BELSHAZZAR’S GUESTS FORSAKE HIMCHAPTER XX
BELSHAZZAR’S GUESTS FORSAKE HIM
Avil-Marduk had visited a strange place for the chief priest,—the nethermost dungeon in the palace guard-house, by the royal quay. Here one could hear the river brawling against the slimy walls. The black murk of the sunken galleries leading to the cells had been charged with a damp and sickening odour. The light from the slits against the ceiling was just enough to suffer one, with eyes accustomed to darkness, to grope his way. When the chief warden put his key in the ponderous wooden lock of a door, the pivots creaked and a whiff of air drifted from within, but so stifling that for an instant the priest recoiled.
“Who is here,” demanded he of the warden, “the Persian or Daniel? My errand is to both.”
“The Persian, my lord. Your eyes may not see him, but he is crouched in the farther corner. He is dangerous. Seven men had to hold when we put on his fetters. Shall I stay by while you speak with him?”
“Wait within call, though I must talk alone.” Then, raising his voice, he jeered boldly: “Ha!noble prince, do you find the raw millet and canal water of this guard-house daintier than the fare on Cyrus’s tables? Be comforted; twenty-seven years did Zedekiah, the Jewish king, languish in this very cell. You are not likely to enjoy its hospitality so long.”
Out of the dark came an ominous growl.
“Take care,dæva; come within reach, and chained though I be, I can kill you!”
“I will keep a safe distance from your Highness,” was Avil’s undisturbed reply.
“And now, son of Hystaspes,” he continued, dropping the catlike purring from his voice, “let us understand one another. You are utterly in our power. By this time, at least, you will begin to confess it.”
He heard the chains begin to rattle from the corner.
“By this time, O Prince of Treachery, you begin to hear the roar of the Persian lion. Do you confess it? Has the news that comes of late to Babylon been sweet as Assyrian honey?”
Avil let a moment pass before he answered:—
“It is true that Cyrus is massing soldiers,” he admitted.
“It is true that Kutha has surrendered, and Sirusur the Tartan suffered a defeat. Make your toads, these jailers, keep tighter mouths, if you would have them leak no news to me.”
“If those turnkeys chatter, the stakes are ready to impale them,” cursed Avil, under breath. Then,returning to the charge boldly: “Yes, it is true, war has blazed forth. No profit to deny. But nothing decisive has befallen. The king leads his host into the field in a few days. If Cyrus be the first to attack—”
“I shall be put to death?”
“Unless you will serve our ends. Are you bent on destruction?”
“I am in Ahura’s hands. It is His, not yours, to give life or death.”
Avil incautiously advanced a few steps into the darkness.
“The ‘suicide-demon’ possesses you, Persian,” he was asserting, when with a clatter of chains the prince bounded from his corner and dashed the priest to the bricked floor.
“At last, adder!” snorted he, uplifting his manacled hands, and smiting once and again.
“Rescue! Help! Murder!” bawled Avil, helpless on his back.
Well that the jailers ran swiftly, or Bel would have lacked a pontiff. They plucked the prince from his victim by sheer force, and dragged Avil away, covered with bruises. He stood, invoking upper and nether powers to blast the Persian race forever. They put a shorter chain on the prisoner, but he still challenged out of his gloom.
“Closer, friend! Closer! I dearly love a fair wrestle!”
But the priest turned away, quaking, and badethe others open the door of the adjacent cell, for he desired speech with that second prisoner of state, the Hebrew Daniel.
Darius was left in his dungeon; the bolts clanked into place, the footsteps died away. At first he heard only the swash of the current against the oozing bricks, and the shouts of bargemen forcing their craft up-river. But the prince did not rage in his fetters, as a month earlier, when first they cast him into this “death-in-life.” Laying his ear against the partition, he could hear voices uplifted—Avil-Marduk in angry colloquy with Daniel, who, contrary to Belshazzar’s pledge in the proclamation, had not been kept in light captivity, but in heaviest durance. Darius caught no word, but he guessed that the priest was ill satisfied with his errand when Daniel’s door clashed to suddenly, and Avil’s voice sounded in the gallery:—
“Now, as Bel is lord of Babylon, we will find straiter quarters yet for this stiff-backed pair!” Then there were more steps, and again silence; but presently a soft rattle at Darius’s own door, and the prince crept toward it, as far as his chains suffered. Some one spoke at the ample keyhole.
“Listen well, my prince, the other wardens are all around us.”
Existence in such a prison had taught Darius to catch every whisper.
“I hear you. You are Zerubbabel, the Jew. Where is Isaiah?”
“He is more suspected than I; and even my fidelity as turnkey is half in doubt. Isaiah is looking to the locks on the tunnel. The escape must be to-night or not at all. Shaphat is arranging to have horses waiting beyond the gates.” Feet sounded once more in the gallery. The speaker moved noiselessly away. Again silence and again the voice:—
“The chief priest swears that longer parley with you is useless. He urges the king to cast your head into Cyrus’s camp. That would bar the last door to peace, and spur on Babylon to resist to the uttermost.”
“And Daniel?”
“Avil would love to slay him with you, but dare not. News of his execution, were it to leak out, would still raise the city in riot. But we hope to save him with you.”
“Till when shall I wait to-night?” The words came eagerly.
“We cannot stir before the third ‘double-hour’[9]of the night. All is ready.”
Shouts sounded down the gallery; Zerubbabel was gone, and Darius sat in his gloom. How many times since he had been thrust within that cell had he watched the bar of pale golden light, which drifted through that chink against the ceiling, creep, silent as the tread of a dream, across the floor! It was his only sun-dial. Pictured in its brightness he had seen many a sight he had told himself hewould never see more with mortal eye,—his father, the hills of his native Iran, and Atossa, always Atossa, fair as on the night of their meeting in the Hanging Gardens, when for the last time he had looked into her dear eyes.
Interminable waiting! All the hard-learned lessons in patience, in which Darius had schooled himself since existing in that dungeon, forgotten in an hour! But, nevertheless, the daydidwane. The little bar of light crawled snail-like across the wet bricks of the floor, and began to climb the reeking wall. It mounted higher, higher, then began to fade, and for once the Persian’s heart commanded “go quickly,” though the ray had ofttimes been his dear friend. The chief warden entered with eight men, examined his captive’s chains. Intact. He and his band with their blinding torches were gone. Once more stillness, and only the monotonous music of the great river fleeting seaward.
The last daylight had long vanished before Darius heard again—how gladly!—something stirring in the gallery without. There were a shout and a challenge when the guards were changing, the trample of heavy sandals, silence again, then Zerubbabel’s voice close to the door.
“Quiet, my prince, my watch ends at midnight. We must be all haste.”
The bolt was withdrawing noiselessly; the door crept open; inside glided a man with a flickering lamp that shed a red, uncertain light, leaving halfthe cell veiled in its shadows. Darius started, but a warning “Hist!” fixed him.
“Where is Isaiah?”
“In the next dungeon, releasing Daniel. The sentries have been drugged. Now off with these chains.”
Babylonian fetters needed no key; the bronze circles, never locked, were simply hammered together around wrist or ankle. Happy mortal was he who, having felt them close upon him, could feel them also release. The turnkey set down his lamp, drew forth a stout iron bar. One twist of the lever freed the Persian’s good right arm, and like an unchained lion Darius tore his other limbs free, almost with his empty hand. The Persian’s heart gave a great bound as he sniffed a clear, sweet puff of night air, while ranging the gallery. A second lamp and two more figures came out of the gloom, but it was no place for stately greetings.
“The noble Prince Darius!” exclaimed Isaiah, softly, advancing from the darkness. “Jehovah be praised!”
“And with you is my Lord Daniel?”
“Safe and free, Jehovah willing,” answered the older Jew, stepping forward.
“Good, then,” replied the Persian. “Lead the way, for I am helpless here. Next to Ahura, I owe all to you, Isaiah, and to your friends!”
“Fear nothing.” And Isaiah trod forward into the dark. “Few know the secrets of this cityand palace as do I. We must haste to the tunnel.”
They advanced in silence. The prison seemed empty of all life. Their feet awoke loud echoes down shadow-veiled galleries, but nothing hostile started forth to greet them. Presently they began ascending stairways, and the foul stench of the dungeons grew yet fainter.
Then a door swung open before them, and a cold breath smote their faces. A strange form thrust itself across their path.
“Who comes? Shaphat?” demanded Isaiah, never off his guard.
The newcomer stared about him in the dark.
“I am he; the guards are quieted. There is no danger. But where is my Lord Daniel? Let me fall at his feet.”
And recognizing the older Jew, he cast himself then and there upon his knees.
“O lord, gracious master, who was as a father to me and whom I have requited after the manner of demons, speak to me one word. Declare that you forgive, for the blackness of my sin is ever before me!”
Daniel beckoned him to rise.
“You are forgiven long ago; I have heard of the atonement made by saving Ruth, and by rescuing Isaiah in the riot. You have sinned and have repented. The Lord God requires nothing more.”
“Speed,” interrupted Isaiah, “we must be all haste.”
Then without another word he led the way over the threshold, past the ponderous prison gate, and Darius rejoiced yet again when he found himself beneath the glittering canopy of the stars. No moon. Under the starlight he could see the vague white tracery of the great palace to his left; to his right the outlines of thezigguratsbeyond the river, trebly tall in the darkness, and before the temples the opalescent twinkle of some wavelet of the mighty Euphrates, where a constellation was mirrored. Isaiah hastened northward. They saw, far off, a form pacing the embankment above the stream. The starlight touched something that glittered—a soldier’s helmet. Darius heard the chanted call pealing over the sleeping fortress:—
“The Ninib-star[10]rises. Midnight approaches. Marduk prosper Belshazzar our lord!”
“They change sentries soon. Speed!” urged Isaiah. And he led faster along the deserted quay. Soon before them rose a low, square building, and they halted.
“The entrance to the tunnel beneath the river,” whispered Zerubbabel. “Now, if at all, let Jehovah show His mercy. All other exits from the palace fortress are too well watched.”
“The starlight touched something that glittered—a soldier’s helmet.”
“The starlight touched something that glittered—a soldier’s helmet.”
Isaiah, who had kept his lamp pricked down to a bare flicker under his mantle, boldly thrust in the door. They were in a small, bricked guard-room. Directly before them was a second door, small,ponderous, and heavily barred. Across the threshold lay a man in armour, but snoring in the slumbers of the just.
“This is the passage to the great tunnel of which I have heard so much?” asked Darius, softly. “Is not the exit guarded?”
Isaiah shook his head. “That, too, is provided for. The guard across the river is more lax than here. But now we must push away this dolt and force the door.”
Darius motioned with his hands, signifying that one twist of his fingers around the sentinel’s neck would speed him past mortal outcry; but when they rolled the rascal over, his guardian god favoured him. He grunted once, folded his hands, and fell again to snoring. The drug had done its work.
Isaiah, Shaphat, and Zerubbabel applied themselves to the massive door. Its bolts and bars yielded one by one. They were about to put their strength against it and thrust inward, when the turnkey stepped to one side into a darkened corner. One step, but the mending or ending of five human lives was hanging on the planting of that foot. He trod on something soft, something living. In a twinkling there followed a howl, a yelp, a prodigious barking.
“Fiends of Sheol blast the cur!” swore Zerubbabel, his iron bar clattering from palsied fingers. “All is lost!”
Darius leaped upon the dog, caught him, stroveto throttle; but the mongrel brute writhed from his grip, bounded to the outer door, and lifted up his muzzle, howling. Instantly a second dog answered, a third, a fourth, and more, till they seemed encircled by dogs uncounted. Human voices were beginning to swell the din.
“Alarm! To arms! Turn out the guard!” The distant sentries were passing it one to the other.
The five stood and stared in one another’s faces. The hopes of the night had been utterly dashed. What was left save death? But Darius, ever the soldier and leader, tossed up his head, and demanded fiercely: “Why gape and gibber here? Down the tunnel! We can cross before they reach the exit by bridge or boat.”
“My lord,” answered Isaiah, sadly, “below this door, on the staircase, is machinery to the sluice, whereby the tunnel can be flooded. We cannot bar this entrance from within. To descend means drowning beneath the river.”
The drunken sentinel stirred in his slumber, but did not waken; yet the others heard the nearing shouting. The sleepy soldiers were tumbling from their barracks. The five heard the clangour of the great brass gong at the palace gate. The Lord God knew how soon a “ten” of infantry would be on the fugitives. Darius had possessed himself of the helpless watchman’s sword.
“By Ahura Most High!” was his desperate oath,“it is better to mount aloft with seven foes sped on before me, than to drown beneath the river. They shall not take me unresisting!”
Feet approached rapidly. A new cry was rising, “The state captives, the Persian and Daniel! Escaped! Pursue!”
Isaiah dashed to the door of the tunnel-house and bolted it. It would take a few moments to force. Darius had turned to the others.
“I am a man of war, and know the look of death. If two men were to remain in the narrow entrance to this stairway, they could defend it long. Five must not perish where two suffice.” He was stripping the drunkard of helm and shield. “I and one other will defend against pursuit, the rest flee!”
But Isaiah threw up his hands in dismay. “Folly, my prince. Your life is worth a thousand such as mine. I am no weakling. Shaphat shall guide you to safety. Leave the defence to Zerubbabel and to me!”
A thunderous beating on the door, and Igas-Ramman, the captain, was clamouring, “Open! Open! In the king’s name!”
Isaiah reached to pluck the sword from Darius’s hands. “Haste!” he exhorted, but another hand caught his.
“Folly again.” It was Daniel who cried it. “You are all young. Life is sweet. God will give you many days and power to do great deeds.Iwill defend the entrance.”
“You?” The others were staring now in truth.
“Open! Open, or you die the death!” howled the soldiers without; and Igas commanded fiercely: “Beat in the door! Hew it asunder!”
The stout portal shook on its pivots, battered by spear-butts. It could not last long.
“This shall never be!” shouted Darius, while the deadly clamour increased. “Who will abide with you? You are the least fit of us all.”
But at this instant Shaphat spoke forth boldly: “If my Lord Daniel remain, he shall not remain alone, nor shall my betters be brought to death. Of us all, I am of least worth. I have but one life to proffer, as sacrifice for my sins, let it be offered now!”
“Dare you trust this man?” cried the prince, nigh angrily, while the door leaped inward with every stroke—“a confessed perjurer?”
But Daniel answered, with his wonted calm majesty: “Yes, as the Lord God liveth, I can trust him. He and I shall cover your retreat as long as Jehovah grants us strength.”
But still the friendly rivalry went on, until Shaphat plucked away Zerubbabel’s own sword, and set himself boldly across the doorway. Daniel turned to the others imploring.
“Away! away!” he prayed; “do you not see delay only ruins each and all?” And with a marvellous strength that white-haired man had wrung the weapon from Darius’s grasp, and was puttingon the helmet. As he stood in the wan lamplight, his form loomed erect, powerful. He seemed to have cast off the weight of twenty years. Woe to the first to meet him man to man!
“Bring a beam!” raged Igas to the soldiers. “Shatter the door!”
“Off!” urged the minister, tears now in his eyes. “Will you cast yourself away, Isaiah, and leave Ruth desolate when I am taken? Will you leave the Lord God’s purposes for you undone, my prince, by dying here in vain? I am old. I have done His work. I live or die by His will. I do not fear.”
Crash! Before the battering beam the door was splintering.
“We will never leave you!” came from the young men; but Daniel answered with a gesture of command. It was he who was prince, not Darius.
“Go! I command it!” cried he, almost arrogantly; “or your own blood and God’s wrath are on you.”
The tone, the majesty of his presence, these made his words as law. Darius’s heart cried out in revolt, but he bowed his head and obeyed. They thrust open the inner entrance, and a dank stairway wound down into the darkness. They kept Zerubbabel’s lamp. Isaiah left his for Daniel. No instant for long partings. Isaiah strode over beside Shaphat—“You are a true son of Judah,” said he simply. But Shaphat only bowed his head.
“The One God spare you, my father!” came fromDarius’s trembling lips, though the fear was not for self.
“And you, my son”—like words between Daniel and Isaiah, and that was all. They saw the civil-minister standing, sword in hand, across the narrow entrance, hoary, but then, if never before, terrible. And at his side, steadfast and unflinching, was Shaphat, the one-time recreant.
A last crash—the beam, swung by twenty arms, beat the outer door inward. It toppled on the bricks. Half a score of torches tossed together and flickered on bared blades and lance-heads. A great yell of triumph, followed by a howl of surprise. A last vision was branded on Darius’s memory. He heard the clash of steel above him, the crash of conflict. Then the stairway turned, cutting off sight and sound, and all about was blackness.