into another room. Cause thy father to sit and talk with thee. And—if there is need of thee, I pray that my lord will come to bid me farewell before he goes." Her voice trembled slightly, and as she lifted her eyes to Belshazzar's he found them shining with tears.

Her husband gave her the child and would have let her go; but Nabonidus raised his hand.

"Let her take the child, Belshazzar, for it is not meet that thou shouldst sit as a nurse of infants. But as Istar is thy wife and beloved of thee, let her remain here, that ye may both hear my last words concerning Babylon."

"Thy last words!" cried the prince, quickly.

"Yea, for I am come to bid ye both farewell. To-morrow I go up to Sippar, which is threatened with destruction."

"Gobryas is there?"

"To-night he lies six kasbi[11] north of the city."

"But Nânâ-Babilû and all the army are there. There will be a siege. We will send reinforcements from Babylon. Sippar cannot fall."

For the first time in many years Nabonidus regarded his son with something akin to scorn. "In the twelve days that thou hast lain hidden here many things have come to pass. Sippar is in revolt. The priests of the sun-college have incited the people to rebel against my rule; and they threaten to open the gates to Gobryas. Nânâ-Babilû sends me messengers to say that half his army will fail him when it comes to the battle. It is for this reason that I go to Sippar."

Belshazzar rose, his face alight with eagerness. "Not thou, O king, not thou, but I, will go up to-morrow into the city of the north. My regiment of Gutium shall follow me. There, with those men alone, I will hold Sippar against Gobryas—ay, and Kurush, too, if—"

"Many things I have known thee do, Bel-shar-utsur; yet boaster wert thou never before. If thou know it not, my son, then I tell thee now, for it is well that thou shouldst learn it from my lips, Babylonia hates thee—for thy arrogance, for thy strength, for thy will, for sacrilege committed often against the gods; above all, for thy tyranny over the priests. If thou shouldst set forth to Sippar, thy life would not endure a single day. And the regiment of Gutium must stay in Babylon. It is in them that the Great City puts her trust. Thou, also, as governor of the city, must be here to lead them. I came not to thy presence to be taught, but rather to talk with thee upon thy position here."

Belshazzar stood silent, flushed with chagrin, yet in his heart acknowledging the truth of his father's words. Moreover, there was in his father's manner something that had not been there before. Beset as he was on every side, Nabu-Nahid had suddenly become a king. Istar perceived it and marvelled; and, though she did not speak, the old man found sympathy in her presence. Belshazzar forced himself at last to ask, in a subdued tone:

"Where wilt thou go in Sippar, O my father? Into the household of Nânâ, or to the river-palace?"

"Neither of these places. I shall go to the priests' college. It was there that my youth was spent. Five years ago I dwelt there through the summer. When Nitocris died, I went there after the month of wailing. It hath long been a refuge to me. I will seek it again. If I have yet any power in the world, it is there that I shall find it."

Belshazzar nodded thoughtfully. He recognized the truth of his father's words; yet he was only beginning to realize the danger of this desperate journey. It came over him again, in a vast wave, how great were the straits in which his city lay. There seemed to be nothing for him to say, so completely was his father master of the situation. And presently Nabonidus, with a faint sigh, lifted up his voice again:

"Belshazzar, thou seest surely the danger that all are in. Of my own free will I go forth to Sippar; yet I have little thought that I shall return thence again. All things are in the hands of the great gods. If it is decreed that I perish at the hands of my enemies, I pray only that Ânû will hold for me a place in the silver sky. Through seventeen years I have ruled over the Great City, and in that time I have never willingly wronged any man. Why it should be that men wrong me, I know not; and I ask not.

"Thou, my son, art trained to the thought of ruling over the mighty kingdom of the Chaldees. I charge thee only that if word of my death reach thine ears, rule over thy people and mine as a brave king and not a cruel one. In the years to come let thy people look to thee confidently and in love. Be just with all; and let none know thee in hate.

"Thou, Istar of the skies, who hast dwelt as a goddess in the holy temple of Ê-Âna, and art now become a princess of the king's house, if in time thou art made queen of Babylon, let not thy heart beat with pride. Love thy king. Bear his children and rear them in temperance and peace. Open thy lips to no words of folly. Unveil thy face before no man. Be the faithful servant and companion of him who holds thee dearer than all others. And, having heard my bidding, hold also my memory in reverence.

"Behold, I have said my say, and I go forth. On the morrow, Belshazzar, thou wilt be master in the palace. Take up thy duties, and leave the child to its mother's arms. Now Ânû, Ea, and Bel, the three lords of the gods, keep our fortunes, our lives, and our hearts in safety evermore!"

Nabu-Nahid held out a thin, white hand to each of them, Belshazzar and Istar, his children, and each of them pressed it reverently to brow and breast. Then the old man threw the corner of his white mantle once more over his shoulder, and, with a stateliness born of his newly royal spirit, departed from the room.

Istar and Belshazzar saw him go in silence. Their own days of happiness were at an end; but he who had ended them had given them both the desire to meet the veiled future in a manner worthy of their God and of the king that went before.

XV
SIPPAR

These last could be grouped under one head, since all three of them were ruled by one master—not Shamash, but the high-priest of Shamash, the first astronomer of the kingdom and the president of this college of sciences, and these combined dignities caused him to be known as the first priest in the kingdom. As a matter of fact, the religious house and its attachments were as old as—a little older than—the city of Sippar. Sun-worship had been instituted here as long ago as tradition knew; just as moon-worship began in Ur, according to Berossus, about thirty thousand years before the day of the Mighty Hunter! The house attached to the temple for the purpose of training its priests had gradually, through three or four centuries, come to be the great school of education for the priests of all Babylonia. It was the home of tradition and of sedition; the breeder of anti-monarchical ideas, the advocate of a hierarchical government. Nabonidus' father, a member of this college and high-priest of a Babylonian temple, having married the daughter of Nebuchadrezzar, made double claim to the throne of Chaldea; and, though he never came into the place of his mighty father-in-law, yet his son, the young Nabu-Nahid, educated in his father's college and early admitted to the priesthood, was brought up in the full belief that he was king by right of Heaven. Five years on the throne had changed him in many respects. Amraphel had come down from Sippar to administer to Bel-Marduk, and to keep watch over the general priesthood and the ruler of the Great City; and Nabu-Nahid had grown more accustomed to the crown than to the goat-skin. Moreover, the education of the prince royal was continued along very unpriestly lines. Therefore, though the king had never entirely severed his connection with the great institution where he had spent his youth, his attitude towards it was indeterminate, and its feeling for him one of well-disguised but none the less bitter hostility.

At this time of the middle of June in the seventeenth year of the king's reign, Sippar was in a frenzy of excitement. The town was filled to overflowing with troops assembled a month ago from every city and village within a radius of sixty miles. Nânâ-Babilû, commander-in-chief of the army, was lodged with Sharrukin, governor of the city; and these two men were loyal, heart and soul, to the king. As a consequence, they were also bitterly inimical to the priesthood. The college, on the contrary, bristling as it was with full-fledged priests and half-fledged students, waited to give Cyrus himself, or Gobryas by proxy, a royal welcome. The men of the army were divided into factions. As for the rest of the city, it was a little Babylon in its general uneasiness and disturbance.

Three weeks after the home army occupied Sippar, came word of the rapid advancement of Gobryas from the northeast; and the town was hurriedly prepared for a siege. Finally, on the night of the thirteenth, the arrival of two despatches, one from the north, the other from the south, brought consternation to the far-seeing mind of Nânâ-Babilû, and a dramatic sense of triumph to the members of the college. As the news became known in the city, the town quickly took on an air of festivity. The night was lighted by bonfires. The streets were alive with people. A great clamor of singing, of shouting, of drinking, and general riot rang through the twisting streets. And men, women, and children, soldiers and citizens, were still up and dressed in holiday garments, when, at dawn on the morning of the fourteenth of the month, Nabu-Nahid drove in at the southern gate of the city.

Sharrukin the governor, Nânâ-Babilû, and Ludar Bit-Shamash, the sun-priest, each in his state chariot, each the acme of stiff courtesy, came together at the gate to greet the king their lord. The governor and the general regarded the arrival of the high-priest with no little surprise and some resentment. Sharrukin's palace had been carefully prepared for the reception of the royal master; and his chagrin at the idea of Nabonidus' going to lodge at the college of the Chaldees, overcame his appreciation of the policy and the daring of that act.

Nabonidus came attended by a very small suite. He had travelled from Babylon with no more pretension than any petty nobleman. A charioteer drove him, but he himself held his umbrella over his head. He was dressed in the same simple white robes in which he had bidden his son farewell. His retinue consisted of two chariots, containing his secretaries and his favorite slave, while a group of six horsemen followed. His manner, on arriving, was as simple as his dress. Seeing Sharrukin and Nânâ-Babilû, his mild eyes lighted with pleasure; but it was to Ludar that he gave his first greeting. The little party proceeded slowly through the principal streets of Sippar on its way to the college, Nabonidus and Ludar first, side by side in their chariots, the governor and general just behind. Nabonidus' manner was unemotional, rather matter-of-fact. Ludar himself never dreamed how closely the king was watching the effect of his coming on the people, and the nature of his reception by them. Certainly his path was thronged—and by townsmen only. The soldiers had been ordered to their barracks and were not to appear till the afternoon's review. As they proceeded, however, Nânâ began bitterly to regret that at least one loyal regiment had not been scattered among the people with the command to force their neighbors into giving the customary loyal greeting to the king. Silence, utter, unbreakable, significant, reigned over the crowd. A thousand black eyes were every moment fixed unwinkingly on Nabonidus, but not a mouth was opened to speak a welcome to him. Here and there, indeed, was the suggestion of a muttered threat that came quickly to the ears of Ludar. But whether the king heard, or, hearing, understood these expressions, no one could tell.

Shamash was scarcely an hour up the sky when the four chariots and the little guard drew rein before the gate of the great college, and Nabonidus entered the institution between two long lines of white-robed priests, who gave the salute to Patêsi when he passed.

Nânâ and the governor left their lord at the gate, with the understanding that they should return to escort him to the review of troops early in the afternoon. Ludar alone accompanied the king to the room assigned to him—the room in which he had passed his youth—a small, oblong, white-tiled place, with a high image of Shamash at one end of it, and two tiny, square windows high in the opposite wall. A narrow bed, two stools, an ivory chair, and an immovable table, furnished the little place; and the king, seeing it again after some years, looked about him with a faint smile of pleasure.

"Is it pleasing to the king that he should be thus humbly lodged?" inquired Ludar, behind him. "Or will he choose to occupy the royal apartments that are at his command?"

"The king, Ludar, is no less a king because he lives humbly. Let this pleasant place be my abode while I am here."

Ludar wondered for a moment whether the king had intended the double meaning in his words; and, not knowing, he yet resented the possibility. His voice, however, was no less smooth and quiet when he said again: "It is near the hour of sacrifice in the great temple, father king. Will you attend it, or is it fitting that you sleep after the journey?"

Nabonidus sighed inaudibly, but his eyes never strayed to the couch. "I come to the sacrifice, Ludar. Yet first bid them bring me milk from the goat to be offered for sacrifice, for I need refreshment after the weary night. Then let my slave bring to me two jars of water, that I may make my ablutions, removing from my body the dust of the way and the sand blown up from the desert. Then I will come to the sacrifice."

Ludar, unsuccessful in his scheme of petty torment, left the room, smarting under the indignity of being asked to carry orders to a slave—orders that, for reasons of policy, he could not disobey. His only method of revenge was to prolong the sacrifice for two weary hours, while Nabonidus, faint for food and dropping with weariness, was obliged to stand over the sacrificial altar, chanting Sumerian prayers and feeding the flames with oil, while the savory goat's flesh slowly broiled before him.

At ten o'clock, however, he was able to make a dignified retreat from his religious duties; and then, reaching his own room, and putting his faithful eunuch on guard at the door, he left an order that he should be awakened only on the arrival of Nânâ-Babilû, when that dignitary came to escort him to the review of troops. This would be about two hours after midday; and until that time Nabonidus threw himself down upon his couch. The tired eyelids closed over the tired eyes. For a little time earth-troubles faded from him, while in his dreams the beloved dead were restored to him again.

When he awoke, Nânâ was at his side, looking down at him solemnly, his arms folded across his breast. The king started up, annoyed at having been left undisturbed for so long. The room was wrapped in twilight, and the face of the visitor was in shadow. Something in his general's manner, or perhaps in his attitude, caught Nabonidus' attention, and presently, having risen from his couch, he said, tentatively:

"You are late—very late, Nânâ. Evening is upon us. Surely the review—"

"There was no review, Nabu-Nahid, my lord. I bade thy servant not disturb thy rest. There was no need. I came to quiet thy fears—if, indeed, there is fear in thee. Yet Chaldea knows thy race for a brave one."

"Speak, Nânâ—speak! These words of thine come strangely to me. Or do I dream?"

Nânâ smiled grimly. "There is no dream in this, O king, that Gobryas and his army of Medes and Persians are encamped before the city, and that half my troops refuse to obey my commands."

Nabonidus went back to his couch and seated himself on the edge of it. "At what hour did the enemy come?" he asked, quietly.

"At four hours after sunrise, about the time for the close of the sacrifice, they were observed by the men in the north watch-towers. They marched around the city, out of the reach of arrows, and are now encamped before the south gate."

"And there has been no move to draw them into battle? There has been no sortie? The old form of war—"

Nânâ-Babilû bent his head upon his breast, and all of a sudden Nabonidus came to himself and realized their situation. Before the slow, orderly procession of thoughts that passed through his mind he did not lower his head nor take his eyes from the form of his general. After a little while he rose again, without any appearance of agitation, crossed the room, pushed aside the curtain of the door, and gave certain orders to the statue-like eunuch who waited before it. Then, returning, he sat down in the ivory chair to wait, while, in obedience to a gesture, Nânâ took one of the tabourets at a little distance from the bed. Then the two men sat together, waiting silently. Presently a slave entered the room bearing two lighted lamps, which he hung upon their accustomed hooks in the wall. In the new light the king turned to his officer.

"When have you eaten?" he said, kindly.

"A little before dawn to-day, lord," was the reply.

"Bring thou food and wine for both, then," commanded the king; and the eunuch, bowing, left the room.

When they were alone Nânâ's figure drooped back into its place; but the king, with a sudden nervous spasm, got up and began jerkily to pace the room. The general's eyes followed his movements questioningly, but for some moments Nabonidus did not speak. Then, very suddenly, so that his companion started, he burst out:

"Thou, too, Nânâ! Thou, too, Nânâ-Babilû! Dost thou also betray me?"

"My lord!" The commander sprang to his feet. "My lord!" he said again.

"Tell me truly, tell me plainly," went on the king, tumultuously, "is there left in my kingdom one man that I dare trust? Is there still one that I know to be true?"

Nânâ-Babilû looked at his king straightforwardly, grimly, honestly. "My life belongs to the kingdom, to thy house," he said. "And in my ranks of men there are many to be trusted. But there are also those that have taken the bribes of Ludar and the college. Therefore the true from the false among my own I cannot tell. How many there are of the one, how many of the other, I do not know. When it is necessary we will strive with our lives to defend the city; but how it will go with us, only the great gods know."

Nabonidus heard him and sighed. He could not but believe this man, this friend, this faithful servant of his; and his moment of passion was over. As he came back to his chair three slaves entered the room, bringing with them trays of food and a jar of wine. These were placed on the fixed table, and a light couch was brought in and set before it for the king. Nânâ was supposed to sit in his lord's presence. When at length the slaves had been dismissed, Nabonidus lay down at table with an air of mild pleasure at which Nânâ stared a little. Nabonidus had, indeed, a reputation for courage principally because of the apathetic manner that invariably came to him in times of real stress. And yet Nabonidus realized to the full the gravity of his position.

"Nânâ," and there was the shadow of a smile in the king's face—"Nânâ, if it comes that the city should fall, how wilt thou defend me from the blood-thirsty Gobryas?"

"O King, I would have spoken with thee on this matter, for thou, like all those in Babylonia, art in great danger. If Gobryas knows that thou art in Sippar the city will surely be assaulted, and will as surely fall. Therefore it is Sharrukin's wish, and mine, that, for thine own sake, thou shouldst leave Sippar secretly as soon as possible—to-night, if thou wilt. A disguise may be sent here to thee. Thine own guard shall follow thee; and I think thou canst still take the road to Babylon without undue risk. But if thou wait—wait till Gobryas learns thy presence here—thou and Sippar, ay, and thus Babylonia, are lost."

"I and Sippar, but not Babylonia, Nânâ. Bel-shar-uzzur rules over the Great City now, and he is stronger than I. He will make a good king for this troubled land. For me—éhu! I am full of years, and weary—weary for the silver sky. Matters it greatly how soon I go? Nay! Speak no more of it. I forbid it, and I am the king. Tell Sharrukin that I remain in Sippar—until the end."

Nânâ, daring to say no more, looked regretfully into the faded eyes of the old man before him. Of every one that he had ever known, Nabonidus was the last whom he would have expected to take this attitude. But eddying shallows sometimes hide treasures as rare and as beautiful as those that lie in the deep, smooth-flowing waters of greater streams. This little pearl of courage, then, was not less admirable because it was the treasure of a brook rather than of deep river or the sea. And Nânâ tried no more to persuade the king to leave Sippar, though, indeed, he felt what the end must be.

The conversation, when it revived between them, strayed away into winding paths, through Nabonidus' fads of poetry, archæology, and architecture, to the inevitable highway of priestcraft. With this road Nânâ was as familiar as the king, knowing more of its detail in this part of the land than his master.

"Let it be forgiven that I ask of thee a question, O king! Hast thou faith in thy safety in this house? Dost thou believe that Ludar may be trusted to keep thy person from harm?"

Nabonidus looked at his companion thoughtfully. "To this house I came," he said, "because I would have defied its dwellers. Now, indeed, that Gobryas is before the city, my safety is not assured. Yet here I will remain."

"Ludar—knows he that I am here?"

"I do not know. Let us call Ludar hither, Nânâ, and speak with him of Gobryas."

"Thou wilt never read Ludar's mind by his words, O king. Yet—let him be summoned."

"Kudashû!" shouted the king, accordingly, and at the cry the waiting eunuch came quickly in. "Kudashû, bear word to the priest Ludar that I would talk with him. Let him return with thee here."

There was a prostration and an exit, and then silence. Neither the king nor Nânâ said anything till, ten minutes later, the slave returned alone.

"Ludar follows thee?" asked Nabonidus, quickly.

"May the king regard me with favor—Ludar is not in the college. He is gone forth into the city, none knows why."

The man was dismissed with a nod, and the two were left alone again. Presently Nânâ rose and made his obeisance.

"Lord king, I must go forth. The hour is late, and I have not yet numbered the night-guards. Before I go—let it please thee to take up thy abode from to-morrow in the palace of Sharrukin. Everything there was prepared for thee. Here, with Ludar, thou art not safe. If thou wilt not escape from Sippar, come thou and take up thy dwelling with those that regard thee with loyalty and devotion." Nânâ was not an emotional man, but the feeling in these words was genuine, and Nabonidus was touched.

"The gods send thee peace of heart," he said, gently.

"My lord king will not come?" persisted the soldier.

Nabonidus shook his head with a faint, stubborn smile, and, a moment later, he was alone. For some time after his general's departure the king sat looking vaguely into space, his lips straightening more and more and the lines round his mouth growing stern. Presently the eunuch glided quietly into the room and took up his position by the door, standing there as he was trained to do when the king was alone. Nabu-Nahid regarded him reflectively for a moment and then said:

"Kudashû, Ludar and Nânâ are gone into the city. I also will go. Bring to me my mantle, and come thou behind me. I will behold Sippar by night."

Kudashû obeyed promptly, but a few seconds later, as the king was donning his white coronet and cloak, he ventured to say: "O king, live forever! Let me summon for thee some of the soldiers of thy guard, that they may follow thee on thy way."

"Is thy body weary, Kudashû?"

"Nay, lord my king; but my arms are weak to strike for thee."

"By Ninip! is the whole world waiting to slay me? Stay thou here, then, with thy arm, weak one! I will go alone."

"Nay, nay, father of Babylon! I go gladly. Yet, fearing for thy safety, I—"

"Be silent, foolish one. I go alone. Behold, I have spoken. It is my will."

And in the face of plea, protest, and remonstrance, go forth alone Nabonidus did, into the city of Sippar.

The streets were quiet. Early though it was, lacking yet two hours to midnight, few towns-people were moving about. A general weariness had followed the merry-making of the past night, and this, added to the feeling of solemnity attendant on the actual arrival of the long-expected invading army, had closed the doors of many a house at an unwonted hour, and caused citizens of an ordinarily convivial temperament to betake themselves to an early couch. Most of those abroad in the streets were soldiers, on their way to or from the watch-towers. It was a curious condition for the first night of a siege, and Nabonidus could not but wonder, as he proceeded, at the extraordinary calm of the people; for he had known many a beleaguered city, but never one that presented a spectacle of such quiet on its first night of defence.

The night was fair, and with the coming of darkness there had sprung up a faint breeze that came from the east, across two rivers, bearing with it a breath of cooling fragrance. The moon was just past its second quarter and hung suspended, in a soft, golden aureole, over the western walls of the city. By its light the houses and towers of the town stood out in wavering outlines against the grayish, star-strewn sky. The stillness that wrapped the city trembled, when, occasionally, it was pierced by a distant shout of laughter or a command called out by one of the guards on the walls.

Nabonidus went on and on, unheeding the distance that he traversed, allowing himself to be permeated with the night. The spotless white of his robes caused him to be taken for a priest by the few whom he passed. None offered to molest him. None gave him more than a fleeting glance as he went along. After what he could hardly realize had been an hour of walking, he found himself standing before the great south gate of the city, through which he had come that morning. It was closed now, and guarded with soldiers, some of whom stood or lay on the ground before it, while others could be seen on top of the wall, walking to and from the watch-tower, whence the confused camp of Gobryas' army could be made out across the plain. No hostility had as yet passed between besieged and besiegers. Not an arrow had been shot, not a javelin hurled.

The king stood off at a little distance from the gate, reflecting on the scene before him. Presently there came a shout from some one outside the gate, a word that was heard and answered from inside. There was a question from the captain of the watch, to which an answer, inaudible to Nabonidus, was returned. Then the small door in the gate opened. A figure appeared from outside, and at sight of it Nabonidus moved swiftly back into the shadow of the wall. The door was closed and barred again. He who had come in paused to place something in the hand of one of the soldiers. Then, without a word, he moved rapidly off in the direction from which, a little while before, the king had come. Nabonidus stared after him for a moment. His thoughts were in a whirl. Considering all that he had known before, this incident had an unnecessarily strong effect on him. It was only by means of a physical effort that he finally pulled himself together and started on his return, a hundred paces back of that other. In this fashion the two traversed the length of the city, arriving at the college of the Chaldees in the same relative positions as those in which they had started.

When, a few minutes after midnight, the king re-entered the building and turned up the passage leading to his room, he found Ludar, wrapped in a gray cloak, standing in the door-way talking with Kudashû. He hailed Nabu-Nahid's appearance rather effusively.

"O king, live forever. What imprudence does he commit that wanders abroad at night in the city streets!"

"And thou—wast thou guarded on thy way?" inquired the king, rather sharply.

"Nay, truly. But for me there is no danger. I am—"

"You say well, Ludar. For you, indeed, there is no danger! Shamash guard your sleep!" And with this curt good-night, Nabonidus brushed past the priest, closed the curtain of his room, flung off his mantle and coronet, and threw himself down upon the chair that still stood before the brick table. He was in a state of tremulous anger, of discouragement, of heart-sickness, and his head drooped lower and lower, and his hands clasped themselves on the table before him in the tightness of mental pain. The light from the still burning lamp above his head fell over his white figure, and a ray of it glinted off a jewel that hung on a thin, golden chain from his neck. A refracted ray of this presently shone in his eye and caused him to look down upon the gem that he was accustomed to wear inside his tunic, next his skin. It was a charm—a holy charm, blessed and consecrated to be a sure protection against all bodily disease or danger. In some way, the fact that it came to his sight now, unexpectedly, seemed an omen of good-fortune; and with a brow less clouded, the old man rose, took the jewel in his hands, and, falling on his knees before the image of the sun-god in his room, poured forth a piteous prayer for rest and peace. And the sun-god heard him doubly well.

It was not till early dawn began to peer from the east that the great king, seeking his narrow couch, dropped into an untroubled sleep.

The following day, the fourteenth of the month, was a busy one. Nabonidus again conducted the sacrifice. Then he returned to the college and spent two or three long hours with a class of acolytes of the highest order of embryonic priesthood. The noon meal he partook with Ludar, and immediately afterwards was driven in his chariot to the house of Sharrukin, where the afternoon passed quickly in a council over military affairs.

It was half an hour to sunset when the king returned to his room in the college and commanded his evening meal. He was drooping with fatigue, as the result of his short night and his crowded day. Kudashû, therefore, was ordered to refuse admittance to any one that should seek audience with the king that night. After a change of garments, a bath, and more prayers to Shamash, the king lay down on his couch, much refreshed in body and mind, and eager for the food that was presently brought him. He ate in the twilight, for that hour of the day always brought calm to his spirit, and even at the close of the meal, when the room was nearly dark, he still refused lights, but lay, immovable and alone, with the ghost of the dead day whose golden bier had been borne across the shadowy threshold of the night.

Gradually the king sank into a profound and vividly imaged reverie. His thoughts went back into many long-past scenes of his youth and young manhood; and, as he afterwards remembered, the last of these was something apart from his own life. In the twilight there rose before him clearly and distinctly the room in which he had said farewell to his son. Here, under the glow of the hanging-lamp, clad in her crimson and gold, with the veil of black hair drawn back from her face, was Istar of Babylon, Belshazzar's wife. Beside her, transformed by the new power of his life and love, was the storm-eyed prince, holding Istar's infant in his arms. Nabonidus' eyes looked again into those of his son, and found there something that now only he understood. A smile stole over the childlike face of the old man. Belshazzar had found a heart-home. Belshazzar was a king in spirit. What mattered it how soon in truth? The vision grew brighter still, till the three figures were aureoled with a divine light. Istar spoke to her husband, held out her arms for the child. Then suddenly there came, from the passage outside the door, a low murmur of voices and a quick cry. The vision crumbled. Nabonidus started up. His ears were pierced by the sound of a shrill scream, and the words spoken by Kudashû: "My lord! My king! Save thys—" Then came a heavy thud as of a body fallen, and Nabu-Nahid leaped to his feet as three men burst into the room.

Two of them were soldiers in armor. The third, who carried a lighted torch, was in the garb of a priest. It was Ludar, the president of the college.

"How do ye thus enter my presence?" demanded Nabonidus, glaring about him wrathfully.

Ludar shot a sharp glance at him, and the hands of the soldiers tightened on their dripping pikes.