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.