“Let the king’s liver find peace,” comforted Avil, sweetly. “Daniel will not torment him long. The feast of Bel is near, when I as chief priest may crave, in the god’s name, one boon which you may not refuse. If I ask then the life of Daniel, can the queen-mother complain? You are powerless to deny such a request.”
“Ah, well, that will end him!” snapped the king. “I seek the daughter.”
“Patience, your Majesty.”
“No patience, I have waited long. At dawn I will go in person to Borsippa, and demand her surrender. If not—I will find if Nabu can make the hides of his priests too thick for sword-blades!”
Avil shook his head. “Nothing rashly, lord. All the people revere Nabu.”
“Let them learn the greatest god in Babylon is its king,” Belshazzar threw up his head; “there is too much priestly rule here for my liking.” He looked hard at Avil, who bit his lips at the open hint. “You failed miserably in the accusation,” continued Belshazzar.
“I did not know Shaphat had so sore a conscience,” confessed the pontiff, ruefully; “but once in prison, Daniel shall find it nothing easy to learn the way out of it.”
“And the Persian Darius grows more intolerable every day. He has saved my life now. Would that any other had done it!”
“And wherefore should that be an offence to my lord. I never was sanguine the lion would succeed. There are many ways of speeding even so great an archer as Darius out of the world.”